The Skinless Man (1)

Ela rested her head against the train window and felt the dull rumble vibrating around her skull. Vast stretches of green shot by, scenic landscapes reduced to a nondescript blur. Her empty cabin bounced infrequently to the rhythm of the tracks as she pensively eyed the door.

A faint scratching noise on the other side moved her to rise and slide it open. She glanced down towards the floor. Two enormous, probing antennae appeared through the gap created. This was followed by a huge pair of pincer-like jaws emanating from a smooth black head, which nodded politely in recognition. A multitude of small black limbs, each writhing within an impeccably tailored suit arm, eased through and Mr Isington, in his finest Sunday attire, scuttled in. For a moment his antennae groped at and analysed his immediate surroundings before he arranged his lengthy frame upright upon one of the cubicle seats.

Straightening his rumpled suit jacket with a pair of arms protruding from an upper segment of his body, he paused to gather himself, and released a vague sigh.

'I'm terribly sorry to have kept you waiting,' he began in his overtly grand English accent, 'but the problems that accompany my current form remain very much pronounced, and obscurity remains paramount, yes, paramount indeed.'

Ela nodded sympathetically. Mr Isington liked to think he had a way with words, but she was always happy to indulge him. 'It's ok, I wasn't going anywhere', she shrugged.

'Nevertheless, my tardiness makes our short time that much shorter.' With this Mr Isington leaned forward conspiratorially. Several pairs of his legs rubbed together anxiously and his jaws clicked metronomically as he gave lengthy thought to his next articulation. 'It seems our problem is developing into something far more complex. And ultimately, far more dangerous.'

'Well, we know there's a pretty inconsistent level of control. Look at you...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so blunt.'

'No, you are right.' Mr Isington's latest sigh was significantly more audible as his sleek oval head slumped briefly downwards. 'We are working though, as ever, towards a solution. These mishaps are a hazard of our trade. Therefore back to our most current complication - we have amongst us a masquerader of most foul intentions'.

Now Ela leaned forward, listening intently.


Senator Gaines stepped off the podium to deafening applause. Ushered along by security guards, pausing sporadically to shake hands, wave and embrace members of the rapturous crowd, he made his way to an exit at the back of the convention hall and slipped out. A brief elevator journey later and he was back in his hotel room. Once inside he leant back against the door in relief and exhaled at length. Tugging in irritation at his tie, he began frantically undressing, tearing off his jacket and shirt, flinging aside his trousers in contempt.

Eventually, regaining composure, he sat down on the edge of the hotel bed in his underwear and felt for a spot on the back of his neck. Hands traced up the bumps of his spine and patted along, just underneath his hairline, before settling on a tiny indentation. Gripping this between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, with immense care he began, ever so slowly, to peel the skin off his neck. Steadily at first it was removed, initially curving round a small patch of his neck before splitting in a line down the back to reveal red flesh and muscle. Eventually it began to roll off with ease, the arms and legs pulling off like a wetsuit.

After folding the Senator's skin into a neat bundle, the skinless man opened a large suitcase and surveyed a range of alternative options. Flat, eyeless, baggy faces stared back up at him. Checking a tag on the ear of one of them, he withdrew it from the briefcase, flapping it out to air it. Flexing his own red, meaty frame a final time, savouring the respite, he sighed and began unravelling the leg of the new skin up over his own.


'It hardly goes without saying', wheezed Mr Isington as Ela aided him in squeezing his centipedal structure into the ventilation duct in the roof of the cabin, 'but please exercise the utmost care at all times. We do rely ever so much on your skills, perhaps excessively so, but well..' His voice cut off as he manoeuvred himself round to stick his dark, blank face back out of the duct '...there is so much to be done, with such precious little resources.'

Ela patted his head affectionately with one hand, and picked up the grille cover for the duct with the other. 'It's fine. I'll be in touch.' For a moment he lingered, emitting a mournful clicking noise. Then he was off, scuttling directly up to the roof of the shaft in order to turn. Ela watched the array of black limbs and body segments twisting and contorting into the distance before replacing the grille.

Sitting back down she spread the photos Mr Isington had left  over the seat beside her. Repellent images of discarded, sagging suits of complete human skin embedded themselves into her memory and she hurriedly filed them away again into her backpack. Leaning back and breathing heavily she stared intently at the palms of her own hands. Then she drew her attention back to the countryside view outside the window as it tore by, grotesque images of someone else flexing their form inside of her own skin flickering across her imagination.