TW: GORE
After the man knocked for the second time and handed me a liver, I knew this wasn’t ordinary. It was something beyond my understanding - something… supernatural.
But it’s not like this was bad for me.
I was in the business for a while. I worked as a surgeon - a provider for a business, a complex network designed to maximize cooperation and eliminate internal threats. One slip up and you’re kicked out or killed. There's always someone ready to replace you.
Let’s call this business The Party Club.
There were trusted providers but I wasn’t one of them, though I’m considered relatively senior. However, this meant I could live freely without much restriction and excessive surveillance - they were strict on operations, especially among the higher ups. They had no intention of letting their business go anytime soon.
Life was good. I make money and can provide for my family working as an “M&A manager for a nearby company”. I think about them every second of every day. I can see them smiling, playing together within the warm hue of the living room. My beautiful wife hugs my clever, 13 year-old daughter with one arm and holds my precious, 2 year-old son with another. I can imagine her laughing as my daughter makes a face, half embarrassed and half annoyed, while my son babbles incoherent expressions, searching for attention with his bright eyes. Thinking about it brings a smile to my face.
I remember the first time the man knocked. It was odd. I wasn’t expecting anyone at 8am in the morning. My wife had already gone to work and my daughter to school, leaving me and my son, who was sleeping in his crib, together in the house. The door opened to reveal a man with slick-back hair and a nice smile. He wore a suit complete with a black tie and dress shoes to match. I noted the red wagon resting behind him, handle in hand.
“Hello Mr. [REDACTED]! I’m here to provide for The Party Club. What would you like today?” he said cheerily.
Now as a provider myself, I was very confused. Not because he knew my name but because he came to find me. In this line of work it wasn’t uncommon for your name to be shared around. Why not call somebody to pick the organs up and send them to a broker?
I wasn’t sure why he sought me out but I decided to humor him - maybe this could be useful. But first I had to find out if he was a real worker or not.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The man didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring at me with his consistent smile.
I tried other questions.
“Where are you from?”
“Who sent you here?”
“How long have you been in the business for?”
Still no answer. I was at a loss, but remembered he asked me what I wanted for today. Jokingly, I asked for a kidney.
I wasn’t expecting him to take it literally.
His smile stretched and he beamed.
“Certainly!”
He turned around and reached into his wagon, pulling out a kidney from the bottom. It unnerved me that I couldn’t see the bottom of it. The wagon seemed to stretch down into a dark abyss.
He held out the kidney and I reluctantly took it from him. Still slick with blood, it almost slipped out of my hands. It looked like it was taken from a body seconds ago.
“Thank you for ordering!”
I could only stare as he turned away. I watched as he disappeared down the street. This left me with more questions than answers.
But what’s the harm in taking advantage of the situation?
I put the organ in a small cooler filled with ice and carried it out to the car. Our operation base - a hospital most of you are familiar with - wasn’t too far. I wanted to get it to the broker as soon as possible when the organ was most viable.
The babysitter came shortly after and I headed to work.
The middleman, who I called on the way, was already waiting for me when I arrived.
I opened the cooler for him and he took the kidney, giving it a quick look before putting it in a box with preservation fluid. Among it was a bunch of other organs he had probably picked up on the way. He didn’t ask me where it came from and I was glad - I wouldn’t know how to explain even if he did. I thanked him for coming and he drove off with a tip of the hat.
While I still clocked into work, I thought about what I would do if the wagon man showed up again. Can he give me any organ I asked for? What if I didn’t answer the door? What if I didn’t want to order anything?
Money was wired from time to time. I’m not sure where the middleman takes the organs, nor who sells them. Though not many sales are made in a month, one operation can make thousands. I got a good cut, and that was all I needed.
The next day, I wasn’t as surprised when I opened the door for him at the same time in the morning. He wore the same suit, same smile, and held the same red wagon. I ordered a liver this time. He pulled one from the wagon and handed it to me.
It was just as fresh as the kidney I had ordered the day before.
Though it was unsettling, I was excited. I could make great use of this opportunity.
“Thank you for ordering!” he said before walking away.
Again, I told the middleman to come pick it up from me. I gave the liver to him, he took it, and I went to work.
Over the next two weeks, I started testing the limits of what I could order, and I was pretty certain the limit was none. Whether it was a kidney, liver, or heart, he always reached into his wagon, and gave me what I wanted. If I ordered ten hearts he would give me ten. If I didn’t want to order anything, I could just tell him that and he would walk away. Additionally, he didn’t show up on the weekends, so I didn’t need to worry about my wife answering the door.
The idea of a supernatural being having weekends off was surreal to me, but I wasn’t complaining.
At some point, the middleman and I formed an unspoken schedule. Because of the high viability organs that I was providing, the money started raking in.
I went to work with more energy than before. The security that the money brought in affected me more than I would like to admit.
I was getting cocky.
You can’t afford to get cocky in this line of work. It’s a death wish. And I knew that, but it felt so good to have a source of goods with no strings attached.
The only time I was unsure was the time my wife got sick and stayed at home for three days. On the third day she woke up quite early.
I dreaded the knock on the door. I tried to usher my wife back to sleep, but she refused, saying she felt energized.
I positioned myself around the door when the knock came.
“I’ll get the door!” I shouted into the kitchen.
“Oh, is someone there?” she called back.
And that was when I learned nobody else could see or hear this mysterious wagon man. I felt relieved.
I cracked the door open and told him I didn’t want to order anything today.
“Certainly! Thank you for ordering!” he said, just like every day.
I didn’t bother to watch him leave anymore, closing the door before he left.
It went on like this for the next three months. Answer the door at 8, drive to meet the middleman, clock into work.
Three months before the party.
One night, I wanted to celebrate my success and my “hard work” of ordering organs while clocking into work for seemingly no reason now. On a Friday night, I drank more than usual and blacked out.
I woke up at 10am the next day, panicking about work. I shot up and threw myself into the bathroom and into some random clothes, before my wife walked in and asked what the commotion was all about.
Oh. It’s Saturday.
I grinned awkwardly, and I knew she knew what I was doing.
She shook her head and sighed. “Don’t drink too much next time.”
I changed back into more comfortable clothes before following her footsteps into the kitchen, where the kids were eating pancakes.
My wife stood at the stove and suddenly turned towards me as if she remembered something.
“Oh right! I almost forgot to tell you. I collected the mail last night and someone mailed you something, let me find it.”
She went towards the drawer next to the front door and pulled out a single brown envelope, handing it to me.
Upon inspection, there was no signature, no nothing, just my full name written on the front.
“Thanks,” I told her.
I had a suspicion it might be about work, so I distanced myself from my family before opening it.
Inside was a card with neat handwriting scrawled on the inside:
Invitation
The Annual Organ Harvest Party
For Loyal Members Only
-The Party Club
[ADDRESS], 4/14/2023, 10pm
No way. There was no way they could’ve invited me to something so special. I mean, I haven’t heard of it before, but after all this time, I was finally being recognized as a loyal member of the business. Maybe I could get promoted. Be part of the inner circle.
I ripped the note a few times and tossed it in the trash, my heart racing. When was the last time I had been this excited? After living in a monotonous routine for the past few years, something was finally happening and hard work was paying off.
There was about a week and a half until the date.
I calmed my racing heartbeat. I went back to the kitchen and told my wife that the envelope was from work, and that I would need to go to a company meeting on the 14th, lasting late into the night. She affirmed and brought a new batch of pancakes to the table. I patted my kid’s heads, ruffling through their hair, and joined them in devouring the stack.
Fast forward to the 14th. I had been waiting everyday in anticipation, time passing like a flash. I was ready to go out. I walked towards the door, but I suddenly thought about my medical bag, complete with a sewing kit and other materials. Who knows? I might need it later. After all, I didn’t know exactly how a party like this was organized.
I grabbed it and headed into my car, putting the address into maps. The place was pretty far. It was about a two hour drive. I started the engine and followed the navigation.
The drive led me to the outskirts of the city just before you reached the desolate roads. I approached a poorly lit company building, five stories high lined with glass windows. It looked out of place - too modern compared to its surroundings. The lights were on inside. I parked in the lot behind the building. There were quite a few cars already lined up, and I had arrived 10 minutes early.
I took my bag from the backseat and locked the car. As I turned towards the building, I noticed another person standing there in the distance. I walked a little closer and was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face.
“Hey!” I yelled at the middleman, waving at him.
He turned around in confusion but smiled once he recognized me.
“Hey there! You came to drop off other goods? How’d you find me all the way out here?” he joked.
I gave him my business laugh. I asked him if he received the invitation, and sure enough he received the same envelope I had.
We went into the building and were immediately greeted by a receptionist sitting at a table near the entrance. She wore a formal black dress, had her hair in a high bun and wore a flashy, silver necklace. Seated in front of a single computer atop a long table, the red tablecloth contrasted greatly with the white interior of the building. There was a corridor straight ahead with glass offices, occasionally branching off to either side.
“Hello! How may I help you?” she said, smiling at both of us.
“Hello, we are here to attend the party,” the middleman said.
“Show me your invitations.”
Luckily I remembered to bring it with me. I unfolded it from my back pocket and presented it to her, the middleman doing the same.
“Alright. Now tell me one interesting fact about yourself that no one else knows about.”
The middle man and I eyed each other in confusion. It wasn’t exactly surprising that The Party Club knew everything about us, but it was still unnerving to have them monitor me without my knowledge. Well, I did ask for this after all, joining this business.
The middleman and I took turns whispering into her ear about our secrets. I told her about the scar that I had under my lip from slamming my face into concrete after using an ab roller. Embarrassing, I know.
Once we were done, she clicked on her computer twice, seemingly satisfied.
“Welcome to The Party Club’s Annual Organ Harvest Party! Once you’re ready, head down and turn left. You will find the elevators. Take them to the third floor. Enjoy!” she exclaimed with that same, unwavering smile. Somehow, it reminded me of the man with the wagon, but I brushed it off as a coincidence.
“Ladies first!” I beckoned the middleman to walk ahead of me.
Following closely behind him, I looked back before I turned the corner. The lady was gone. I didn’t hear footsteps or any indication of movement. Maybe she left already.
We took the elevator to the third floor. It was completely empty despite the occasional pillar. There were already people inside, gathering and talking together in groups, getting to know each other. I estimated around 80 people.
Maybe this was something like another lobby and they were still setting up the main event?
From the whispers around, it seemed like it was everyone’s first time there. Weird.
Two loud claps hushed everyone. I looked towards the source.
“Welcome to the Annual Organ Harvest Party!”
I recognized that smile before anything else. It was the man with the wagon who had been supplying me.
“I hope you are all having a splendid time. With that, let’s get this party started!” he cheered.
Someone screamed. Some people jumped.
There were people blocking my view, so I stepped around people to get a closer look.
People were inspecting a young man who had his eyes wide open in terror, and his hands clutching his stomach. Through his pale sweatshirt, I could see dark red seeping through, and then running down his hands.
He collapsed to the ground.
I ran towards him and lifted his shirt.
His stomach had been cut open - a huge, vertical slit that ran from his mid chest to his lower stomach. Blood was pouring out, pooling around his limp body.
“Quick! Someone call 911!” I yelled.
But it was too late. His organs slid out of his body, floating towards the wagon like someone invisible was carrying them. They were storing themselves in there.
This party wasn’t for us to harvest. We were being harvested.
Someone else behind me screamed.
This time, it was an older woman. She held a phone to her ear - she had dialed the police. Her face scrunched up in pain and blood soaked into her cardigan, mirroring the man. She, too, slumped to the floor.
She clutched the phone to her face, and groaned out the next of her words, asking for help and informing the 911 operator of our address. Finally, she fell unconscious, the phone dropping as she lost control of her arms.
Chaos ensued. People ran for the elevators, tripping over each other. One by one, they fell to the ground.
It was like a countdown.
There was only so much time until it would reach me.
Shit, shit, shit. What do I do?
I needed to get out of here.
I sprinted towards the elevators, stepping around the people that fell. I saw the down button lit up - someone had managed to press it. Blood rushed into my ears, drowning out the screams.
The elevator doors slid open.
Almost there…
Pain split into my stomach.
Shit.
Blood seeped into my clothes and I fell on my back.
I panicked. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t-
The sewing kit. I had nearly forgotten I was holding my medical bag with a death grip.
There was no other choice.
I pulled my shirt up and wrenched the bag open, fumbling for the sewing kit. It was hard to thread the needle with my shaky hands, but I miraculously managed to get it after a few tries.
I started between my chest and sewed downwards. The stitches were messy but I just needed something to keep me together. I was losing a lot of blood. I didn’t have time.
I didn’t bother to cut the end of the suture. I forced myself to my feet, needle dangling off my body. I took the last 15 steps to the elevator and pressed the button.
The door opened faster than I expected. I stumbled inside and pressed the button to the first floor, leaning against the wall for support.
I pressed the door close button, jabbing it over and over again, looking through the open doors.
The wagon man was sprinting towards me. I could feel the wound threatening to open again, skin tugging against the sutures. I held myself together, wrestling with my own flesh.
The man was getting closer. I wasn’t going to make it. He would reach the elevator doors before they closed.
He suddenly fell to the side. Someone tackled him.
“No!” I cried out.
The interceptor and the wagon man both fell to the ground before the elevator.
Before the doors closed, the middleman said one last word to me.
“Live.”
The elevator hummed, going down to the main floor.
I repeated it in my head.
Live.
I needed to make it out of there. To tell everyone the truth about what happened to these victims. To carry on their wills.
The doors opened and I ran towards the entrance. My torso hurt like hell but I didn’t let that stop me. I turned and saw the glass doors in front of me.
I made it.
A glimmer of hope surged as I pushed the door open.
The moment I stepped outside, I was thrown forward.
The building exploded.
My ears rang. Glass shards flew everywhere.
I lost consciousness before I hit the ground.
——
Mumbling filled my ears. I opened my eyes.
I was in a hospital bed in the ICU. There were multiple things hooked to me and I was bandaged all over. There was a tube down my throat, assisting me with breathing. I tried to move but didn’t find the strength to. A nurse walked by and noticed that I was awake. She checked on my vitals, shining a light into my eyes.
“Hello? Can you hear me?” she asked. “Blink once for yes, twice for no.”
Though her voice was muffled, I blinked once.
“Good. Do you remember your name?”
I blinked once again before thinking.
Did I remember? I searched through my brain. Oh right, my name is [REDACTED].
She advised me to rest and would fill me in on the rest when time comes.
Throughout the next two weeks, I spent most of my time in bed recovering. My hearing came back and I was able to sit up eventually. The breathing tube was removed and I could eat on my own. My family visited me almost every day, filled with endless worry.
I was in a coma for two months.
4 broken ribs. Broken left shoulder. Multiple fractures. Severe head trauma. Traumatic brain injury. Eardrum damage. Nasal cavity damage. Ruptured lungs and internal organ damage. More than a few glass shards in the body. Second degree burns on the back. Near fatal blood loss.
I’m damn lucky to be alive.
The nurse told me I would’ve died without the stitches.
I only remembered fragments of what happened back then - only the explosion and bits and pieces of the party. As time passed, those memories slowly recovered.
I spent the next four months stabilizing in the hospital and then went to rehab for another two.
After paying off the hospital bills with my new fortune, I found a new job. A new, legit job very far away from where I used to work, and where I live now. I wanted to get as far away from The Party Club as possible and start anew. My family and I moved after a few months of careful planning.
I’m truly happy now, and doing well. For all those who are in the business, heed this as a warning. I beg you to quit and live an honest life.