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Part 1:
#x200B;
I heard the soldiers sweeping the house from room to room, dogs furiously barking outside. A car that sounded like its muffler had fallen off sometime during the Vietnam War idled on the street. They found the old woman, laying comatose in her bed, and tried unsuccessfully to rouse her, screaming orders at her over and over with no response.
I heard footsteps coming towards the door of the closet where we hid, and my finger tightened on the trigger. I was resolved to go down fighting, and not be captured and given a slow death on a blood-stained concrete slab in the basement of some building where the townspeople never go.
I saw Agent Hudson’s eyes narrow, the scope of the gun raised to chest height as he prepared to start shooting. The air felt electric with tension, and I tried not to even breathe too loudly, lest we be heard. My heart beat furiously in my ears, each thud seeming to betray my presence to the enemy. I tried to calm myself, to stop the trembling that swept across my body.
But then a commotion started on the street, and the soldiers began issuing orders and rushing outside. Firing started, and screams of agony and horror shattered the small, poverty-stricken town.
I slowly opened the door, expecting some sort of trap. But the shrieking and wails coming from outside could not have been staged- there was too much pain in the voice, intolerable. It sounded like their vocal cords would rupture from the effort, and then the screams were caught off, one by one. I walked softly to the window, seeing Hee-Jin still laying on the bed, unconscious. I would have to give her a dose of an opioid antagonist to prevent a likely overdose that would cause her to stop breathing and turn blue. For drugs like etorphine, we carried a pre-loaded red syringe that read, “Revivon: For Animal Use Only”. I had wanted to laugh when I first read it, but the CIA had assured me that etorphine was the safest and quickest method of immobilization, and that this was an antidote that would work on humans as well.
As I got to the window, seeing the cracked glass panes and ancient, splintering wood, a sudden urge to turn away came over, and I began sweating heavily. Chills ran up and down my body, and I felt unreal, not in the moment. It felt like I had just woken up in the middle of a dream, but when I looked outside, I knew my mind could not have conjured such atrocities in the course of a nightmare.
On a white, skeletal horse sat a red rider, his body twisted and dark, his features demonic and inhuman. The hooves softly clicked on the dirt and stones as the man rode over bodies, their faces frozen in horror. It seemed like I was looking at something not from the angles and geometry of our universe, as if space itself twisted around this horrendous being of power.
Its massive head formed the shape of an upside-down triangle, its crimson skin as smooth as fresh paint. Two bulbous, glistening eyes stared out straight ahead, unblinking. They looked like two spherical obsidian stones, as large as baseballs and seemingly without eyelids. They looked insectoid, or even entirely alien. Like the eyes of a poisonous snake, they radiated malice and power.
Underneath, it had some strange exoskeleton, its bones on the outside of its body, grooved and smooth, like a red shell rippling down its thin chest. Its legs jutted out the sides of the undead horse, like the legs of a praying mantis- sharp and muscular.
The horse, despite having no flesh or muscle on its body, moved quickly. It had two pure black eyes, like those of its master, though not nearly as strange. They didn’t form a bulbous, spherical mass, like those of the rider’s, but looked like two black stones embedded into its skull, shining with oil-spot rainbows and colors that glimmered off its eyes as they caught the sun.
A North Korean man ran across the street, and the rider on the horse pointed a long, festering finger in his direction and uttered a single word. The man stopped immediately, his eyes widening, the blood draining from his face. He began to claw at his own eyes, ripping them and shredding them, until blood streamed from the sockets and two empty, lidless voids stared out.
He began to choke and turn blue, as if he had swallowed his own tongue, and fell to the ground seizing and kicking. I saw his fingernails and lips becoming cyanotic as he laid on the dirt, as limp as a rag doll.
As if in response, the creature on the skeletal horse gave out a deafening, demonic shriek. It echoed across the mountains, reverberating in eerie waves. The voice sounded like thousands of voices spliced together, some simultaneously fading out while others rose in a harmonizing cacophony. It made a nightmarish sound, and goosebumps rose on my skin as I listened to the cry of this creature, a cry as alien and inhuman as anything I had ever heard.
I realized Agent Hudson was no longer standing next to me. He had the red syringe in his hand, injecting some of the Revivon into Hee-Lin’s neck. Her breathing seemed slow, far too slow for comfort, and her face looked pale, but within seconds, her breathing began to accelerate, and her eyes started to flutter. With a confused, sleepy expression, she opened her eyes, seemingly not realizing where she was or how she got there. Agent Hudson looked up, motioning for me to come over. I looked out the window. I saw countless bodies on the road, men, women and children all laying haphazardly next to one another.
The creature had stopped its incessant, demonic screaming, but the echoes still came back over the mountains, slowly dying down over a few seconds. My ears rang from the intensity of it, a high-pitched buzzing that made it hard to understand Agent Hudson’s words. I listened intently, looking at his lips.
“She knows something,” he said, his eyes cold and slitted. “We need to find out what’s going on here. I think it’s something far worse than we imagined.” I heard the distant clicking of the horse’s hooves as it passed down the street, trampling the dozens of corpses on the way.
“Oh, no, I knew it,” Hee-Jin said woozily, her head spasmodically moving from side to side. Her eyes, wide and full of terror, looked up at the ceiling as she lay on her ancient bed. Agent Hudson looked at me.
“Your Korean is far better than mine,” he said. “She will trust you more than me, simply because you know the language and look like her.” I shrugged.
“I’ll give it a shot,” I said. I pulled up a rickety chair, continuously glancing out the window, but the strange rider had passed by. He no longer screamed, and the silence outside seemed deathly. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air, coming through the cracks and broken windows of the dilapidated house.
“Hee-jin,” I said, pulling up close to her. She moved her head on the pillow, meeting my eyes. They were wide and very dark, filled with nightmarish memories and terrors that I couldn’t imagine. “What happened during the Arduous March? What caused the bodies to come back?”
“We don’t know where it started,” she said, “but it seemed to come from the forests north of here.” I looked knowingly at Agent Hudson, who nodded. That was where the biological weapons facility we had been sent to investigate was located- directly north, as the crow flies, not more than three or four miles from this town.
“And what was ‘it’?” I asked.
“The undead, but not just them,” she said. “They followed something inhuman, something that rode by on a horse. I never saw it, but I heard stories from survivors. They said its horse shone a pale color, made of bones, with pure black eyes, like those of its master. The military told us that it was a monster sent by the Americans or the South Koreans, and that our great leader Kim Il-Jong would respond in force by sending a thousand monsters to their country for every one that invaded ours. But others whispered that it was made by the Democratic People’s Republic itself, though they would never say it publicly, for fear of execution.”
“And how did it end?” I asked. “When the famine ended, the corpses and the rider went where?” She shrugged.
“The Chinese sent reinforcements to the border regions, and the DPRK began to fill every town around here with soldiers. Most of the Korean soldiers were starving, just like us, and they would take our food by force, whatever little we had. If anyone was caught hoarding more than a couple meals worth, they would be publicly executed.
“I spent that time foraging in the forest for herbs and mushrooms, and trying to capture small game, even eating rats and mice I caught in traps. I avoided the town as much as I could after I saw the first of the dead rise to life. It seemed to last forever, but then one day, the soldiers were gone, and food began to come back in slowly. We were given rice, and then bread, and the Arduous March came to an end, with millions of our comrades dead.
“It was so bad back then, you couldn’t leave the bodies of your loved ones out. They had to be buried immediately after death, otherwise you’d come back and find their bodies gone, or meat cut out from the legs and arms. Cannibalism ran rampant, and people ate grass and dirt just to fill their stomachs.”
“But you’re still eating grass,” I pointed out. She smiled sadly.
“Only once a day now,” she said, as if that made it acceptable. And in these hellish conditions, maybe it was. I had immense respect for this old woman, who had survived such hardships and starvation, and seen such horrors unleashed.
“How come none of this ever got out?” I asked. “No one in the rest of the world knows anything about the dead rising during the famine. We know that millions of people starved, but even finding out how many was impossible.”
“What happens here, stays here- with our people. It is our burden alone. Living here is like living in a reinforced fortress, with no one allowed to leave or communicate with anyone outside. Anyone who tries to leave is shot on sight. The police make sure you know the consequences of trying to leave, or of communicating with the outside world. They say no one should want to leave, because we are the greatest society in the world, the most equal and the most feared. No one would attack us, and that’s why I think maybe… it came from our own people.”
I was about to respond, when I heard the cracking of twigs and brush moving right outside of the house. Moving quietly to the window, I looked outside. The rider was gone, but now a horde of walking corpses streamed into the town.
They had blood coming from their mouths, their noses, their eyes, streaming yellowish, viscous fluid out of gaping wounds that ran down their bodies. Deep gash marks, bullet wounds or marks of torture shown out on their bodies, revealing bones and ligaments and gore underneath- a horrific sight that sent waves of fear through my body.
The smell that came with the wave felt like a solid wall of fetid rot, an odor so thick I could taste it, and I nearly retched. Like rotten cheese, decomposing tomatoes and rancid meat, that smell emanated out from the hundreds of corpses that gnashed their mouths, chewing the air constantly.
Their bloody eyes stared like doll’s eyes, blank and lifeless in their sunken faces. Most looked starved, and many were totally naked, though on some, rotting fragments of cloth still clung to their pale, lifeless skin, threadbare and clotted with blood. Yellow pus and mucus shone and glistened on their bodies as they moved forward, hungry and fearless, an army that seemed to emanate from one large hivemind, coordinating their movements like birds in a flock.
Hee-Jin didn’t see them, and in her partial opiate stupor, she may not have heard the subtle movements. They didn’t scream or shriek, unlike the rider, and they moved as silently as predators. Whatever few people still had life on the street began screaming again as their bodies got eaten alive, the corpses lunging forward at the human flesh on the street, falling upon it with powerful jaws. The screams were weak and panicked, the last gasps of dying men and women as they came back to a nightmare, even worse than before.
“Those who died during the famine came back,” she said. “Mobs of walking, undead children who ate even their own parents and grandparents, though many were orphans by that point. The parents died, too, from starvation, and their bodies were often eaten by the townspeople. Many turned to cannibalism, and human meat was sold on the black market during the darkest times. Women used to prostitute themselves just to get a bowl of rice, or a piece of bread. People would eat their own children and mothers, and strangers, or even friends, were killed for whatever little food they had.”
The walking corpses turned their heads towards the house, like bloodhounds who just got a whiff of their prey. As she kept talking, they began to rise from the still bodies they fed upon, converging upon the front door, a stream of rotting flesh and gaping mouths who now knew we were here.
“Agent Hudson,” I said in a trembling voice, “time to go.” He had seen it, too, and we started sprinting towards the back door. Hee-Jin didn’t rise, and didn’t seem to realize the danger. We had to save ourselves, and also had a mission to accomplish, one that seemed far more important than ever now. I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I left her behind, condemning her to a horrible and slow death.
Agent Hudson smashed through the rickety boards of the back door without even opening it, splintering the wood in an explosion of adrenaline. I followed through the hole. Hee-Jin began to scream in agony, and I quickly turned, seeing the frontmost corpses lunging forwards and eating her from the legs and stomach. Her eyes rolled in pain and horror, shrieking like a banshee as blood gushed from dozens of bites. The undead in the back of the streaming crowd stopped, looking at me while I stood in the door- an M67 fragmentation in my right hand, round and blue as a robin’s egg. I pulled the pin, throwing it an overhand arc that flew past in a blur and bounced off the floor of the kitchen, rolling into the bedroom across from me.
As I turned and ran, I saw Hee-Jin’s eyes, haunted, staring up at the ceiling as blood streamed from her stomach and legs. She moaned and whimpered constantly, no longer having the energy to scream. The creatures ripped the flesh off with their teeth, swallowing huge chunks of her body without chewing. It was a sickening sight, and even a few months later, recalling it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Agent Hudson had reached the edge of the woods. I was now thirty feet behind him, and I sprinted as fast as I could to give myself distance from the explosion I knew was coming. I counted down in my head: “Five… four… three… two…” But that was as far as I got.
A flash of light exploded out of the house, sending splintered boards and pieces of drywall flying in all directions. I looked back and saw a red ball of fire, catching the dry wood of the house in an instant. My ears rang from the ground-shaking roar of the grenade. I started to look forward again, but I tripped on a rock and went flying.
I landed on the grass, hitting my head hard against the dirt. It only stunned me for a few moments, but as I laid there, still too close to the house for any peace of mind, I heard a new sound coming from the house.
The corpses had started to make noises, but they didn’t scream. It sounded like a bloodthirsty crowd moaning in agreement as some fanatical leader whipped them into a frenzy of mass murder, or the cheering of Roman spectators in a Coliseum seeing men slice each other apart.
It sounded like hundreds of people, enraptured, saying, “Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!” Then, as the fire spread and the house quickly started to collapse on itself, it faded into silence.
#x200B;
Part 3
#x200B; |
Hey everyone, I didn’t really know where to turn with this information, but I figured this subreddit would be a good start.
I know that at first glance, you would probably think that I needed to post this in some type of meteorological subreddit, but once you’ve read what I’ve experienced, you’ll understand that this is far more complex than what my fellow storm chaser friends can help me comprehend. Maybe someone in this group can help provide me with some much needed answers. Either way, I’ve got to get this off my chest. I just need someone to hear me… And *believe* me.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always loved storms. My love of storms started from a very young age. I experienced my first tornado when I was seven.
*“Jamie, come on, we need to get into the basement!” my younger brother shrieked, clutching our toy pomeranian within his trembling arms, tiny, peg-like feet kicking in protest as she yipped.*
*I waved him on, my face glued to the tree limbs scattered across the yard and the leaves plastered to the sliding glass door that led out to our backyard. I was mesmerized.*
*“Jamie!” he called out again, his voice a sharp protest over the sounds of the howling storm.*
*“Stop being such a baby!” I hollered as I rolled my eyes.*
*I watched as his big blue eyes watered, bottom lip jutting out. He was completely petrified. The polar opposite of me. My mother shook her head, shooting me a glare before she took one of his hands into hers and dragged him towards the stairs.*
*“Don’t be so hard on him,” she yelled, her brows furrowed. “Nathan?” My father turned towards her, his face no longer plastered to the window beside me. “Please don’t stay up here too long.” Her eyes were pleading, but her voice was steady and controlled. Even in the midst of chaos, my mother was always the picture of patience. The calm in the storm.*
Fair warning, what I’m about to tell you is going to make me seem like I’ve *completely* lost my head, but I’m telling you right now, I witnessed this with my own eyes, and it most *certainly* happened. I’m a storm chaser, and today, the clouds fell from the sky. Well, correction, I thought they were clouds… But for the sake of what I’m about to tell you, that’s what they’re going to be called for now. Just bear with me. I know that you’re probably wondering if I caught this crazy phenomenon on camera, but… Well, let me just explain what happened. It will make more sense that way.
Without going into too much detail about where I live, it’s probably important to note that I reside in the South… In tornado alley. Now, what made this storm strange, is that in my specific area, tornadoes ramp up the most in April (291 tornadoes on average), and although late fall and winter tornadoes are not uncommon, this one was particularly bizarre.
I haven’t mentioned it to anyone except for one of my closest friends, but I know by the look on his face that he thinks maybe I had a moment of delusion, or psychosis, or perhaps something else entirely, but I *know* what I saw. And I ***know*** it was… Supernatural. This wasn’t just some mere storm. This is something I’ll never forget for as long as I live.
So here it goes: within my friend group of other storm chasing friends, I had quickly become known as the one who "danced with danger." I’d successfully chased some of the most life- threatening storms in my area, so I figured this one would be no different. In true Southern fashion, chasing storms is a lot like bull riding. You never know what you’re dealing with until you grab that sucker by the horns.
*This* was one of those instances. Nothing could have prepared me for the nightmarish encounter that awaited me that afternoon. When I hopped into my van to go chasing that storm, the last thing I’d expected was to get stranded in the middle of it.
“Jamie, you gonna be alright out there, man?”
The concern in my friend’s voice made me chuckle. “Listen, I’m sure this beast isn’t anything I can’t handle! I’m fully prepared to tackle it head-on.”
I heard the phone crackle before he responded. “I don’t doubt that you’re fully prepared, but this one’s supposed to be real bad. I really think you need to-”
Bryan’s voice cut out before he could finish his sentence. I sighed and tossed my phone over in my passenger seat. Stupid dead zone. As the storm approached, the atmosphere noticeably shifted. Hail rained down with a fury, pelting my windshield and beating against the sides of the van… But the winds were far worse.
Large gusts pushed and shoved against the vehicle with phantom-like hands as I fought to keep it on the road. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles whitened as I drove closer. This part was always my favorite. The buildup. The anticipation. The danger. It was almost like an adrenaline rush for me, and this storm was definitely my next fix. No matter what, I was hell-bent on capturing its true nature on camera. I just had a feeling about this one.
I worked methodically between keeping an eye on the road, keeping an eye to the sky, and keeping an eye on my doppler radar. For those of you who aren’t familiar with these, red is typically a target moving away from the radar, while green is applied to targets moving towards the radar. And right now? It was glaringly green. I’d struck gold.
When I finally came to a stop on the side of the road, a darkness enveloped me. As I positioned my storm-chasing van, my cameras recording, my radar equipment started to pulsate like a heartbeat.
“Gotcha,” I whispered aloud, excitement evident in my tone. This one was going to be massive.
But that’s when the impossible happened. The clouds, once swirling masses of gray and white, began to descend from the heavens. I cocked my head to the side, examining the sky with complete and utter horror. No longer fixed on the radar, my eyes widened. These weren't ordinary clouds. My heart pounded with terror when what appeared to be clouds descended closer and closer, quickly revealing something else entirely.
Ethereal and grotesque winged beasts fell from the sky in droves, their once-glorious wings now tattered and charred. My breath caught in my throat as I watched those celestial beings plummet from the sky, their faces twisted in agony and despair. A gasp caught in my throat as I watched them land all around the van, their bodies twisted and mangled, writhing on the ground. My radio cut in and out, the sound full of static. I couldn’t help but freeze when I made out the words of a familiar church hymn. I hadn’t heard it in ages, but it quickly sparked a memory.
*“Mama, what’s he going on about up there?” My little khaki clad legs swung from the church pew as I twisted the string from the hymn book around my pointer finger.*
*“Shhh, whisper,” my mother chastised, shaking her head disapprovingly. “He’s talking about fallen angels.”*
*“But I don’t understand-”*
*“Jamie, just listen.”*
*With a sigh, I tucked my legs under me and wiggled up on my knees so I could see the preacher better. Mr. Jenkins always sat in front of me, and I couldn’t ever see past his shiny bald head unless I moved a little to the right and adjusted my seating position.*
*The preacher was a tall, lanky man, and his hair was all salt and pepper. He had an unusually deep voice, but it was calm and warm, nothing like the “fire and brimstone” preacher my mom said she grew up with.*
*“Then, war broke out in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back.”*
*I cocked my head quizzically at his words before I looked over at my mother again, lightly tapping her on the shoulder and whispering into her ear, “Who is the dragon?”*
*“Satan. He’s about to tell you that, though. Just listen.” As she turned back towards the preacher, I pondered this for a moment before I did the same.*
*“But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in Heaven. The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.”*
The words formed on my tongue before my lips could even comprehend what I was uttering.
***“Fallen angels.”***
Something deeply rooted within me knew I should flee, but morbid curiosity held me captive. I continued to film, unable to tear my eyes away from the grotesque spectacle before me. There had to be at least a dozen that I’d counted so far. Until the thirteenth fell right on the hood of my van. The metal made a horrible crunching sound as its body dented it, the windshield shattering as one of its monstrously large wings protruded straight through it. A terrified scream left my lips as charred feathers flew across my lap, the very tip of the wing brushing against the collar of my shirt.
My breathing stilled then. A breath caught in my throat as I peered at the being in front of me. Despite being horribly deformed from the fall, her legs twisted and bent at weird angles, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Pale blue eyes stared up at the sky, tears streaking down her porcelain cheeks. Long blonde hair encircled her head in a halo of waves, cascading down around shoulders that were matted with blood.
With widened eyes, I watched as her chest slowly rose and fell. Her lips parted and brows scrunched as she choked on blood the color of rubies. She was breathing. She was still alive.
“Father!” she cried out, her voice a strangled sort of sound. “Why have you forsaken me?”
With a click, I hurriedly unlatched my seatbelt and made a move to shove open the van door.
*“Jamie.”*
I froze, my hand still on the door handle. My frightened gaze traveled over towards the voice coming from the woman who was still splayed on the hood of my van. Her head had suddenly turned, those hauntingly blue eyes now fixed on me.
“H-How do you know my-”
*“Come here.”* Her voice called to me, soft and smooth, dripping from her lips like golden honey. It was the most melodic sound I’d ever heard.
My hand slowly released the door handle, reaching out towards her instead. Her outstretched hand was bloodied and raw, but her eyes were reassuring.
“I won’t hurt you,” her words promised.
With shaky hands, my fingertips trembled the moment hers intertwined within my own. And then, I screamed. I screamed and screamed and ***screamed***. The amount of pain that radiated throughout my entire body felt like being dropped into a pit of fire, the flames licking my skin and burning at the flesh. Desperate cries left my lips as I tried to pull away, but she clung onto me with a vice-like grip. The only thing that cut through my agonizing wails was her voice, clear as a bell in my ear.
“Jamie…” she hissed, eyes glowing unnaturally bright as her hands gripped mine so hard that her nails bit into the tender flesh. “Do you believe in God?” she questioned, the words gritted out between clenched teeth.
My lips trembled as I cried, the pain almost becoming too much to bear. I shook my head and pleaded with her instead. “Please…” I croaked, my words coming out in between strangled breaths. “Please let go.”
***“Answer me,”*** she demanded, blood pouring from her nose and seeping into the tattered skin of her cheek. It was as if she was transforming before my eyes, her body changing into that of something hideously frightening.
“Yes…” I managed to sputter out. “Yes, I believe.”
A dark chuckle fell from her lips, her body quaking as blood sputtered up from her throat, imitating a geyser. The flesh along her scalp wriggled and writhed. Her once beautiful blonde hair broke free and blew away in the breeze like a tumbleweed. Large blisters popped and exploded across her torso, a cottage cheese-like substance bubbling up and oozing across her body as she wasted away in front of me.
“You silly human,” she spat. “You believe in a God that dooms my soul to this kind of torment?”
My brows furrowed as I choked back another round of screams, the pain I felt transforming into ice cold water, so cold that it was as if I was burning all over again. Like I was being plunged beneath the surface of a polar cap in the dead of the winter. It was so cold that I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even scream.
“Please…” I begged. “Please stop this.”
And then, before I even realized what I was doing, I felt my lips form the words.
The words I’d said countless times before dinner. The words I mumbled sleepily when my mother tucked me into bed at night. The words I muttered under my breath just before my very last exam in college. And the words I cried when I helped lower my mother’s body into six feet of rich, muddied Earth.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven-”
***“Stop!”*** she screamed, her body now melting into a thick sludge and sliding off of the hood of my car like melted caramel.
“Hallowed be thy Name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.” My voice shook as I fought past the pain, clinging to the words instead of focusing on the fear that was racing through my system and spiraling out of control.
***“NO!”*** she screeched, the lower half of her torso now completely gone.
“Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation.” My shouting grew louder as her fingertips slowly slipped from my own, the pain from before dampening into a dull throb.
*“Jamie…”* she pleaded, her eyes slowly melting out of her sockets like an over-easy egg.
Nausea stirred within me as I clenched my eyes shut and continued on. “But deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever-”
***“He’ll turn his back on you too!”*** I heard her cry before her fingertips slowly released mine.
When I eventually pried open my eyes, one last word fell from my lips as I leaned back against my seat, cradling my hand against my chest.
“Amen.”
When I finally got the nerve to step out of my van, I was increasingly confused. There were no signs of the angel on my hood or the others on the ground. The only thing that lay in their wake was a large pile of dust, but even that was being swept away in the wind.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” I whispered under my breath.
As I staggered back towards my car, I searched high and low for my camera. I just needed some type of confirmation of what I’d seen play out before my very eyes. But when I finally found it, catapulted into the back of my van under the passenger side seat, there was nothing but scraps and pieces of it. I scrambled around in hopes of finding the SD card, but that was nowhere in sight. Every last speck of hope that I had in trying to prove that this actually happened was crushed. *No one* would believe me.
And then my phone rang.
“Bryan?” I croaked, as I leaned back against the driver’s side seat, still gaping at the giant hole in the windshield.
“Jamie, are you alright? That storm stirred up all kinds of stuff. It’s a complete mess. I don’t think I’ve seen one this bad in…”
As Bryan droned on, I couldn’t help but notice something. A singular white feather, slightly singed, sat on the dash of my car. Glass was scattered all around it, but my fingers couldn’t help reaching out towards it almost of their own accord.
“Jamie?” Bryan questioned. “You still there, man?”
“I, um…” As I stumbled over my words, the feather clutched between trembling fingertips, I finally managed to mumble out, “Bryan… Do you believe in God?”
“Well…” I heard him pause and then say, “I suppose so. I mean, there’s got to be something out there bigger than us, right?”
Nodding my head, more to myself than him, my eyes suddenly dropped down to my hand, the feather falling from my grasp and floating down into my lap. Five angry, red, crescent-like shapes were burned into my flesh. This was real. This was real. ***This was real.***
|
I had always loved being a radio host. It was my passion, my dream, my escape from the mundane reality of life. I didn’t mind the long hours, the modest pay, or the isolation. Connecting with my listeners, playing their favorite songs, and sharing my thoughts on various topics brought me joy, even though I’d never met any of them in person.
But everything changed on one fateful night, when an unexpected call disrupted my world.
It was nearing midnight, and I was in the midst of my late-night show. Having just finished playing a classic rock tune, I was about to introduce the next song when the phone rang. I picked it up and greeted the caller with my usual charm:
“Hello, you’re on the air with DJ Mike. Who’s calling, and where are you tuning in from?”
A momentary silence hung in the air, then a voice broke it—a deep, raspy voice tinged with urgency and fear.
“Hello, Mike. I’m sorry for interrupting your show, but I need to talk to you. It’s crucial.”
“Of course, go ahead. What’s on your mind?”
“I know the truth about Project X.”
A shiver ran down my spine. Project X had long been dismissed as a conspiracy theory, but the way this caller spoke made me question my skepticism.
“What do you mean? What is Project X?”
“I can’t reveal everything now. It’s too risky. They might be listening. But you need to know this: You’re in danger, Mike. You’re a part of Project X.”
“What? How? What are you talking about?”
“Your radio station isn’t what it seems. It’s no ordinary station. It’s a transmitter for Project X. They use it to broadcast signals to the surrounding area, and you’re their unwitting subject, Mike. They’ve been experimenting on you for months.”
My disbelief and anger surged. This had to be a sick joke.
“That’s absurd! Impossible! Who are you, and how do you know all this?”
“I was one of them, Mike, or at least I used to be. I worked on Project X, but I couldn’t bear it any longer. I couldn’t stand what they were doing to you and others. So, I decided to expose them and warn you.”
“Why me? Why are they doing this?”
“They have different goals, Mike. Some want to create a new world order, some seek war, some play God. But they all share one thing: They don’t care about human lives. They don’t care about you, Mike. You’re just a test subject to them—a disposable tool.”
My stomach churned. I wanted to end this nightmare, but something inside urged me to listen further.
“What should I do? How can I escape?”
“You can’t face them alone, Mike. But you can save yourself. You need to leave the station immediately.”
“Why? What’s going to happen?”
“They’ve initiated the countdown, Mike. In 10 minutes, they’ll activate Project X.”
“Activate? What will it do?”
“I don’t know precisely, Mike, but I’m sure it won’t be good for anyone who hears it.”
“Then let’s go! We need to get out of here!”
I dropped the phone and raced to the door, but it was locked, resisting my efforts.
Frantically, I searched for another exit, but none presented itself.
I was trapped within the station’s walls.
With Project X’s ominous voice echoing in my mind.
Panic set in as the seconds ticked away. I tried to reach out to the mysterious caller, but the line had gone dead. The countdown continued, and my heart raced.
Suddenly, a chilling thought struck me—what if the caller had been right all along? What if Project X wasn’t just a wild conspiracy theory? The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The strange occurrences I had noticed, the mysterious technical glitches during broadcasts, and the unusual experiments conducted at the station—all seemed to connect to Project X.
Desperation fueled my determination to escape. I rushed to the control room, hoping to find a way to override the broadcast. But the controls were locked behind a security code. I frantically searched for clues, and then it hit me—the caller had been part of the project. Maybe he knew the code.
I dialed the number again, praying for a response. After several agonizing seconds, the raspy voice returned.
“Mike, you don’t have much time. I can help you stop Project X, but you have to trust me.”
I hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Okay, tell me what I need to do.”
The caller guided me through a series of intricate steps to bypass the security code. With trembling hands, I followed his instructions, my every move synchronized with the ticking countdown.
Finally, I heard a soft click. The controls were unlocked. I quickly disabled the broadcast, ending the countdown just moments before the fateful activation.
A wave of relief washed over me as silence descended upon the station. I was safe—for now.
But the caller’s voice returned, filled with urgency once more. “Mike, you’ve stopped it this time, but they won’t give up. You’re a threat to them now. You need to disappear, go off the grid. They’ll come after you.”
I knew he was right. My life as I knew it was over. I had to leave everything behind—the radio station, my home, my identity.
As I hung up the phone, I realized that my passion for radio had unwittingly thrust me into a world of secrets and danger. I was no longer just a DJ; I was a target, a survivor, and a guardian of the truth about Project X.
With the weight of the unknown on my shoulders, I vanished into the night, determined to uncover the secrets hidden within the airwaves and protect the world from the sinister forces that lurked behind the radio waves. |
Hello, A few weeks ago, I bought an old, long-abandoned house and, of course, did a lot of cleaning. In the process, I came across an old diary with the inscription "Lazarus Serum Experiments," which apparently belonged to the previous owner of the house. I find the content very intriguing, but even though it could potentially explain the peculiarities of the house, I simply can't believe that all of this actually happened. Anyway, here is the content of the first three entries:
March 25, 1986: From now on, I will document my experiments in this book, as I am soon ready to start my first attempt. My first subject is a bird that apparently died due to an illness and seems externally intact. I dare not use a larger subject as my initial research base, as I am well aware of the risks. Furthermore, the room for the subject is a windowless basement chamber with a double-lockable metal door. If all goes well, the substance I have created should be able to bring the subject back to life. Tomorrow it will finally be time.
#x200B;
March 26, 1986: The night passed agonizingly slowly as I waited for morning to break. My basement lab was filled with oppressive silence, only interrupted by the occasional drip of the faucet in the corner. The cold of this windowless room crept into my bones, creating an unsettling shiver. The metal door behind me felt like it was sealing out the darkness. The dead bird, which I had kept in a box, now lay on the rusty metal table in the center of the room. Its lifeless eyes stared at me, as if holding a grim secret.
With trembling hands, I secured the subject on the table, its wings and legs strapped with leather restraints. The light from the sparse bulb above me cast eerie shadows in the room, and I could hear the faint hum of electricity, which condensed into an ominous whisper in my ears. Slowly, almost mechanically, I picked up the syringe with the serum. Its contents shimmered in a pale, unnatural green. My heart raced as I inserted the needle and injected the first drop of the serum into the bird's lifeless body. I felt my breath catch as I slowly pressed the serum into its veins.
The subject suddenly moved, its wings twitched uncontrollably, and a faint, tortured caw escaped its beak. A shiver ran down my spine as I saw its eyes move as if slowly awakening to life. I left the room to prevent the reanimated creature from escaping and stared at the camera feed for the rest of the day, unable to detect any further movement from the subject. It seems that the serum was only successful for a very short time, but I will verify this with my own eyes tomorrow.
#x200B;
March 27, 1986: Yesterday's events have plunged me into a whirlpool of fear and confusion. When I returned to the basement this morning, the bird was on the table where I had left it. It lay motionless, as if it had never awakened, and its eyes were once again lifeless, showing no signs of life. It was as if nothing had happened yesterday. I glanced at the surveillance camera recording the room. The footage clearly showed the bird coming to life yesterday, but now it had reverted to its dead state. Uncertainty gnawed at me as I approached the subject. I checked for its heartbeat, but there was none, and there was no response at all. Carefully, I removed the restraints from its wings and legs to dispose of the failure and toss it into the flames.
As I leaned over to examine the creature more closely, I suddenly felt a cold draft and heard a faint fluttering. Startled, I jumped back, and the bird rose with a single, croaking cry. It landed on the floor of the basement and began to spin wildly, its wings flapping in an eerie pattern. But this time, it felt different. It was not a lively movement but a grotesque distortion of life and death, as if it were trapped between both states. I froze in terror, unable to take my eyes off the bird. It seemed to lose itself in the room as its cries grew more desperate. This was not a revival; it was a grotesque perversion of life that should never have existed. Panicked, I rushed out of the basement and locked the metal door behind me.
The subject remained inside, still trapped in this bizarre dance. I honestly don't know how to react to this development. What is certain is that I need to further examine the subject. Theoretically, it should starve to death on its own in the near future. In any case, I will call my good friend and colleague, Dr. Smith, today and ask him to pay me a visit.
#x200B;
|
#x200B;
When I was nine years old, my grandfather gave me a present. There was nothing extraordinary about it. Just a nondescript brown box with my name haphazardly scrawled atop it. Even so, my young self was enthralled by it.
I wish he’d never given it to me.
“Now Jonathan, before I hand this to you, I need you to make me a promise,” Grandpa smirked, holding the parcel just out of my reach.
“What is it?” I huffed, crossing my arms.
Grandpa’s expression instantly shifted. His jovial demeanor melted, leaving a cold, stern visage in its wake. I’d never seen anything like that before, and it frightened me.
“Promise me that you won’t open this until your eighteenth birthday.”
My heart sank. Why was Grandpa dangling a gift in front of me if he didn’t want me to open it for another nine years?
“But… why?” I asked, tears welling in my eyes.
“Look kiddo, I’m getting old and I don’t know how much longer I have left. I want to make sure that I get this to you before that day comes. This gift… it’s special. I want you to be more mature once you open it so you’ll use it wisely,” he said, placing a loving hand on my shoulder.
“But I d-don’t want you to d-die, Grandpa. I love you.” I couldn’t contain my sobs any longer. I began wailing, fat sloppy tears tumbling down my cheeks.
“Hey, hey, now. No need to cry. This is just a precaution, okay? We still have plenty of time together. I know what’ll cheer you up,” Grandpa grinned, that warm, tender smile cutting off my water works. “Ice cream.”
That did the trick. All my worries washed away with a nice, big bowl of Cookies N’ Cream. That day will always stand out in my mind. Because contrary to Grandpa’s reassurances, we did not have plenty of time left. He passed away two days later.
Grandpa died due to complications from a triple bypass surgery he’d had three months prior. The stint in one of his arteries didn’t hold up. He lost his life in the back of an ambulance just half a mile away from the hospital. I was devastated.
Grandpa had always been such a rock in my life. He was my best friend, my confidant, my life guide. And I was completely lost without him.
That month, I cried more than I ever had in my entire nine years of existence. Grandpa was the first relative I had lost, which only made my struggle for closure that much more difficult. The funeral was a blur. Though I was absolutely crushed, it was nice to see how many people came to pay their respects. I was glad to know that Grandpa was so loved.
I found myself alone in my room a lot after that. My eyes would often wander to the brown package. Though I came close on a multitude of occasions, I never opened it. I had to respect Grandpa’s wishes.
As the years passed on, I gradually forgot about the box. It had migrated to the top shelf of my closet. Soon, it wasn’t even an afterthought. My priorities had shifted. Girls, video games, and my growing gang of buddies garnered my full attention.
Before I knew it, my eighteenth birthday was upon me. By the time I was done celebrating with family and friends, I was exhausted. I collapsed onto my bed, sending a small tremor throughout the room. As if on cue, I heard something fall inside my closet.
My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Grandpa’s gift.
I bolted to the closet and threw open the door. There it was, lying face-down among heaps of dirty clothes. I picked up the box, blowing off the thick layer of dust coating its packaging. My own hastily written name greeted me in black, faded letters.
I didn’t hesitate. I tore open the gift like a child on Christmas day. Nine years. I’d waited nine excruciating years for this moment. My jaw fell open when I laid eyes upon what lay within.
Inside, shrouded in wrapping paper, was the most beautiful watch I had ever seen. It was ornately decorated. A glimmering gold band with a matching gold face shimmered up at me. The hands ticked meticulously around twelve elaborately emblazoned numbers. I was in awe.
It all began to click. Grandpa wanted me to wait until I was older to open the gift so that I’d take care of it. Younger me probably would have been a bit more careless. I began to fasten the shiny gold band around my wrist when a piece of paper fluttered to the ground at my feet. I set the watch down along with the box and picked it up.
Dear Jonathan,
Happy eighteenth birthday! I hope that I will be there to celebrate this monumental milestone alongside you, but if I’m not, know that I love you with all my heart. Though I may not be there in person, I will always be with you in spirit.
Tears began trickling down my cheeks. Dozens and dozens of memories of our time together assaulted my brain all at once, like some sort of intense collage. I missed him so much. I almost put the paper down and locked the watch away for the night, but I forced myself to continue reading.
I have entrusted you with my most valuable possession. It may look like an ordinary wristwatch, but its value is immeasurable. Below, I have included a small list of instructions and rules for wearing the watch. Please be mindful of its abilities and treat it with the utmost care. There is only one of its kind in existence.
This watch has the ability to control time. There is a dial on the side of the watch. Pull this dial out to pause time. Turn it backward or forward until you reach your desired point, then push the dial back in to resume. Use this sparingly.
Do not travel forward or backward in time by more than a week. This could have serious implications on the time/space continuum.
Do not use the watch for nefarious purposes. You’re a good boy, so I know that won’t be an issue, but just in case I have to spell it out for you, do not use the watch for the acquisition of large sums of money, sexual favors, or expensive worldly possessions.
Read this part carefully. Whatever you do, MAKE SURE that the watch does not get damaged. As previously stated, this is a one-of-a-kind item. You do not want to meet the creature charged with fixing it. The price to do so is steep.
I’m trusting you with this, Jonathan. Follow the instructions, and you will prosper. Failure to do so will result in rather unpleasant consequences. Reap its benefits wisely. Again, have a happy birthday, Grandson.
Love,
Grandpa
Was this a joke? Maybe Grandpa had some sort of degenerative disease that I hadn’t picked up on. There was only one way to find out.
I fastened the watch around my wrist. I turned it over a couple times, admiring its elegance. Grandpa sure did have good taste. I held my breath as I reached for the dial. This was it - the moment of truth.
I pulled the dial out and - nothing. The watch’s hands stopped ticking, but other than that, I didn’t notice anything strange.
Must just be an ordinary watch after all.
I didn’t even bother to push the dial back in. I began to trudge downstairs dejectedly. Even if the watch didn’t have any supernatural abilities, at least Mom would think it was cool. I rounded the corner to the stairs and nearly tripped. I stopped in my tracks, mouth agape. I struggled to comprehend the scene before me.
Mom had her back to me. She was standing over a pot. But the steam was frozen in place. It wasn’t moving - and neither was Mom.
I continued to drink in my surroundings. The TV was paused between scenes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Dad was seated in his favorite armchair, glancing down at his phone. A mug of green tea was raised halfway to his lips. But that meant…
I snapped out of my stupor, pushing the dial back in. Everything picked up right where it had left off, like nothing had happened. Andy Samburg screamed through the television at some comically ignorant street thug, Dad loudly sipped his tea, and Mom hummed a soft tune as steam wafted up from the pot. It worked. It really worked.
I tried it again just to be sure. Everything froze, just like it had the first time. A smile began to inch its way across my lips. I was going to have a lot of fun with this thing.
The remainder of the weekend passed about as you would expect. I used the watch whenever it benefitted me. I skipped past Mom’s hundredth lecture of the week on why vaping is bad (I don’t even vape). I rewound my turns in our weekly game of Uno to shift the odds in my favor. I paused time to fart in a crowded elevator. You get the drift. I was having the time of my life.
When Monday rolled around, I was ecstatic. I’d been dealing with some particularly nasty bullies, and I was really looking forward to teaching them a lesson.
I skipped through all my morning classes and resumed right at lunch time. I wasn’t hungry - well, not for food. I was hungry for revenge.
It didn’t take long before the bastards waddled into the cafeteria and sauntered straight up to me. Carson and Dillon were on the heavier side. They liked to use their weight to their advantage, especially against vertically challenged kids such as myself.
“Sup, Bitch Boy. That sandwich of yours is looking pretty tasty. I hope you don’t mind if I take a few bites,” Carson said, shoving me aside while licking his crusty lips. I grinned, reaching for the watch.
“I don’t mind one bit,” I replied, pulling out the dial.
I watched as Carson’s grubby hand froze right before it grabbed hold of my turkey sandwich. The noisy cafeteria instantly went deathly silent. Hundreds of kids sat still as statues, all focused on their own menial activities. Though I had all the time in the world, I didn’t hesitate.
I shot up from my seat and began punching Carson hard in the face. Dillon was next. I released all the pent up rage that had been bubbling inside me for the majority of my senior year. I showed them no mercy. After the months of torment they had put me through, I wanted those two to suffer.
Once I was done beating the ever-living crap out of them, I took Carson’s arms and fashioned them around Dillon’s waist. I gave Carson a wedgie, then clasped Dillon’s fingers around his underwear. Next, I pushed their faces together until their chubby lips were touching.
I patted myself on the back. It was so satisfying to see them like that. And it was even more satisfying when I pushed the dial back in. I was elated when kids began pointing and laughing.
“Hey, look at those two! Gross!”
“Ew, get a room!”
“Ugh, that’s disgusting!”
The pair immediately recoiled. They were dumbstruck. The pure shock on their faces was priceless. My heart raced with excitement as the pain began to sink in. Tears spilled down Carson’s cheeks. Dillon placed a hand over his left eye, staring daggers at me with his good one. He leaned in close and whispered into my ear.
“I know you did this somehow. This isn’t over.”
“Ooh, I’m so scared. Are you and your lover going to kiss me to death?”
Dillon raised a fist, but thought better of it. He lowered his head in defeat.
“We’ll make you pay. You’ll see.”
The bullies both flipped me off as they turned to leave. They trudged out of the cafeteria, rubbing their bruised faces as kids relentlessly hurled insults at them. I almost felt kind of… bad for them. Until I remember how shitty they’d been to me, that is.
The rest of my day was going by without a hitch. Thanks to the watch, I had successfully found the answer key to the science test I’d forgotten to study for and I ensured that I would pass with flying colors. I was shooting my shot with one of the cutest cheerleaders in school when it happened.
“So I was thinking, maybe you and I could catch a movie this Saturday? You know, like if you’re-”
Slam.
Pain streaked across the right side of my face as I was brutally bashed into a locker. My arms were pinned to my side and I couldn’t move.
“Sorry, Jonathan. I don’t date losers like you,” Jenny said as she pretentiously flipped her hair behind her and walked away. I turned my attention to my attackers.
“What the hell! I had a decent shot with her before-”
Smack.
A fist connected with my face. I was seeing stars.
“Shut up. I know it was you. You seriously embarrassed us earlier. I’m going to kick your fucking teeth in.”
Carson and Dillon. Just as I’d suspected. My heart thumped like a jackhammer in my chest. I couldn’t reach the watch. Unless a teacher just happened to walk by, I was screwed. And then, the worst possible outcome played out.
“That’s a pretty nice watch you’ve got there. Maybe I’ll take that as a down payment,” Carson snickered, reaching for my wrist.
“No, fuck you. Leave the watch alone,” I growled, thrashing wildly to keep it out of his grasp. It was no use.
“I can see that this watch has a lot of value to you. It’d be a damned shame if something was to… happen to it.” A wide, manic grin stretched across Carson’s lips. My eyes grew wide as saucers. No. This couldn’t be happening.
Carson grabbed my wrist and began slamming the watch against a locker. He smashed it over and over again. Once. Twice. Three times. I shut my eyes before every blow. And then, the moment I had been dreading. Everything stopped.
I slowly forced my eyes open. Time had been paused. I snatched my wrist away from Carson and wiggled out of Dillon’s grip. My heart plummeted into my stomach when I glanced down at the watch.
Shards of glass littered the floor. The hands had stopped ticking. The hour hand was mangled, facing directly up in the air. I nearly passed out when I looked at the side of the watch. The dial was completely missing. I frantically searched for it, eventually finding it along with the debris on the ground. I tried to shove it back in. No effect.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I think it’s been at least a week, but I can’t be certain. There’s no way to gauge the passing of time when it’s been paused like this. I’ve got all the necessities that I need to live, but I’m terrified. Not at the notion that time will never resume… no, I’m afraid that it will.
I’ve been seeing him. The watch repairman that Grandpa mentioned in his letter. He started off far away, but he’s getting closer and closer. No matter how far I run, no matter where I hide, he always finds me. Just the sight of him sends fear coursing through every fiber of my being. Because this man, this… thing - it has no face.
I have a feeling that I won’t survive when it catches up to me, so I need to get my story out there. I’ve preset this post to upload tomorrow. That way, if time does resume, this story should get out to the world.
|
I've always been a skeptic. Ghosts, aliens, monsters – they were all just stories to me. But after what I experienced in the Southwest, my perspective on the unknown has been forever altered.
I was on a road trip with my best friend, Jake. We had decided to take a detour through the Navajo reservation in Arizona, mainly because of the scenic beauty and the rich history of the area. We had heard tales of skinwalkers, but we laughed them off. They were just myths, right?
Our first day on the reservation was uneventful. We visited a few local spots, interacted with some of the locals, and set up camp near a canyon. As night fell, we sat around our campfire, sharing stories and enjoying the serenity of the desert. Around midnight, Jake decided to turn in. I stayed up, mesmerized by the stars. The Milky Way stretched across the sky, and I felt a profound sense of peace. That is, until I heard it.
A low, guttural growl echoed through the canyon. I froze, thinking it might be a coyote or a mountain lion. But then, I heard a voice. It was distorted, as if someone was speaking through a broken radio, but it was unmistakably Jake's voice. "Come here," it beckoned.
Confused, I turned to our tent. Jake was sound asleep. The voice called out again, this time from the opposite direction. I grabbed a flashlight and shone it towards the source. What I saw will haunt me forever.
Standing on a ridge was a figure. It looked like a man, but its limbs were elongated, and its eyes glowed a sickly yellow. It wore tattered clothing, and its skin was a mottled gray. But the most disturbing part was its face. It was Jake's face.
I stumbled back, my heart racing. The creature mimicked Jake's voice again, "Come here." It took a step towards me, its movements jerky and unnatural.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain on my arm. Looking down, I saw a deep scratch, blood oozing out. The creature had marked me. I bolted to the tent, shaking Jake awake. "We need to go. NOW!" I hissed.
As we sped away in our car, I glanced in the rearview mirror. The creature stood in the middle of the road, watching us, its yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.
We didn't stop driving until we reached the nearest town. We checked into a motel, and I spent the night researching skinwalkers. The legends said they were witches who could take the form of animals or people, using their voices to lure victims.
The next few nights were restless. I'd wake up to that same distorted voice calling my name, and the scratch on my arm seemed to burn and throb. It was clear that the creature had not only marked me but was now haunting my every move.
Jake and I decided to consult a local Navajo elder. He told us that by interacting with the skinwalker, I had inadvertently invited it into my life. The only way to rid myself of its torment was to confront it and perform a purification ritual.
With heavy hearts, we returned to the reservation. The confrontation with the skinwalker was terrifying, but with the elder's guidance, we managed to complete the ritual.
The haunting ceased, but the scars, both physical and emotional, remain. The Southwest is beautiful, but it holds secrets that are beyond comprehension. And I'll never set foot on the Navajo reservation again.
To all of you reading this, please, be careful when you venture into unknown territories. Some legends are rooted in truth, and some nightmares are very, very real. |
My father had always forbidden me to spend the night or be alone at my grandfather's apartment. Whenever I asked my father why, he simply shrugged and said I would understand when I grew older. Well, now I’m 35 years old, and guess what, I do understand, or at least I thought I did. During my teen years and well into my 20’s, I always assumed my grandfather suffered from some kind of mental illness - some of my friends even suggested that he was some kind of a creep, especially after what happened to my brother.
My grandfather spent a lot of time in Africa, and I do mean a lot of time. I only did see him in the summertime, when he came home to Denmark to visit me and the rest of my family. He always brought home gifts, so me and my brother were always looking forward to his visit. However, as the years went by, the gifts became stranger, and stranger. I do remember one time, when I was maybe 12 or 13 years old, my grandfather brought home some kind of lizard, which was preserved in a bottle of alcohol. He explained to me that the contents of the bottle would protect me, but how and from what I can’t remember. I do however remember how I almost cried as I pulled the lizard bottle out from the case and my fathers outrage about this strange gift.
My grandfather was a very handsome man, and you would never have guessed his real age. He was a real ladies man, and he seduced a lot of women, even some of my moms friends, which as I grew older, really impressed me, since they were half his age. When I think about it, I do remember some of my lady friends found him to be quite interesting and attractive. Everyone seemed to get along with him fine, and this just added to my confusion about not being allowed to be alone at his place.
The apartment my grandfather lived in was a part of a larger building my father owned. The apartment was on the top floor and quite big and spacious. Most of the supporting wood beams were exposed, and some of the ceiling beams were covered in strange signs and symbols. Because the apartment's floor was covered in a dark carpet and the wooden beams themselves were somewhat dark, the few windows had some trouble lighting up the place, so the place had a very cozy and relaxing atmosphere.
My favorite room was the living room. The living room was a rather large room, at one corner was a small office space, with a desk, chairs, bookcases, and in the opposite corner a glass cabinet with a small table. In the middle of the room were a seating area with 5 comfy chairs, each with their own small standing ashtray in brass and oak, and a round table with plenty of space. At the back of the room was the best feature, a rather large rustic stone fireplace, quite uncommon in danish apartments. In front of the fireplace were two big majestic chesterfield armchairs. A square mahogany table with maple inlays stood between the chairs. At either side of the fireplace were two towering mahogany bookcases, with carved symbols and figurines on the edges.
The apartment was always very clean and tidy - even when he was in Africa, this always puzzled me, since my father insisted that no one would come and clean. Throughout the apartment were a lot of artifacts, charms, relics and other strange stuff. One of the more exotic things was a beautiful wooden door, with a very realistic naked African woman carved onto it.
I remember my brother and I were always allowed to play with all the small figurines, games, charms and of course, dress in all of the funny african outfits. There were only a few items we were forbidden to touch or play with - I do not recall how they looked, but they were all locked away in the glass cabinet in the living room. Only my brother was ever left alone at one time in the apartment when I was around 10 years old and he must have been around 12. I remember how he was crying and shaking when me, dad and my grandfather came back from the bakery and found him by the glass cabinet, which he somehow had unlocked and opened. My grandfather was furious and threw a tantrum, yelling and pointing in different directions, switching between danish and some unknown language, it was almost like he was scolding the empty air itself.
After that day, my brother never wanted to return to the apartment. I never got a straight answer from him about what happened, and the few times I have brought it up and asked what really happened, both my brother and my dad assured me that my brother was simply frightened by something, even though their eyes and demeanor always told a completely different story.
We slowly lost contact with my grandfather after that incident, he visited us fewer times, and almost stopped sending postcards. The gifts he brought when he did visit became stranger and stranger still, and after about 4 or 5 years almost all contact with him had ceased. Only my dad talked to him on special occasions.
After many, many years, the day came when I got a call that turned an otherwise sunny day into a dark one. My grandfather had died in Africa and apparently had been dead for some time. Therefore my dad had to fly to Africa to handle my grandfather's estate rather hastily, and for moral support, my brother chose to accompany him. Before my dad left, he asked me to check in on my grandfather's apartment, but with clear instructions that I was not to spend the night, or stay for any length of time and call him when I left. I of course asked why, like I had done so many times in the past, but before completing my sentence, my dad said in a rather angry and serious tone of voice “just do what I say boy! Please…I..I’ll try to explain everything later…” and then he handed me a spare key. “Alright” I thought, “grandfather's death had clearly hit him hard…”.
It is true what they say, time really does fly, and it had been maybe 20 years since the last time I was in my grandfather's apartment. The last time I was there was in my late teens, but I’m not actually sure.
As I parked my car and walked towards the entrance leading up to my grandfather's apartment, my stomach began to tense up. “Of course you feel this way” I thought, “It has been like 20 years since the last time you were here..it’s only normal”, so I dismissed the feeling and went inside.
I always loved walking up to my grandfather’s, as it felt like visiting a secret place. Because of how the building had been modernized and refurbished, the original staircase were no longer accessible from the inside floors, and a new entry way had been made in the form of a small door, which was discreetly placed in the gateway connecting the courtyard with the street. As I walked up the winding stairs, the squeaking sounds of the steps, the aroma of the old wallpaper and carpet put a small happy smile on my face. As a boy, these sounds and smells meant I was in for a treat, as I would soon get to see grandpa. “It’s truly been too long since my last visit” I thought.
At the top of the staircase was a small room, which functioned as a wardrobe. As I removed my coat and shoes I looked around curiously, like a little boy. The stool my dad broke 25 years ago still occupied the corner, the umbrella stand was, as always, full of empty bottles and not umbrellas and the shelves were littered with gloves, scarfs and other winter essential items.
I looked at the door leading into the apartment and froze for a moment. “This was the first time I would not be greeted by my grandfather” I thought, my smile fading away. I sighed while I opened the door and walked in.
As I closed the door behind me I stood in the rather big hallway, which connected all the various rooms. The apartment was calm and quiet, only the faint noise of traffic from the street down below pierced the stillness. Even though I knew it wouldn't happen, I still kind of expected my grandfather to appear and greet me, but to no surprise the stillness prevailed. I sighed and started my tour around the apartment.
As I walked around, I could recognize most of the charms, trinkets and figurines. They stood exactly as I remembered. Even the scary old wooden mask grandfather used to put on, when we all danced around the place pretending to do an african dance, hung in its rightful place. I took it down and looked at it more closely, I couldn't help but smile, “This isn't as scary as I remembered” I thought and put it back half shaking my head still half smiling. I came to the bedroom and took a deep breath through my nose “Yep that's the smell” I thought, and continued my tour. I came across the glass cabinet in the living room, the very place we had found my brother screaming and crying. This memory almost washed away all the other, very pleasant ones of us playing at this exact spot, I sighed deeply and my smile had all but vanished.
As I walked to the fireplace I spotted the lizard bottle still with the birthday card attached to the neck, “That stupid thing” I thought as I walked past it. I reached the armchair in front of the fireplace and sat down. The chessboard me and my grandfather used to play was, as always, sat up on that beautiful mahogany table. I moved some of the chess pieces and thought about how he had tried to teach me the complex game. As I sat there thinking about grandpa and all of the strange stories he had told me, my eyes became watery as I thought about the last time we laughed together, and I let out a huge sigh.
After I had spent what seemed like an eternity in my memories, I called my dad and told him that the apartment was nice and tidy, as always. My dad and brother were still on their way to the airport, so we chatted for a bit, and I wished them a safe flight and left the apartment.
As I was walking towards my car, I bumped into one of my old childhood friends. We chatted for a while and decided to go out and grab a bite to eat, as I could really use some cheering up. As often happens in Denmark, we indulged in a fair bit of alcohol and after some hours we decided to part company. When I came back to my car, I thought about how much alcohol I had consumed. I tried to stand on one leg, which challenged my balance a fair bit. “Yeah, you shouldn't really drive anywhere” I said to myself. Now what to do I pondered, I could call a cap or just walk home, it is not that far, maybe a 45-50 minutes walk. “Or….you could just stay here tonight, no one would know…” I thought. After a short moral debate with myself, I decided to spend the night at my grandfather’s, afterall what harm could there be?
I walked up to the apartment, up the winding stairs and let myself in. As it was only around 8:30 PM, I decided it was a bit too early to go to bed, so I lit up the fireplace and proceeded to walk over to the liquor cabinet, which stood out in the hallway. This monstrosity was, as everything else in this place, a thing of beauty despite its size. It was made of African teak, had motifs of the African savanna and various animals carved into it, the cabinet legs resembled buffalo feet and the overall attention to details were just amazing.
As I looked at all the bottles I put on a big smile and nodded with satisfaction. My dear old grandfather had a lot of nice whisky, rum and other funny looking bottles, with some weird signs on them. “Surely they must be some kind of African tribal booze” I thought.
I grabbed a bottle of whisky, a Chivas Regal Salute 21 year old, not the most exotic bottle I could have picked, but I did really like the Chivas brand, and I had never sampled the 21 year old before. The bottle was a work of art, dark blue, and with a lion emblem molded into the bottle itself, right below the letters “Royal Salute 21 years”.
I picked up a nice and heavy crystal whisky glass, and was about to wipe it clean of dust when I noticed that it was spotless. “eh” I thought. In fact, the whole cabinet was spotless just like the rest of the apartment, something I simply hadn't noticed or given any thought too earlier. Clearly grandfather had hired someone to come and keep his place spotless. Afterall, he was very well off financially, and what other explanation could there be? Maybe my dad came and cleaned the place, that thought made me laugh a bit. I poured some of the whisky into the glass, swirled it around and smelled it “Damn that's some fine whisky“ I thought, as I admired the deep amber color.
I kind of strolled back to the fireplace, almost zig-zagging, while I looked around at the various things.The Lizard bottle was placed on the round table in the middle of the living room, making it hard to ignore, so I walked up to it. It was a plain 1L glass bottle, with a fully intact lizard inside, which filled almost the whole bottle. I put the whisky glass on the table and picked up the Lizard bottle. As I picked it up, all of the scales from the lizard began to swirl around in the clear liquid, “God, that’s disgusting” I thought.
As I held the bottle I could feel some indentations on it. Upon closer inspection, there were two lines of symbols encircling the bottle at the top and bottom, the dim lightning made it difficult for me to identify them properly, so I gave up and switched my attention to the birthday card and as I opened it, a small envelope fell out. The envelope was of a newer date, but still felt kind of old. The letter was addressed to me “Too Karsten from grandpa”. “A letter for me…funny how neither dad og my grandfather had never mentioned it” I thought. I swapped the disgusting lizard bottle for the nice glass of whisky and walked over to the fireplace.
As I sat down in the comfy chair, I smelled the whisky one last time before taking a sip and damn, that Royal Salute did not disappoint. It was very smooth and I could clearly differentiate all of the different notes in the whisky, the finish lingered on and was very pleasant. I opened the letter and started reading:
“*Dear Karsten…*” it read.
“*I imagine you are reading this letter because I died in Africa. I love you Karsten, and always have, but first things first.*
*I know your dad has warned you many times about spending any length of time in my apartment. If by any chance you are at my apartment as you are reading this, please Karsten, leave now, and take the Lizard bottle with you, it’s on the roundtable. I will explain everything on the following pages…*”
“Leave now…?” I thought, as I took another big sip of that exquisite whisky. A strange unnerving feeling was slowly creeping through my body as I began to tap the whisky glass with my index finger. I have never seen myself as a superstitious person, and I absolutely did not believe in any divine power or any hocus pocus stuff. Even still, I could not shake that unnerving feeling, that I ought to follow the direction of my grandfather.
“Leave now…? Well… not until I have a refill and read the rest of this letter” I chuckled, while I emptied the glass of its flavorful content.
As I walked over to the liquor cabinet, I thought about all sorts of reasons why I was not allowed to stay at the apartment. It sort of made sense, that children should not be left alone with all sorts of valuable and fragile relics. Hell, I remember when I was a boy and I accidentally bumped into the shelves in the hallway, and an old clay War Mask fell out and hit the floor, and shattered into a million pieces. But now? I could honestly not come up with a good reason for leaving. After all, I was not a stranger but family, and I had no intentions of rummaging through my grandfather's things, so what harm could there be?
As I was refilling my glass, my eye caught something, a small latch at the back of one of the shelves in the liquor cabinet. My curiosity quickly got the better of me, so I moved the bottles out of the way so I could get a better look. Sure enough, there seemed to be an extra compartment in the cabinet. It was not hidden as such, but you sure had to look closely to spot it. “I’ll look at this later” I thought, since the letter from my grandfather still occupied the majority of my thoughts. I returned to the fireplace, stoked the fire and sat down, sipping some of the whisky, god it was a real treat.
“Alright, let me get back to this letter and see what all of the fuss is about” I thought as I picked up the letter and turned the page.
“*Karsten, I’m sorry I can’t explain this in person, it would have been a bit easier and I fear you will not take my words seriously.*
*Your brother has already encountered some of them who linger in my apartment. It is very important that you go and talk to him, he will make you understand all of this much better than I ever can.*
*The following pages contain a set of instructions, take them and the Lizard bottle with you to your brother. Be very gentle with the Lizard bottle, you do not want to anger it.*
*Jørgen”*
I sat for a moment, tapping the whisky glass with my index fingers, baffled by what I had just read. Surely this must be some kind of joke, or the scrambled thoughts of a mentally ill man. I was nevertheless intrigued and continued reading these so-called instructions.
The next pages were clearly of a much older date, the paper was rippled and the ink had almost faded away in a few places, as I held the pages the musty smell of old paper started to fill the air. The sentences were written with very fine coherent writing, making it difficult to read for someone like me, who grew up only really using block letters. Alas, I gave it a go anyway.
“*Dear* *~~Jørgen~~* *Karsten*
*The Sangoma has given me clear instructions about the spirit, which she has bound in the Akkedis for you, in payment of the debt she owes you.*
*The spirit is very strong and should offer you excellent protection, should you ever need it.”*
I sipped some whisky and thought for a minute, “Sangoma…I do believe that means shaman….Akkedis..? Akkedisss….? Hmm..” I had no idea what that word ment and continued on reading.
*“When you need the gift from the Akkedis, pour the liquid around you in the sign of Nyame Nwu Na Mawu, now the gift will be upon you.*
*Do respect the bottle and treat it well, it is a home now, remember this.*
*When you use the Akkedis, have the Gris-gris ready to take in your mouth, so you do not become its home. Very, very important.*
*I wish you well.*
*Njeri Abara*”
On the following page were some symbols and drawings. One of the symbols was circled, clearly this was important somehow. At the bottom left of the page was a rather big drawing of some kind of amulet with the sentence “Gris-gris” written under it.
“That amulet, I have seen that before…” I thought, as I sipped that delicious whisky. The rest of the pages were so faded away, I gave up trying to read them. I carefully folded the pages back into the envelope and then just sat there, listening to the crackling sound of the fireplace, watching the flames dance, while I tried to understand what I had just read.
“What had my brother encountered? Surely they don't mean ghosts…that's…..that's just silly” I thought. I had stopped tapping the whisky glass, the unnerving feeling had passed, and been replaced by a cozy, almost happy feeling. Of course it had, alcohol and a fireplace have a tendency to relax the mind. I began to poke the coal and burning wood with the fire iron, as I continued my thoughts about this whole matter. After I had downed the rest of the whisky I looked at my watch “9:30 pm”. “Still not bedtime yet” I thought, “ I still have things to do here.” thinking about the compartment in the liquor cabinet.
As I walked back to the cabinet, the Lizard bottle caught my eye again. I stopped and looked at it, the scales were still swirling around in it, even though it had been some time since I had disturbed its peaceful slumber. “That's strange” I thought, and moved on.
At the liquor cabinet I unhatched the latch and opened the compartment. It was rather small and filled with dust and spider webs. “Interesting…” I thought, nodding my head in acknowledgement. I could just make out what looked like a bottle. The compartment was just big enough that I could get my hand inside and wiggle the first bottle out of its dusty tomb. The bottle was of an unknown brand and had no identifiers on it, “Secret African savanna booze” I thought with a half smile. I wiggled my hand back inside the compartment and slowly felt around. “Another bottle, yes…” I said to myself as I wiggled the bottle out. As I dusted the bottle off I recognised it as a Macallan, no doubt about it.
“Ohh my…” I almost said out loud, as I examined the bottle, my hands began to shake lightly. This was no ordinary Macallan, but a bottle from 1940. I do know a bit about whisky, and this, it's worth a small fortune. I carefully sat the bottle back in the cabinet, making sure it was in a corner where it would not accidentally tip over. I resumed my examination of the compartment, what else would this small treasure chamber reveal? I spent some time combing and prodding through the dust and spider webs. It was difficult to maneuver my hand inside the compartment because of the small entrance and the odd angle of my arm. I had my whole forearm in, and was just about to give up when I felt it, a small box of sorts and by the feel of it, it was in a very bad condition. I slowly and patiently wiggle the box out and success, I had done it. It was indeed a small wooden box, but the wood had almost disintegrated. It had originally been locked by a padlock, but because of the sorry state of the box, the padlock hardly had any function, and as I was turning the box the whole thing just fell apart.
“What’s this?” I mumbled, fetching a beautiful gold link bracelet up from the remains of the box. The bracelet was about 18 cm long with rectangular plates linked together by small chains, each plate had one, two or three symbols on it. As I looked closer I did recognize some of the symbols. One was “Sunsum”, which simply translates to “Soul”. I did not quite remember what the symbol was used for. However, I did know the meaning of another symbol I recognized, “Eban” which translates to “Fence”, a symbol for safety and is used to separate and secure one self from the outside. I was a bit amused that I could use anything from my grandfather's many stories, as I cleaned the bracelet with my T-shirt. Of course I tried the bracelet on, I mean, did I really need a reason? The bracelet fitted my wrist like a charm, and weighed more than I expected. A strange feeling began to occupy my body and I felt a bit different, a feeling I couldn't quite describe.
“It’s been a long day” I thought, “You are clearly more tied and affected by all of this than you realize” and I decided not to investigate the small compartment any further. I looked at my watch “10:30 pm”, then I glanced over at the fireplace, which still had a fair bit of wood still left to burn.
“Alright, one more drink and then you go to bed” I said to myself. Before I poured my last whisky for the night, I needed to visit the bathroom. As I walked to the bathroom, I thought that maybe the real reason I’m not allowed to be alone here was because of the valuable stuff I might find and keep. But… if that was the reason, why on earth would my dad give me a spare key? I quickly dismissed the thought, since it didn't really make any sense.
The door to the bathroom had that carving of the beautiful African women. As I reached for the door handle, I found myself mesmerized by this fabulous wooden piece of art. I had never looked at the wooden figurine this way before, it was almost as if her wooden eyes stared back at me, gazing at me, looking through me and into my soul. I touched her leg, it was as smooth as silk and surprisingly warm to the touch, it was almost like…
“Damn, maybe you should skip that last drink and go straight to bed” I thought, as I collected myself and went into the bathroom to do my business.
The bathroom was smaller than I remembered, actually it was quite snug, smelled a bit weird and was surprisingly dirty, dust everywhere, even dead flies could be found in the small window. The cleaning personnel had clearly neglected this room for some time, which seemed a bit strange, but then again, they had done a wonderful job in the rest of the apartment so it must be by design. The room was quite boring, the only touch of Africa was a symbol painted on the toilet seat “Opelyf”, which I remembered to symbolize a good bowel movement or something in that order, I chuckled a bit.
As I left the bathroom I could hear what sounded like faint chatter, almost like a chanting of sorts. I could only assume that the noise came from one of the other apartments, afterall it was friday, so maybe somebody somewhere was throwing a party.
“Ah well, I might as well indulge in one last drink” I thought. “With any luck the neighbors will have quieted down by the time I finish”. So I walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured what I thought was the last drink that night, one last Royal Salute 21. On my way back to the fireplace, I paid a visit to one of the bookcases next to the fireplace in search of a book that could help me identify the various symbols on the bracelet.
The bookcase was only half full of books, not because of a lack of books though, but simply because of its sheer size. In between the books stood pictures of my grandfather with various african tribes, “He sure had visited a lot of them over the years” I thought while looking at them all. One particular picture stood out, its frame was a lot more decorated than the other ones, with various wooden flowers carved into the frame, so I picked it up and took a closer look.
The picture was black and white, and showed grandfather standing on the savanna with a rifle over his right shoulder looking real proud of himself, on his left stood a woman dressed in some funny outfit and with a wooden staff of sorts, her outfit was partly ripped apart and her left arm was bandaged up. In front of them layed a dead lion, which looked to be quite large, larger than any lion I had ever seen.I put the picture back and continued my search among the many books. I pulled out a book with various symbols and charms printed on the book cover, and with the title “A*frican symbols - History, interpretation and Folklore. Vol. VII. By N. Abara*”, this will properly do just fine I thought and walked off.
I sat down by the fireplace again, sipped some whisky and then just sat there for a while, holding up my right wrist to admire how the light reflected off the bracelet. It was almost as if I entered some kind of trance, just sitting there, listening to the neighbors' chants while the flames danced on the gold. It was almost like the chanting got louder the more I focused on the bracelet, it was surely something I couldn't quite explain or had experienced before. “That 21 year old whisky sure does wonders to your state of mind” I thought, as I collected myself. I opened up the book and began to read about the symbols on the bracelet.
Sunsum “Soul”, refers to a person's soul. As I mentioned before, I already knew this symbol. It was often a part of some of the stories grandfather told me. The same goes for the symbol Eban “Fence”, which often were engraved on doorways, in order to protect the people inside. I was a bit surprised to learn that the symbol also could be used to trap someone in a place.
Gehoorsaam “Obedience”, symbolized making someone of something obedient.
Anetobi “Spirit bridge”, symbolized to communicate with the spirit world or as a means of travel. Beheer “Control”, symbolized control over someone or something. Wawa Aba “Seed”, A seed of a Wawa tree, symbolized perseverance. Verlei “Seduce/Discourge”, making someone like you or discourage someone. Epa “Handcuffs”, which symbolized law and justice. There was one last symbol I couldn't find in the book.
“Interesting I thought”, looking at the various symbols on the bracelet and how they almost merge into one another. The book contained a chapter about various artifacts and charms and what the different combination of symbols could mean. I glossed over the various descriptions and images.
“What’s this now” I thought, as I saw three symbols next to each other with a “danger” marker on. I read the textbox:
“*Epa, meaning handcuffs, is often used to describe law and justice. However, when combined with the symbols “Beheer “Control” and Eban “Fence”, the meaning tends to be interpreted as trapped or chained up.*
*The first encounter of these symbols in this configuration originates from the Shaman Imamu, and was used on the neck collars the prisoners of his tribe wore.*
*Legend describes that one cannot remove an item, be it clothing, neck wear, jewelry or something else with these symbols on it.*
*Only a specific talisman, a so-called “Vrylati” can help the person remove the item. See page 172 for a detailed description* ”
“What a load of old African Superstition” I thought, while I looked at one of the bracelet links containing these three symbols. The noise from the neighbors seemed to have stopped, I sighed a breath of relief, downed the last whisky and was about to remove the bracelet when I felt a great fear rush through my body. It was like I was about to do something very dangerous, like jumping off a building or taking a dive into ice cold water. My left hand simply hovered over the bracelet clasp. I felt a big knot in my stomach and everything in my body just screamed: no!
“Whaa….whaat?” I surprisingly thought, as I tried to muster the courage to remove the bracelet. I laughed half hysterically, and couldn't quite take the situation seriously.
“Come now, this is ridiculous'' I thought, while laughing over the stupidity of the situation. “Just open the clasp and remove the damn bracelet '' I said loudly to myself. But the fear and the knots in my stomach just kept growing alongside my conviction to remove the bracelet.
The sounds of the crackling fire filled the living room, the flames danced silently as I sat in silence rubbing my left eyebrow and staring quite seriously at the bracelet with a firm look. I made another attempt, this time by placing the bracelet clasp at the edge of the table, and I felt it again, the overwhelming fear, like I was about to pull out a tooth. I just couldn't do it.
I looked down at the floor, bouncing my knee up and down in a fast pace, as I thought about all the rational reasons for what was happening. No matter how much I wanted to explain it away, I just couldn't. This was truly something different. I could feel how the fear started to creep into me, slowly but steadily.
“Maybe it’s time to leave” I thought, and quickly but calmingly stood up, moved the last burning log to the back of the fireplace where It could burn out safely and I went to the door. As I reached out for the door handle, my hand began to shake violently, and a feeling of pure dread filled my entire body.
I backed away from the door and the minutes ticked by, as I simply stood in awe and disbelief, my heart pounding. Here I was, an adult person, who had never given a thought to the supernatural, and somehow, I was what? Trapped in my grandfather's apartment? Simply because I was afraid to leave?
“Nonsens” I thought and reached out again, this time almost leaping towards the door. I managed to touch the door handle but nothing more, as my entire body seemed to scream with a mounting dread, my knees gave way as I stumbled backwards, shaking almost uncontrollable.
I sat in front of the door in a kneeling position, the shaking had slowly ceased but the dread still occupied my entire body, I felt like my stomach had turned into a dark pit of despair. I started to laugh hysterically and collapsed on the floor.
Out of breath and with tears in my eyes, I finally collected myself somewhat. I turned on to my back, gazing up at the ceiling, looking at the strange symbols on the beams, catching my breath. One of the symbols directly over the door seemed to almost glow, pulsating, humming, as if it was somehow alive, because of my watery eyes, I was unable to clearly identify what symbol it was. “Anytime now” I thought, as I fully expected to wake up and realize that all of this had just been a dream. But this didn't happen…
I felt very strange, like I somehow was questioning my whole existence in this mortal world. After all, how could all of this be real? It struck me, like lightning from a clear sky, “None of this is real” I thought, “clearly the whisky had been spiked with some kind of drug” I concluded “What other explanation could there be? Ghosts and spirits? African Voodoo?” I began to chuckle in disbelief while I wiped my eyes dry with my T-shirt.
A part of me didn't really believe this explanation. As a boy, whenever me and my dad visited the apartment, he always indulged in the many treats the liquor cabinet had to offer. Even when we were just making a short visit to collect my grandfather's mail, my dad would sample at least one glass of whisky or rum. And how could a drug have such a specific effect? I actually felt quite clear in my head, and felt fully in control of my faculties as I waved my hands around the air. However, the explanation seemed to help ease the fear and seriousness of the situation a bit, so I entertained it anyway.
“Alright” I thought, “Maybe you should just play along in this, eh, hallucination…what did the book say? Some talisman could remove the damn bracelet, maybe I should see if I can find one, maybe…maybe the hallucination will create one for me…?”. The thought didn't help much, but what could I do? I had to try something.
With the faintest of hope, I got back up on my feet and decided to rummaging through the apartment, hopefully I would find my salvation, or at least, uncover more information about what was actually happening here… |
On Monday, when I exited my home at around 6:08 pm, I saw a man masked with a black motorcycle helmet roaming around in the area. Upon asking about his behavior, without taking his helmet off, he just told me that he was looking for a certain address but he might be in the wrong area. He did not let me help him further, ignoring me as he walked back to, then hopped on his motorcycle before speeding off.
Commuting never felt so depressing as I kept browsing for job offers on my phone, until I arrived at work at 6:37 pm. Yeah, I do not live that far from work, one of the few benefits of this job. I met my day shift counterpart when I reached the entrance. We exchanged greetings and a few words about daily life, before the conversation moved to more serious matters. My colleague's uniform is all red and he has several rules that just seem normal, except for the one concerning the black room. Unlike me, he is not allowed to be there or even see the inside of that room. That alone comforted me in the idea to leave that circus.
During the shift, I could not chase my unease away, and before midnight, I opted for a different approach to the situation. I went outside of the building at 11:55 pm and locked the door behind me. That thing could haunt the building, but not the whole area for sure. I stood at the entrance in front of the glass sliding doors, confident that I would see this thing with my own eyes and in absolute safety. At 12:00 am, nothing manifested at the entrance as it should, leaving me baffled. Still, there was a familiar static sound emitted by the radio that prompted me to look at it and I saw its screen flickering, testifying of the presence of the entity.
After about ten minutes later, at the windows, I saw a dark grey smoke emanating from several parts of the building. At first, I thought that the thing had started a fire and I wanted to look for help, but I soon noticed something that fueled my curiosity. The smoke seemed alive and moved in a very unnatural way, feeling the whole building to the point I could not see anything inside. I do not know if it was the real form of that thing, and I wish I could get that on video but as you know, this being affects my phone too when nearby, and also I have to make sure not to compromise the company.
The show lasted for the whole duration of midnight and as soon as it was 01:00 am, the smoke just vanished. I approached cautiously and went back inside to resume my shift, hoping that I had found a hack to preserve my sanity. It did not take me five minutes to discover what the entity did while I was outside. My supervisor frantically tried to contact me on the radio at that instant, but I could not even reply to him, completely broken by the sight of all the storage units doors torn apart with some of the stored items scattered on the floor.
"I'm really sorry about what happened Sir." I apologized for the umpteenth time the next afternoon on Tuesday.
"You didn't stay in the room. Now look." My supervisor replied. "You'll not receive any payment for this week. Can we agree on that?" He added, since him and other higher-ups supervised emergency door replacements to cover the monumental blunder and the reputation of the institution.
I stayed the whole day there, observing everything I could from where I sat. Everything and everyone seemed to be set like clocks or computer programs. I could not spot any genuine smile, any authentic laughter as if all those people, just like me, only tried to get through the day before bolting out of there. Everyone was probably following rules. As for my family, it sure took a lot to reassure my wife that everything was fine, but at least, I still had the job and was about to start a new shift.
Not even one month and already so many events. That Tuesday evening, my heart remained very heavy and even more as soon as I sat in the black room at 11:47 pm. I felt trapped in a prison and frustrated. At 11:50 pm, I received a notification on the loadshedding app about an expected issue on a generating plant, forcing the electricity provider to implement an emergency interruption of supply set to start in ten minutes at midnight. Feeling empty and livid, I just responded to the news by locking the door of the black room.
At 12:00 am, the lights went out and I assumed that the entity made its triumphant appearance at the entrance. At 12:15 am, my phone rang and I saw that it was my wife calling. I really thought that my son had troubles sleeping again, since I did not even get back home that day, but the purpose of the call was much worse than I expected. We were going back and forth because of her panic while I tried to understand her but from what I could grasp, she was hiding somewhere in the house with the kids, waiting for the police she had already called, because a man with a black motorcycle helmet had broken into our home.
My heart sank when they all screamed in terror and the call ended, meaning that the man had probably found them. When I tried to call back, the screen was flickering, and I looked at the clock to see that it was 12:17 am and the entity was passing by the black room. After waiting for a few minutes, the thing was far enough for my phone to return to normal and I called my wife back and it went straight to voicemail. I tried to call the police but my phone and the radio suddenly both died leaving me with no other options.
This was about my family. I do not care if the supervisor sees this post, or about the opinions of those who think that I am stubborn, careless or downright dumb. I grabbed my nail gun, one of the fancy flashlights, and took a deep breath before exciting the black room. I just have to reach the back entrance, get outside, get some help or maybe even use one of the company vehicles at the parking if possible.
I ran in the dark corridors continuously checking behind and in front of me. Things seemed a little bit too calm, after all, that was the opportunity for that thing to finally make a winning move. I made my way in the sea of darkness but unfortunately did not reach the expected destination. I could not make any mistake, I was at the back entrance, but instead of seeing the door, there was just a wall that soon reflected my shadow as a warm yellow light approached behind me.
That sensation overwhelmed me again. The sensation of something really wrong, something that should not be there and should not be happening. Cold invaded my back as my hair stood, my eyes became watery and I trembled uncontrollably. I suddenly remembered my supervisor's words:
"If you find yourself trapped, just make sure to have your full uniform on, close your eyes and don't make a single move or sound."
Switching off the flashlight, I noticed that I indeed had the full uniform on, up to the cap and the gloves. I handled the flashlight and the nail gun tight before putting my back against the wall. I closed my eyes to avoid seeing that thing I also desperately wanted to see and understand. The entity sauntered towards me, probably savoring the moment. I could not hear any footstep but I heard the metallic sounds of an old kerosene lantern. The darkness of my closed eyes turned to red as the lamp got inches away from my face, moving from side to side as if the entity was examining me. I was breathing rapidly but quietly enough. I wanted to cry so bad, I wanted to scream so loud, I wanted to run so fast, but the memory of my family along with that of my supervisor's scar cemented me against the wall.
"Open your eyes." It whispered, but I remained silent and still. It then took the terror to new heights.
Numerous hands then landed on my body as the entity continued the mind torture. I remained still but on the verge of explosion, retaining my tears and my urines. Some of the hands came from behind me as if they emerged from the wall. Other hands had sharp nails or maybe claws, hurting me as they explored my skin, since the entity sought a reaction from me, while it kept on whispering, asking me to open my eyes.
I went through the ordeal until a light almost blinded me and made the entity vanish. It was 01:00 am and the power had returned. I stepped forward and fell on my knees, breathing heavily in relief. Remembering my family, I turned around to see that the back entrance had returned and I heard my phone ringing. It was my wife. I picked up the call in panic, contrasting with her calm mood, as she revealed that she has neither called me nor the police earlier. She just phoned back because she missed my call around thirty minutes ago, and a man's intrusion in our home had never occurred.
I could not find any response to the baffling revelations and just hung up the call, looking around, looking at the mild wounds on my body and wondering what on earth did I just get myself into.
|
Hey guys, I’m sure it’s been a little while but like I keep telling you time doesn’t really mean much out here.
Let’s pick up where we left off because a lot of happened since I last talked to you guys.
I don’t wanna spoil anything for you, but I’ve made some pretty big discoveries.
So, after spending the night reading the hermit's journal, I woke the next day feeling strange. I know that probably sounds a little weird since I’m walking around a strange place that exists inside a Dollar General, but it was a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It just wouldn’t go away. Felt like I had the beginnings of a stomach flu, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant. I’m gonna get a little personal here, do you know how sometimes you have to poop but you don’t because maybe it feels oddly good? Yeah maybe you don’t, but it felt like that.
Stranger still, the feeling in my gut seemed to be acting like a compass.
As I put my backpack on and started walking out of the cave, I could feel it pulling me towards a large grove of mushrooms. I have been sort of wandering aimlessly, not really going in any particular direction, but this feeling felt directed. I had no real destination in mind, no direct path that I’d been taking, so I decided to follow it. What’s the worst that could happen, right?
I stopped to get a drink from a nearby stream and found that the water wasn’t as brackish as it had been in the area I left. It didn’t taste good, it was still smelly and kind of soupy, but it didn’t make my stomach hurt or give me the sulfur burps. It didn’t make the feeling in my gut go away either, so I figured it might not be relevant to what I’ve been eating and drinking. Maybe there were different biomes out here, and if I traveled far enough maybe I’d find a different one. Maybe I’d find one with pork chop bushes and steak trees, too, cause I was getting pretty tired of eating roasted mushrooms for every meal.
As I moved into the forest, I looked up and saw that there was a particularly bad bout of fire raining down to the south of me. I may have forgotten to mention that up till now. The yellow sky is sometimes broken by these intense rains of fire. I don’t know what they are, I don’t know what they do, but they just come down sometimes. Some days are heavier than others, and some days you never see them at all, but they scared me enough on the first day that I always look for them now. They haven’t affected me, and none of them have even fallen close enough that I can get a look at them, but I still keep my head on a swivel just in case they’re dangerous.
The one today was close enough that I thought I might be able to see shapes in them.
I had expected to see rocks or chunks of ice or something, but whatever was inside of them looked strangely like a splayed-out starfish.
Worse still, they looked a little bit like people with their arms and legs extended out as far as they would go.
I tried to ignore it as I went deeper into the mushroom forest. I have been mostly seeing lush forest growth in the places I had come from, but I was encountering some stumps here which led me to believe someone besides me might be cutting them. That could mean there were other people out here, but it could just as easily mean that there were creatures out here that also harvested the fungi. I didn’t really want to run up on any natives, friendly or not. I had yet to meet anything out here that hadn’t tried to take a chomp out of me, other than Kenneth, I suppose.
I would say Kenneth’s chomping days were far behind him when I found him.
I kept my makeshift weapons at the ready, and my head on a swivel as I followed the feeling in my gut. I had only had it for the day, but I think I had become accustomed to using it like a compass already. It just seemed the right thing to do, and as the sun began to set and I started making camp, I realized it wasn’t going to go away just because I stopped for the night. Eating didn’t seem to affect it, drinking either, and as I lay down to go to sleep, I wished it would take a break until morning. Laying there and trying to sleep was like having a pot full of eels in my stomach. They kept wriggling and pushing, trying to get me to move again, but I knew well enough that traveling at night was a death sentence. Night time when the lights went out in the store was when the miasma came out. Likewise, when it was dark out here, you could hear big things moving around and it was best to hunker down and try not to be noticed.
As I moved on the next day, the pulling of whatever it was in my stomach became even worse. It was less like a nudge and more like an invisible hand was yanking at my intestines. The direction was even more direct now, and it was undeniable that I was being pulled towards a large mountain on the other side of the grove. It was impossible not to notice. The thing was gigantic with its spires poking up into the sky. The closer I got, the more of those fiery comets I could see smashing into the side of that gargantuan. I really hoped I wasn’t going to be expected to climb it. The idea of climbing something that big with no ropes or gear was daunting, and I thought I might rather just let one of those miasma grab me tonight than try to scale that thing.
That night, as I lay beneath a large red mushroom cap that I’ve been using as a tent, one of them almost got its chance.
My fire was burning low, the flames greasy as they sent up runners of pale smoke. I was just starting to doze off when I heard something big shake the ground as it walked. I threw the mushroom cap over the top of the fire, hoping it would snuff it out, and then hunkered beneath it, as I tried to remain unnoticed. When I peeked out from beneath it, I felt the vibrations of a massive creature as it came stomping blindly through the mushroom forest. I couldn’t see it, it was too dark, but I could guess what it was. Miasma were the largest creatures I had ever seen, and the fact that they only came out after dark seemed to seal the idea that this was one of them. They got closer and closer, leaving me shivering beneath my makeshift cover. I knew that if it brought that foot down I’d be pulverized underneath this thing, and I prayed that it might divert its path or miss me entirely when it’s long gate.
It brought one massive foot down onto the remains of my campfire before wandering off into the forest. I looked up in time to see a massive, black, silhouette as it was put in profile by the strange half-moon that seemed to constantly reside over this place it never looked down, and if my fire had been hot or bothered at all it never showed any sign. It simply kept on going, knocking the tops of the mushroom trees as it went, and leaving me glad to have been unnoticed.
I wouldn’t sleep for the rest of that night, and when I got up in the morning, pulling in my guts was more insistent.
The next day was agony. It was like something was twisting my insides as it tried to get me to move faster. The pulling was insistent and needful, and it seemed like it was telling me to hurry up with every cramping grip. Where were we going? And why did we suddenly need to be there so quickly?
I would get no answers for the rest of the day, and as the sun set, I figured I wouldn’t get any until the next day either.
Just about sunset, however, we came out of the mushroom woods, and into a small clearing at the base of the mountain. The mountain was huge, as I’d said, and at the bottom, there was a large cave that yawned like an open mouth. The teeth inside looked less than friendly, and the whole thing looked like a trap for the foolish. The squirming in my gut was clearly trying to get me into there, but as I took a step towards it, something yowled like an injured creature deep within the forest behind me. I turned around and saw the top of a miasma, probably the same one I had seen last night. It had spotted me from over the top of the mushroom grove, and as I made a sprint for the cave, I wondered if I would make it before it cleared the woods?
Its footsteps shook the earth, and its yowls sent chills up my spine. With every step I took, I felt sure I would make it there before I could get me. The cave was less than fifty feet away when I had exited the woods, but the creature was eating up ground with such haste that it became a full-fledged foot race to see who could get to the cave first. It was the most harrowing experience of my life, but since you’re reading this, you can guess which one of us got there first. It was a near thing, and I had no sooner passed under the teeth of that great mouth than the creature hit the outside of the cavern and sent a cascade of falling rocks that would’ve crushed me if I’d been a little slower. I could hear it outside, yelling and screaming as it tried to get the rocks out of the way of its dinner, but it had done its job well.
I was safe, but my escape was less than ideal.
I had escaped the monster, but now I was trapped inside the cave.
Strangely, the writhing in my guts seemed to be pulling me into the cave. I took this as good news and followed it in. The cave was old and smooth, the walls, looking like they might’ve been worked with tools. There were collections of fungi growing here, and thankfully they were phosphorescent. They provided enough light to see by, and as I made my way in, I felt a strange kind of harmony inside me as I got closer to whatever the squirming feeling had been trying to take me to. When I saw the end of the cave coming into view, it wasn't a huge surprise.
It was just like the others, a blank wall that appeared to be solid rock, but as I rubbed a piece of my grubby T-shirt over it, I could see that it was really filthy glass behind. There was a Dollar General on the other side of that glass, and as I watched, I saw someone. I was almost too shocked to call out to them. This had only happened to other times and both times had been wildly different. The person I was looking at appeared to be a woman, and she looked a little too well put together to be as crazy as a hermit had been. Strangely enough, her uniform reminded me of Gale. It was in the older style the store had used back in the nineties, and she looked put together for a shift in the early two thousands.
As she moved off towards the bathroom, I realized I was about to miss my opportunity altogether.
She jumped when I banged on the glass, and as I called out and asked her to help me, she seemed very hesitant to approach. She had dropped the cans of food that she’d been looking at and was coming up to the door as if she expected it to pop open and eat her. She squinted at me, and I wondered how long it had been since she’d seen another person?
“Are you okay, kid?”
I told her I was as good as I could be, but I was stuck behind the door and I needed help getting in.
“I don’t know how to help you, kid.” she said, honestly, “I’ve only ever seen these doors open once, and I can’t really say how well it worked out for the guy I saw go out there. Since he never came back, and all.”
I told her it was my first time out there, too, and she had opened her mouth to ask a question when her eyes suddenly swam open in horror.
When the creature hit me, its claws shredding my back like steak knives, I thought for sure I was dead when I went to the floor.
It was another one of those nightmare cats I had seen earlier, though this one looked smaller than the one that had attacked me before. Whether it was a pup or a cub, or whatever it was, it would easily be able to finish me off. I was tired from my run, exhausted from my lack of sleep last night, and I could no more fight it off with my bare hands than I could have a grizzly bear. I expected that this would be where I would die, but at least I had seen someone else before the end. I had wanted it to be Gale, but I suppose beggars cannot be choosers.
The beats yowled savagely, opening its mouth to reveal a bunch of very sharp, very shiny teeth, and I closed my eyes as I prepared for the end.
That’s when the door suddenly opened, and the creature looked up just in time to get a face full of a wrench.
The woman grabbed me under the arm and dragged me back into the Dollar General Beyond, and my foot had barely cleared the sliding doors when they snapped shut again with amputative force.
I looked at her in confusion, seeing her upside down as I tilted my head, and thanked her profusely as I probably got blood all over her.
“Well, I couldn’t just let you die, could I? You're the first person I've seen in quite a while, and I think company is just what I could use right now.”
“I can understand that,” I said, with a laugh.
I extended my hand, introducing myself, as I tried not to pass out from painful wounds on my back. Apparently coming into the front door did not have the same effect as going into the bathroom, and that’s why I had to get her to repeat her name when she told me what it was. I thought for sure that I might be hallucinating, or maybe dreaming, but it appears this place likes to throw one curveball after another.
“I'm Celene,” she said a little more slowly, “now, let's get you through that bathroom door over there. I know this is going to come as a bit of a shock, but it will take you to different Dollar General stores and sort of put you back to the way you were. This may be hard to swallow until you see it for yourself, but you are trapped in an infinite loop of Dollar General Stores.”
I laughed, leaning against her as I threatened to pass out.
“You know, Celene, it's really not that hard to believe at all.”
|
All you Halloween shopper please take note, you need to be more careful or you are going to end up killing yourselves and others.
I and my associates are occasionally on here to look for leads, but right now I am here just at my wits end. Halloween is always the worst for my line of work and it is just a prelude to the most depressing part of my year, the holiday season. For the love of all that is normal and not FUBAR’ed take note.
My main day job is tastefully listed as "Aftermath services", most people call me a crime scene cleaner, but that is a misnomer as well. I am the person you call to clean up after crimes, sure, but I am also the person called after the police show up to perform a wellness check 2-3 months too late. Strangely enough I am also the person you call when someone "pranks" a party with Ipecac syrup, to do the cleanup. The location I work has, on the books, 4 employees working as the cleanup crew as well as management. Our LLC is owned by a several shell companies owned by individuals that have a vested interest in the location and destruction of cursed items.
Why such a crappy job? Well, For my line of work in the cursed item identification and removal business its actually perfect, The police have done the "heavy lifting" , no pun intended, usually documented everything in pictures for us. And we can request all that to "get an idea of the scope of the job". I see the police reports usually detailing any oddities I need to look into. Like small shrines covered in what the lab reports as "Ouchterlony test result: blood- Negative", so animal blood. If it comes back as human blood I'm not the guy that gets called. That is usually an unsolved mystery for the state. The Popo get to use all the state funded luminol and their labs are way faster than anything I can get for a reasonable price. When I have to do it myself in a rush it hits the business' bottom dollar and that means less of a bonus in April.
The event scene usually has to remain pristine if there is any foul play suspected, so that means an autopsy, which I can also get the results from! All under the guise of once again, "Knowing what to expect upon reaching the scene to perform the biohazard cleanup." By the time we get there anything "normal" is ruled out, and most of the time any bad juju is either dormant or latched on to any one of the hundreds of public servants who have been through the scene, so its safe for us to get in and do our work , Don't confuse this for us being clever or planning it this way , in truth its just the cheapest and most efficient way to do it.
I'm writing too much but I am too tired and wired and scared out of my skull to not explain it all. All that above is the mechanics of a scene that we get called out on. Even if it isn't an obvious cursed item I'm still possibly the one of many businesses called to clean up a mess that was caused by a curse. The bad part, well depressing, almost every post you have here, a guy like me and mine shows up afterwards paid by the family, or the bank to remove all the evidence that it ever happened so commerce can go on. Good part is that sometimes we get an inkling of what is going on and try to stop it from ever happening again. Final note on the job, I never have to break into a place, Im supposed to be there. And I have a reason to show up in hazmat gear...
The one job today that has me pulling my hair out is regarding the book rules ill cover tonight:
I get it! its Halloween and we like creepy things to decorate with and have our parties, those of you who haven’t already killed your family and friends accidently by being a moron that is. Get your decorations for these parties from Dollar tree, Dollar General, Walmart, the cheaper the better. No one curses items in a plastic mold injection plant, no demonic entity (or someone's soul ridden by one) would get past its ego enough to go into anything under a Target.
If you must be the original one on your block, the queen of the street. Sure go to those antique junk malls and consignment stores. It’s your ass. If you do shop at these places....Here are the rules on getting books.
Books to spooky up your living room..
1. If you cant even tell what language or what the letters are in the book, put it the hell down.
2. If you cant read the book, put it the hell down.
3. If you cant read all the stuff written in the margins put it the hell down.
4. If the grammar or spelling is off but you cant put your finger on how or why, put it the hell down.
5. If you cant read it at first but then it become legible almost "magically" and you can start to read parts, put it the hell down,
6. If you cant tell what artisanal material the cover or pages are made of, put it the hell down. Here's a hint, its probably made from someone just like you.
7. If the ink is an odd dark brown color…. Put it the hell down
So onto what's keeping me up tonight long after I should be trying to sleep. I and my cat are staring at a book. And my nerves and instincts are redlining.
The cat is planted in the hallway, staring at the book, the dog wont even come in the room or even the doorway where the book might "see" him, so I have an issue here.
The book was reacclimated from a clean up scene earlier today. Scary part is that this scene was not in any way listed as a criminal one, nor a number 6r, which is our in house slang for not of this world. It was a regular call out. The house as we pulled up was nice middle-middle upper single story That you see all over in this region. I love and hate working here in the south, love it because no basements, F that noise, cause I am all about mitigating personal risk, and basements are on my list of places I don't go. What I hate is that its fall and 100 degrees out still and now I have to get on respirator gear and a suit. Cause this one in this house is going to suck , I look at the SOW and see
"Carpet removal : biohazard - 800 square feet"
"Enzyme concrete treatment"
"concrete sealant - 800 square feet"
" 4 ozone fans 72 hours"
Translation: whatever happened here was not found early on and somebody or several somebodies' popped and all that soaked really deep into the carpet and all the way into the semi porous concrete slab for the house. So on a nice house like this sealed up and weather proofed to be energy efficient, with the lawn service paid for... they could have really stunk that place up a while and really marinated into the house before it was discovered.
I see the customer requesting the call out is a mortgage company in the area which, also tells me that everyone in this family was impacted. Any living family it would fall to them to schedule the clean up and they would be the customer, not the bank and title company. Nope this one there is no one to inherit the place and no estate waiting to be claimed so its just a bank repo to process it for sale now.
Once we get suited up and head in, well, its about what we expected. Ill spare you the visual carpet stain details. As for the smell you cant even imagine even, through my respirator and the menthol oil dabbed on a cotton swab in there, I was not enjoying my time as we started and completed all the work!
So I get home and that's when I realize I've got a code brown on my hands. First clue is Wesley doesn't greet me at the door. I want to say at that point I knew it, but I was just so hot and tired, and sometimes he's asleep and slow to get to come greet me. Its when I heard the whimper from around the corner I felt that sinking feeling as I realized I had a bad day, week, month, or however much time I had left coming at me . I immediately look around and see Buttercup, my cat, sitting there staring off into the living room from the kitchen over the half wall, This is about as bad as it gets. Big protective dog wont get near it, but the cat will look and see what's going on from a safe distance. Cats are like those people who slow everyone down at traffic accidents, as long as it isn't them they wanna see the death and destruction and savor it. This is bad. I mean I love buttercup, but its his nature to be an asshole.
Here's why I am super pissy and mad about this whole thing. Whoever lived at todays piecework was the jerk who wasn't following the common sense rules about books above and bought this damned cursed tome. I'm just the guy who moved it to a different bookcase, and just that little touch of moving one book among 20 on to another shelf was enough to trigger the curse transference to yours truly. In my defense in respirator gear and the suit it was a little foggy in there from all the sweat evap. so I had no idea I was breaking my rules, I had no idea this one was a code 6r!
So now I am just sitting here, terrified to tell the truth and just dumping everything down here on reddit trying to keep calm.
I see the book on my bookshelf wedged in between two of my cartoon collectors edition box sets. I mean it wants to be seen there, it is well and truly a sore thumb, between those pristine boxes. I only allow myself a quick glance at the spine, but yeah its rough looking.. the symbols or letters or whatever the hell is on it I wont look too close but they are not anything I have ever read or thought to see at my home.
I'm really scared y'all. I don't know how much time I have left before this cursed book does to me what it did to those other people. I don't know if ignoring it will piss it off, or make it less effective, or if it can even be pissed off! I don't know if I should go for a curse box for it, or if I should stay as far away from it physically as I can. Worst part is I have no idea how it got the people in the house as I didn't research this one before going in. I have no idea what when or how this things gonna come at me. Its the not knowing that gets me. All I know about the evil things in the world and how to delay or defeat them, and once it pops into my personal space I am overanalyzing it to death, and doing nothing worrying that doing anything making the situation worse.
I think all I can do is wait for that call with Risk management. |
I’m a longtime lurker here. I’ve created a throwaway account because I don’t want anything being traced back to me or for someone to get too involved. Don’t take it personally. After five years on the streets, I’m naturally suspicious of everyone. However, I’ve browsed this sub whenever I visit the local library. This sounds crazy, but with everyone’s experiences, I think I may find some answers here.
So here we go.
A couple of housekeeping rules before we begin:
1. Yes, I am homeless. How I got here isn’t important or even interesting. I grew up in foster care and then robbed a liquor store with one of my former foster brothers after I aged out. Spent some time in the can and soon discovered you can’t make it in this world with a second-degree felony hanging over you.
2. No, I don’t need your help. I’m looking for guidance, not a couch to surf on or a couple of home-cooked meals. Like I said, don’t take it personally! The internet still gives us some degree of anonymity, and I do not want to endanger anyone’s life. I don’t plan on being homeless forever, but that’s a decision I have to make for myself.
3. I’ve never suffered from a severe mental illness, nor am I a serious drug user. I’ve had bouts of anxiety and depression, but my mind is clear. I’m not hallucinating, and I’m not high.
Okay, with that being said, I moved to the encampment in the summer of 2019. I had terrible experiences with shelters, and a friend suggested I save enough money for a tent and move into the encampment under the I-59 overpass. People looked out for each other there. I “borrowed” a tent from Home Depot and then settled into a small patch of land without issue. I figured I would stay here, find a job, save enough money for a new place to live, and then begin the rest of my life.
Of course, I was naive at the time. No one would hire me, so I resorted to panhandling and shoplifting. I mostly kept to myself until one day, one of my “neighbors” reached out to me. His name was Hop, and he shared a tent with his buddy Squid. We became fast friends, and Hop offered me a job to work with him as a night-shift janitor at a nearby office building.
Hop and Squid were lifers. Both served lengthy prison sentences and, after trial and error, moved into the encampment around the same time. Like me, they figured the camp would be temporary but grew to learn it was anything but. “Once you get settled,” Hop would say, “you don’t want to do nothing else.”
The two educated me on encampment life and the credo of the streets. Most rules involved keeping your hands off other people’s things. That was a non-negotiable. Those who were caught stealing soon found themselves banished from the camp.
You also were expected to look out for each other and respect the camp. Interlopers like the cops or social workers were not to be trusted. This was a community, and trust was sacred. Those who disrupted the peace were quickly dealt with by camp leaders. We all knew the city wanted to move us elsewhere, so it was vital to mind your p’s and q’s.
I settled in quickly. I’d start my days by reading every book I could find in the library and then meet Hop and Squid downtown for our night shift. It soon became a routine and then turned into my livelihood. It was really the first time I had ever been stable and happy.
Then, things changed.
It was two weeks ago, during the intense heat of the summer. Chico, another denizen we were acquainted with, struck gold. A commuter accidentally gave Chico a $100 bill while panhandling by a Starbucks. He had won the lottery, and most street-smart campers would keep their riches to themselves.
Chico, however, was known to be braggadocious and puffed out his chest while regaling the tale of his newfound wealth. Word traveled quickly through the camp, and I came home from the library to an unusual ruckus.
Not surprisingly, Chico’s money was gone. Someone had broken the cardinal rule, and now Chico was tearing through the encampment to find the culprit. Soon, Brother Billy was called to the scene.
Brother Billy was essentially “the mayor” of our encampment. He settled disputes between residents and made decisions on who could enter and who must leave. Brother Billy was generally fair and even friendly, but the goons who carried out his bidding were anything but.
Chico had narrowed down his accusations to two people, JJ…and Squid. JJ had been a troublemaker in the past but calmly denied the allegations and offered to let Brother Billy’s henchmen search his tent. Squid was beside himself, and Hop had to hold him back from swinging on Chico.
Brother Billy’s boys searched JJ and his tent and came up with nothing. But what happened next was entirely unexpected. Hop and Squid were the most respected camp members outside of Brother Billy. Billy even asked the two for counsel on complex issues and hung out with us every so often. To accuse Squid of stealing was unconscionable, and I assumed Billy wouldn’t entertain the thought.
But Brother Billy ordered their tent to be searched as well.
This was different. This was blatant disrespect, and I wondered what had caused such a slight. Hop and Squid silently watched as their things were turned over in the tent. I could feel the rage burning from their faces. The goons, of course, also found nothing.
Brother Billy then called a meeting at the center of the camp. If Chico’s money wasn’t returned by tomorrow morning, everyone’s tents would be searched. The three of us then went to work. Hop and Squid didn’t speak a word during our entire shift.
The camp was devoid of any activity that night. No music, no chatter, and no liquor was spilled. I remember not being able to fall asleep, shaken by the events of the day. Around three in the morning, I felt a gust of wind followed by the shuffling of footsteps outside my tent. I peeked outside but only saw darkness.
I awoke around three in the morning to Hop at my tent flap. “Come on, boy,” he whispered. “We got a problem.” We tiptoed to the edge of the encampment to meet Brother Billy and his chief lieutenant, Anthony. They were standing over a body.
It was Chico. He was sprawled out on the ground, and his neck had been twisted to the back of his body. His eyes were still open, and his mouth was agape like he had been screaming.
The 100-dollar bill was folded neatly in his back pocket.
Deaths happened semi-regularly in the encampment. Usually, it was an overdose or someone with health problems had passed in the night. But murder? It was almost unthinkable. Even with all his flaws, Brother Billy ensured disagreements were solved non-violently. Violence attracted the police.
My blood froze. Where was Squid?
“He ain’t here,” Hop whispered solemnly.
Brother Billy ordered Chico’s body to be disposed of when night fell. He also requested that someone quietly summon JJ since his past history made him the likely suspect. No word was to be spoken of Chico’s death until the time was right. Billy then called Hop over for a private conversation.
Anthony and I went to JJ’s tent and knocked on his flap. There was a long moment of silence before Anthony decided to barge in. We were greeted by a putrifying odor and JJ.
He was dead, too, wrapped up in his sleeping bag with a giant gash on his forehead. His face had the same expression of terror as Chico’s did. Nothing else in JJ’s tent was touched. It appeared that someone entered his tent, bashed him, and then promptly left.
We hurried back to where Brother Billy and Hop were and told him what had happened. Billy swore under his breath and loudly demanded that Hop locate Squid. The two began arguing, and the commotion caused people to sleepily get out of their tents only to discover that one of their own had been murdered.
Chaos erupted throughout the camp. People began to point fingers at each other, and Brother Billy’s boys broke up several fights. The flames were quickly extinguished when three or four squad cars burst onto the scene. A few were arrested, and a quiet unease drifted into encampment.
Thankfully, the cops were too invested in handcuffing the homeless to notice there were two dead bodies among them. Night fell, and people stayed zipped up into their tents while Billy plotted his next move. Hop and I called in sick to work.
We needed to find Squid.
Brother Billy ordered that everyone needed to stay in their tents, but Hop bribed one of the guards and we slipped out in the night. We walked a few miles in silence until Hop led me to an abandoned storage facility.
“Got to remember which one it is,” Hop muttered to himself while trying the locks on each unit. Finally, he found and unlocked one, and rolled up the metal door. Inside the unit was another sleeping bag, a hot plate, and a locked trunk. In the corner was a lead pipe with dried splotches of blood on it.
“God dammit, Squid!” Hop yelled and slammed his fist into the concrete wall. He then turned to look at me. “Let’s get out of here.” My heart sank as we tiptoed out of the storage center, crushed at the thought of what our friend had done.
Hop stopped in his tracks. We saw a figure watching us from under the storage facilities lone street light. It was Squid, or at least it looked like him. I could make out the faded Red Sox cap he always wore in the distance.
“AYO SQUID!” Hop hollered.
But Squid took off, sprinting like a maniac, faster than I had seen any human run before. We chased after him, screaming for him to talk to us. We followed Squid past the old railroad tracks and down to a crossed off section of the harbor. Squid stopped running, shaking furiously like a rabid animal. His back was turned away from us.
I’m not sure how to explain what happened next, and to this day, I’m not sure what even happened. Thank god Hop was with me, because I don’t think anyone else would believe what we saw.
Squid stopped breathing, and calmly stood up straight. I tried to call out after him, but was too winded from running to make a sound.
And then, all of a sudden, Squid disappeared. It was like he dissipated, taken away by an unseeable force. His clothes dropped to the ground, and then Hop and I felt a violent gust of wind that knocked us to our feet.
“What the fuck….” Hop heaved. We stared at each other in disbelief before realizing that the sun was about to come up. We hustled back home to another commotion.
Another person had been killed.
This time, it was Ms. Mary, who had been homeless for longer than I had been alive. She was like the sweet old lady who lived on your block and occasionally gave you candy. They found her crumpled under her dusty walker.
Naturally, all suspicions pointed to us. Brother Billy was furious that we had defied his orders, and despite our alibi being solid, he banished us from camp until things had calmed down. Hop and I quietly packed our things, and then moved to Squid’s old storage unit.
We’ve spent nearly every day looking for Squid, but there’s no sign of him. The things he left behind haven’t given us any clues. All we know is that he quite literally disappeared, and despite combing every book in the library for answers, we’re more lost than ever before.
So that’s it. I apologize if I rambled on too long, but I’m not sure what our next move would be. I don’t believe in ghosts or spirits, but I know that what we saw couldn’t have been caused by a human. I miss the camp, and I’m worried that someone, something is still terrorizing our friends.
The nights are getting longer. We'll have to move soon, as the storage unit isn't equipped for the coming cold front. Not only that, but the atmosphere seems even more hostile than the encampment. We were never really welcome anywhere, but I can feel it in my bones that we're in danger. Hop and I sleep in shifts as the noises we hear at night don't sound like the usual bumps and groans.
Someone, something, is hunting us.
|
I finally know why I see corpses glow, and I found out in the most unexpected way.
Today started with Desmod waking me up, a protein bar in hand. “Serena, you have to eat and get dressed quick. We have to get to Portugal.”
I sat up in groggy shock. “Huh, what, Portugal?”
“Yes, we’re going to fly over the Ca’ii Flock’s trophy site.”
I flipped the covers off and took the protein bar. “Why are we in such a hurry?”
“Cassiopeia is worried the sirens might get wind of what we’re doing.”
“I’m sure the werewolves already told them you guys are invading trophy sites.”
“Yeah, but no one knew what we were after until yesterday, and although the merfolk are discreet, word might still get out.”
“But Mika said it was okay for me to tell the truth!”
“He did, and you did the right thing, or we’d all be dead. But now we have to hurry. I’ll leave you to dress, I’ll be back in five.”
Prompted by urgency, I stuffed the protein bar in my mouth and quickly checked the comments on my posts before I washed up and got dressed. When Desmod returned, we hustled towards the garage, and I slipped into the back seat between Hawk and Desmod.
“Good morning, Serena,” Mika said, looking back at me.
“Good morning,” I replied, surprised he said my name.
“Are you well?”
“Um, I guess. You?”
“Yes.”
He turned to face the front, and Desmod chuckled before whispering in my ear, “That’s his way of thanking you for saving his life.”
“Oh.”
One handhold and a blink later, I got out of the car to the sight of a giant, gleaming helicopter, its propellers whirring.
"Does Mika have an issue using his car as a sub or plane on Kabic?" I whispered to Desmod.
He shrugged. "I have no idea, maybe."
We climbed aboard, and Mika handed us headphones with an attached microphone.
“So we can communicate," he explained.
I put them on, anxious. “There won’t be sirens, will there?”
“They do come to Kabic to harass sailors," Desmod said, "but I hope they won’t be here now.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye out.”
“Did you bring weapons?”
He nodded at Mika’s goons as they piled in. “Yes, we have poisonous gas.”
I blinked at him. “Poisonous gas? Will we be wearing masks?”
“No, it only affects sirens. It’s the only way to kill them. They’re invincible otherwise.”
“Great.” I muttered, hoping we don’t get another bloodbath.
The helicopter took off, and I gasped and grabbed the seat, my eyes wide with wonder as we rose above Portugal and the Atlantic Ocean. The azure water sparkled, the glowmains barely visible beneath the noon sun.
“It’s so bright, I can barely see the glowmains,” I yelled over the noise.
“No need to yell,” Desmod said, wincing as he pointed to the headphones. “We can hear you with these.”
I cringed. “Sorry.”
“Once we reach the trophy site, we’ll drop in altitude, giving you a better opportunity to discern the death glows,” Mika said.
After what felt like five minutes, the helicopter dropped, and my stomach flipped. “Woah!”
“Everest, easy on the controls,” Mika said. “Serena, do you see Perseus's glow?”
I peeked through the open door, my hair whipping in the wind, and I flinched when someone grabbed my arm.
I turned to see Desmod, and he smiled and said, “Just making sure you don’t fall!”
“Thanks.”
I turned back to the water, squinting at the waves as I made out dozens of glowmains. Some of them merfolk, some of them those gorillas with rabbit ears, some of them tiny dolls with four wings, and some of them without heads. I scanned the headless group, and my heart leapt.
One was missing a leg.
“There!” I said, pointing. “That one doesn’t have a head or a right leg below the knee!”
“You found him!” Desmod said, cheering.
“Liche, take note of the coordinates,” Mika said. “Everest, take us back.”
“Leaving without saying hello?” a sultry female voice said.
I gasped as Desmod pulled me back in and shielded me. Hawk and Callan began spraying generous amounts of poisonous gas, and Mika yelled orders to Everest as the helicopter dipped and swayed, turning my stomach.
“The s-sirens found us?” I asked, gripping the seat.
“Yes,” Desmod replied, trying to keep himself steady.
The helicopter flipped upside down, and I screamed as I grabbed Desmod to keep myself from falling out. He thankfully had his seatbelt on and he held me tight, but two of Mika’s thugs tumbled out the door, along with the poisonous gas.
The helicopter spun around in dizzying circles, and I groaned as I squeezed my eyes shut and buried my head in Desmod’s chest, getting nauseous. Mika yelled out in his language as the helicopter growled, and soon we were all airborne as we plummeted.
The cold water interrupted my scream, and I coughed and sputtered after I splashed my way back to the surface. With my pulse racing, I looked around, desperately searching for any survivors. Before I could make anyone out, a huge bird swooped down and grabbed me by my upper arms, and I screamed as it pulled me up.
“Let go of me!” I yelled, bucking and thrashing.
“What's a human doing hanging around with vampires?” a syrupy voice asked.
I looked up, and I froze in shock. The bird had a woman’s face. A beautiful woman, if it wasn’t for her red eyes and small, pointy teeth.
I heard Desmod and I looked down in relief, seeing him, Mika, and Mika's team bobbing in the water alongside two dead sirens.
“Mika, when did the Uster Clan start giving recruits helicopter tours?” the siren asked.
Mika didn't reply, his expression stony as he treaded water, but Desmod yelled, “She’s not a recruit! Let her go!”
“Is she a snack?”
“No!”
“A pet?”
Desmod turned to the others and said something in his language, and the siren laughed as one of the men replied.
“Oh, is your little gas machine ruined?” she asked condescendingly.
“Let her go!” Desmod growled.
“No, I think I’d like a little human pet of my own.”
The siren laughed again, and I gasped as she began flying away.
“No, wait! Stop!” I cried out before I turned to the vampires in despair. “Help me!”
“Don’t worry, Serena, we’ll find you!” Desmod yelled.
“Aw, how sweet,” the siren said. “Are you two a couple?”
“No, we’re not!” I yelled, squeezing my eyes shut as the wind slapped my face.
“I can barely hear your weak, little voice. Let’s save the conversation for later.”
I covered my face with my hands as we zipped through the air, partly to protect my eyes from the cold wind, but mostly to avoid seeing just how high we were. My heart stumbled in my chest as my thoughts rioted. I didn’t know what she wanted with me. Was she going to take me to the werewolves? Was she going to eat me? Was she going to interrogate me?
My stomach twisted at another fear. What if the vampires didn’t come for me? I’d already located Cassiopeia’s brother for them. Desmod was the only one fighting for me after we fell in the ocean, the rest didn’t even seem to care. They didn’t need me anymore.
I hoped I was wrong as I shivered in the siren’s grip, gale after gale of icy wind assaulting my senses. When she slowed down, I peeked through my fingers, and I gawked at the lilac sky and silver trees. Did we cross over to Zevea?
She descended, hovering over the top of one of the trees, and I gasped when she let me go, my heart leaping to my throat. I reached out in a panic, trying to grab on to the branches as they broke one after the other. I grunted as I landed on one strong enough to hold my weight, and I wrapped my legs around it and hugged the trunk, my pulse racing as I looked down. We were still a long way up.
The siren gripped the trunk above me, her claws encircling it completely as she stood sideways and leaned in. Her face was three times as big as mine, and I shied away, disconcerted as well as terrified to have it that close. Around us, five more sirens dropped by, each a carbon copy of the other, all observing me with their fire-red eyes.
“Are … are you guys sextuplets or s-something?” I asked, trying to minimize my unease.
My abductor tittered. “We prefer clones.”
“Clones?”
“You humans and your ignorance. Sirens don’t mate, we lay clones of ourselves. Didn’t the vampires explain anything to you before recruiting you?”
“I’m not a recruit.”
“So, what do they want from you then?”
Telling the truth to the merfolk worked in our favor, but I wasn’t sure if it would be beneficial here. Especially since we found Perseus in their trophy site. I had no idea how much I could safely tell her, and I frowned in fretful thought.
“Thinking up a lie?” she asked with a sly smile.
I shook my head. “No, I … I was helping them.”
“With what?”
“They … they wanted me to help them … uh … m-make a tally. Of the bodies in all the trophy sites. Of everyone.”
"Why you?"
"B-Because I can see the dead's hovering, glowing shadows."
She studied me, her red eyes glinting. “Interesting.”
“Yeah. Um, can you let me go now, p-please?”
"No."
My heart dropped."Why?"
"What fun would that be?"
A chill trickled down my back. "P-Please don't sing to hypnotize me to jump off," I said, my voice shaking as I gripped the tree tight.
They all laughed. "Do you have a fear of heights?" the main one asked.
"Y-Yes."
"Then you probably won't enjoy this."
She grabbed my arms again and took off, and I screamed as we raced through the trees.
“Where are you taking me! Please! I just want to go home!”
She only laughed as she continued to fly, and I covered my face with my hands again, tears welling in my eyes.
This flight was even longer than the last one, and I must have passed out because the next thing I remembered was feeling pressure on my chest. My eyelids fluttered open, and I sat up in shock as the siren stepped back.
“I forget how weak humans are,” she said, chuckling. “Glad you didn’t die. I’d like you to meet someone.”
I stumbled to my feet and stepped away as I looked around in dread. We were in a deep hole, the sandy walls claustrophobic, the lilac sky a small circle above our heads.
“Wh-who do you want me to meet?” I asked, hoping with all my might it wasn’t a werewolf.
With a mischievous smile, she walked up to a small rock and kicked it, and to my shock, it emitted a soft yelp. The rock unfurled into a lanky creature no bigger than a squirrel, its skin almost like bark, its four black eyes blinking at me.
“Meet your father,” the siren said.
I did a double take. “Excuse me, what?”
She chuckled, enjoying my uneasy confusion. “This pathetic creature is the last of what you humans might call a fairy. Fairies were one of the six main folk on Zevea. Do you know what Zevea is?”
I nodded.
“Good. When war was declared, these pathetic creatures overestimated their abilities and the werewolves demolished them. Then, sixteen years ago, the werewolves discovered that not only did this pathetic creature survive, but that he’d also been sneaking into Kabic to inject human testes with his sperm.”
Flabbergasted, my gaze darted between her and the creature. “Wh-what?”
“Crazy, isn’t it?" She looked down at him with a smirk. "He was hoping to create a powerful legion of half-breeds to overpower us and avenge his kin. Too bad for him, even if his plan hadn't been discovered, it wouldn’t have worked. You half-breeds don’t live past the age of eighteen.”
I stared at her in shock. “Wh-What? Eighteen?”
“Ummhmm. We interrogated him thoroughly. He spent twenty years on Kabic, trying his best to raise an army. You’re probably one of the last of his half-breeds. I doubt there are many more of you left.”
I could barely say the words. “I … I’m part fairy and I'm going to die in t-two years?”
“Yes. But look on the bright side! You got a nifty little ability that brought you all the way to Zevea! Not many Kabicers can claim that!” She chuckled and stretched her wings. “And now you two have company! I’ll leave you to get acquainted. You have all the time in the world!”
The powerful gust from her wings blew me back against the wall, and all I could do was watch as she laughed and flew away. Too stunned to protest or cry out, I turned to the fairy crouching on the ground, and he frowned, his four eyes blinking in harmony.
“What brought you to Zevea?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I blinked, startled. “You speak English?”
“Yes. I learned many languages in Kabic.”
“Is … is what she said true?” I asked, half-hoping it was, half-hoping it wasn’t.
“She was correct about my actions in Kabic, but not about my intentions. During the interrogations, I did not divulge the true reason for my undertakings. As for whether or not you are a half-breed, what abilities do you have that differ from regular humans?"
“Um, I can see the hovering glow of the dead."
"Anything else?"
"There's more?" I asked, surprised.
“You may not have developed them yet, but your ability to see death glows is enough to confirm you are indeed a half-breed."
His certainty only left me more conflicted. After all these years, I finally knew the reason for my gift … and it wasn’t like anything I expected.
Overwhelmed, I sat down across from him, staring at my hands. “So … so you’re really my father?”
“One of them.”
“One of them?” I asked, frowning as I looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“In simple terms, my sperm splices its DNA into the donor DNA. You are the product of three: me, your father, and your mother.”
My mouth hung open as I tried to take all this in. “What … what was the real reason you were doing this?”
“That is not something I’m comfortable discussing with you yet.” He studied me. “What brought you to Zevea?”
I was getting sick of that question. “I was helping Cassiopeia find her brother.”
He sat up. “Help find him? Why? How? Where is he?”
His reaction surprised me. “Um, I saw his glowmains … sorry, death glow … today in a siren flock’s trophy site. The same flock as the siren who brought me here.”
He stared at me, his eyes wide with shocked despair. “Perseus is dead?”
“Yes, Cassiopeia said he died fifteen years ago. Did you know him?”
“Was his death glow missing a right leg below the knee?”
“Yes.”
He bowed his head, almost seeming to deflate as he hunched over and covered his face with his hands.
“Are you okay?” I asked in concern as I crawled closer.
He sighed and straightened up. “I am fine.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, backing up at his curt tone.
“So, you are working with Cassiopeia.”
“I wouldn’t call it working with,” I replied, sitting back down. “She made me make promises with her persuasion powers, so I had no choice.”
“Did she tell you why she was looking for Perseus’s body?”
“She said she wants to give him a proper burial.”
He scoffed. “Nonsense.”
“Oh, then I don’t know,” I said, not surprised Cassiopeia lied to me. “That’s what she said, and Mika and Desmod seem to believe her.”
“Who is Desmod?”
“He’s Mika’s son. He’s two years old in vampire years. He’s with me every time they take me to search for death glows. He’s nice. He explains everything to me so I don’t feel lost and he always has food for me even though they don’t eat. He also saved my life once. So did Mika.”
“That was only because they need you. Now that you have found Perseus, they will not give you a second thought.”
“That’s not true. Desmod was yelling at the siren to let me go when she took me.”
“Then they still need you.”
Optimism and disappointment merged in my soul. I was hoping they'd look for me, but out of the goodness of their hearts, or whatever vampires had instead of hearts. I didn’t want to help them anymore. I wanted to go home. It seemed I was going to have to find a way out myself. And once I was back home, I’d get my parents to move somewhere the vampires would never find us.
“Do you know where we are?” I asked as I got to my feet and looked up at the sky.
“A small rock island void of life in the middle of the Rechuen Sea.”
“Is there a way to go to Kabic from here?”
“Not unless you want to end up forty-two meters below Krasnodar, Russia.”
“Oh.”
I touched the wall, and he said, “Don’t try to climb, the entire hole will collapse on us.”
I jerked away and hugged myself. “Oh, good to know.”
“There is no way out of here.”
“There has to be, we can’t just sit here.” I looked around. “There isn’t even anything to eat or drink, how have you been surviving?”
“I drink the rainwater and eat the sealife when the waves send some my way.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Whenever there is a storm.”
I looked up at the clear sky, my stomach growling. “That obviously won’t be today.” I paused at the sound of the crashing waves, an idea materializing. “Hey, would there be merfolk in the sea near here?”
“There could be. Some pods do venture out.”
“Have you tried calling out for help?”
“My voice does not get louder than it is now,” he replied.
“Then let me try!”
“Do you know mertongue?”
“Um … I only know how to say hello and goodbye. Desmod taught me.” I tried to remember Desmod’s explanation as I did my best impression of a snake clearing its throat and yelled out “Hsssegh!”
He chuckled for the very first time. “You need a better teacher.”
My face heated up. “Was it that bad?”
“I will teach you how to yell for help. If, by some miracle, it works and draws the attention of the merfolk, leave the conversation to me.”
He spent the next half-hour teaching me how to make sounds I never imagined making. Although it hurt my throat, I pressed on, refusing to die here, my parents never knowing what happened to me.
Once he felt I was ready, I tilted my head to the hole and yelled for help. When nothing replied but the crashing waves, I yelled again, over and over until I went hoarse. It didn’t take long for me to lose my voice, and I sat down and leaned back against the wall as tears traced my cheeks.
“I need a break,” I rasped, panting.
“I don’t think you should try anymore. I doubt it will lead to a positive outcome.”
“We can’t give up.” I wiped away my tears. “I have a family, and if I have only two years left to live, I want it to be with them. And you have a life. You don’t deserve this and neither do I.”
“This is war.”
“That’s everyone’s excuse for doing terrible things,” I snapped. “It doesn’t make them right.”
He didn't respond, and after a few minutes of silent disgruntlement, I sighed and dried my tears. "Why do fairies see death glows anyways?"
"We are not fairies. At least, not in the way humans define them."
"What should I call you?"
"My name is Wi'dei, but you will not be able to pronounce what I am. There isn't a translation in any human language either."
"So, can't I just say fairy? Or do you prefer fae?"
"Neither are accurate, but for lack of a better alternative, you may say fairy."
"Okay. So, Wi'dei … I'm Serena, by the way … why do fairies see death glows?"
"To help us find and differentiate between bodies."
"Yeah, but why? Do you eat them?"
He chuckled again. “We—”
A hiss startled us and we looked up, and my heart leapt at the sight of a merperson looking down at us, its blue eyes bright. The fairy stood up and replied, and my gaze darted between them as hope and anxiety clashed within me. The merperson was hissing with rapid harshness, and the fairy replied in his soft voice, neither of them emoting or gesticulating.
The fairy turned to me. “This is Hlee, of the Ruc Pod. She heard your distress call. Hlee, this is a human.”
I didn't know why he didn't introduce me as his half-breed, but I assumed he had a reason. “Um, hsssegh. I'm Serena," I said as I gave Hlee an awkward wave.
She made popping sounds in her throat. Well, at least she was laughing and not angry.
“The Buslle Pod mentioned a strange one helping the Uster Clan find Perseus,” Hlee said. “And now you’re with Wi'dei, whom we all thought was dead!”
“Do … do you two know each other?” I asked, surprised.
“Perseus was the one who found Wi'dei after his kind were wiped out, and they teamed up with Cassiopeia to try and stop the war. They wanted us merfolk to join their side. Our pod and a few others were ready to do it, but then Wi'dei disappeared and Perseus died, and Cassiopeia never followed up.”
“That is because she arranged for our deaths,” Wi'dei said bitterly. “I am certain of it, but Perseus and I have the last laugh. I know why she wants his body, and even though she will find what she is desperately looking for, it will not be of any use.”
“What does she want?” Hlee asked as I waited with eager curiosity.
“I would rather not discuss it now.”
Hlee let out a few pops of laughter. “Secrets, the language of war.”
“War against war is the most dangerous battle.” He glanced at me. “I cannot speak before those who are bound by Cassiopeia.”
“I already fulfilled my promise to her,” I said, frowning. “She doesn’t have a hold on me anymore. And even though Desmod wanted to help me, the others didn’t care. They’re done with me. I just want to go home.”
“I still cannot risk speaking before anyone who has connections with the vampires.”
“I know someone you can trust,” Hlee said. “But I’ll wait until we’re alone. As for you, strange one, I can help you get back to Kabic.”
My heart leapt. “Really? Thank you!”
“You’re welcome. Watch your heads!”
I jumped as a net tumbled down to us.
“You will have to carry me,” Wi'dei said. “The damage after they amputated my wings has affected the proper use of my legs.”
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry!” I said, never once wondering why a fairy didn’t have wings. “Of course I can carry you. Would you like to sit on my shoulder? Or in my pocket?”
After inspecting my clothes, Wi'dei deemed my hoodie pocket acceptable, and I began climbing up the net. The walls began to crumble, and my pulse raced as Hlee yelled at me to hurry before we got buried. When I was only a few feet from the edge, rocks and sand tumbled around me, and I gasped as I almost lost my grip on the net.
Buried, my heart rattled as I held my breath and reached up through the avalanche, and I flinched when a scaly hand grabbed me. I drew in a hungry breath when Hlee pulled us out to safety, but I couldn’t enjoy my freedom as I saw a siren heading our way with frightening speed.
“Look out!” I yelled, tackling Hlee just as the siren swooped over us.
“You liar!” the siren screeched, turning to attack again.
“Can you swim?” Hlee asked, crouching in a pouncing pose.
“Y-Yes,” I replied, looking behind me in fear.
“Good, sirens won't pick up your scent in water,” she said as she picked me up and threw me in the sea.
My scream faded into bubbles as I sank into the milky, opaque water. It was deeper than I expected, and I splashed my way to the surface, coughing. A siren swooped down, and I gasped and ducked again, her talons barely missing me. Terrified, I swam with manic strokes under the surface, hoping Wi'dei could breathe underwater long enough for me to figure out what to do.
"Swim towards the island, I am going to plug your ears," Wi'dei whispered, his soft voice nearly making me swallow water as it seemed to come from inside my ear.
I kept swimming as he stuffed something soft in my left ear and something rigid in my right one. Once I hit a rock, I stopped swimming and peeked above the surface, and my mouth fell open at the sight of dozens of sirens scanning the air. A few dove into the water, coming up wet, angry, and empty-handed, while others seemed to be singing.
“You will have to use your camouflage ability,” Wi'dei whispered in my right ear.
I gasped, jerking my head to the side, but I couldn’t see him. How was he even talking to me with my ears plugged?
"Don't make sudden movements and don't speak," he said. "You can hear me because I am plugging your right ear with my jaw and I am camouflaged as your hair. I have to give you a camouflage crash course, I hope the urgency will allow you to pick it up quickly. Now, focus on how the water feels on every inch of your skin. Become one with it, as though you are absorbing it. Take in its color, its texture, let it dictate your cells. Give yourself to it.”
Despite the severe discomfort at the thought of him jaw-first in my ear, I closed my eyes and tried to do as he said. Taking in a deep breath, I explored the scent of the sea, its briny smell not as sharp as that on Kabic. I wiggled my hands, feeling the water flow between my fingers. Feeling its cold silkiness across my skin. Feeling its buoyancy and gentle waves …
“Excellent,” Wi'dei said. “Now hold on to that feeling, embrace it.”
My eyelids popped open, and I gasped in awe as I brought my hand up. It was the same milky white as the water around me.
“Don’t get too excited, focus. Don’t create ripples with unnecessary movements. Keep as little of your face above the surface as possible.”
I remained still, trying to concentrate on embracing the water’s essence while keeping just my nose above the surface. Yet fretful curiosity got the best of me, and I peeked, watching the tireless sirens soar, dive, and presumably sing. My hyper pulse echoed in my head as I wondered if they'd ever give up.
The water around me began to vibrate, and I gasped as a barrage of green balls erupted from the sea. They exploded in a puff of smoke, and the sirens scattered and fled, two of them dropping dead.
“Wh-what’s happening?” I asked, tensing up.
“Hlee must have gathered a few merfolk to help us,” Wi'dei replied. “Don’t drop your camouflage yet, the sirens are already heading back.”
My growing smile faded. The sirens *were* back, and they were wearing clear masks that sealed their entire faces. Of course they’d have precautions against their kryptonite. Strange vehicles broke the surface, still shooting green balls, and the sirens attacked. Yet although the poisonous gas was useless, the balls did knock a few sirens out of the sky, and I gasped and jerked away as one nearly fell on us.
A siren turned to me, and Wi'dei yelled, “Dive!”
Panic resurfacing, I ducked under the water, but it was too late as a claw wrapped around my leg and yanked me up in the air. I screamed as I dangled upside down, and I screamed again as she tossed me onto the island, the pebbles not enough to break my fall. My breath knocked out, I tried to crawl away, and my panic increased when I could suddenly hear the cacophony of battle around me.
Wi'dei was no longer in my ear.
My mind short-circuited as I tried to search for him and to run to safety at the same time, and I wheezed out a raspy scream when the siren pinned me facedown on the rocks, squeezing my lungs.
“You liar," she snarled. "You weren’t helping the vampires ‘make a tally’. You—”
I gulped in a deep breath when her weight was removed off me, and I whipped around to see her scuffling with a merperson, feathers and tentacles entwining. All around us, sirens and merfolk clashed, screeches and hisses filling the smoky air, and I scrambled away, searching in vain for a place to hide.
A rumble made everyone pause, and we all looked up as a black streak raced across the sky, a trail of heavy, green smoke in its wake. My eyes went wide as I recognized it. That was Mika’s car! My hope took over, only for a siren to quash it as she grabbed my arms and took off.
“No! Help, help!” I cried out as I struggled, trying to kick up into the siren’s guts. “Let me go!”
I could hear Mika's car returning, and I gasped as the siren’s wings collapsed around me and we began falling. She was still conscious, screeching and thrashing, and we both grunted as we bounced and began swinging. Finding myself laying on her stomach with her wings around me, I rifled through the mess of feathers, trying to see what was going on, and a metal net met my eyes.
Green smoke billowed around us as we hung from Mika’s hovering car, and my hope returned when I saw Desmod in his armor sliding down the chain holding up the net.
"Desmod!" I cried out, relieved.
The siren tensed up and yelled in her language … and I screamed in shocked pain when she dug her talons into my body.
Desmod froze halfway down the rope and put a hand up. “Don’t hurt her!”
“Then release me!” the siren yelled. “Or I’ll tear her to pieces!”
Her talons dug deeper, and a shriek scoured my throat as the pain wrung my frenzied heart. Blood began to seep through my hoodie, and tears blurred my vision as I tried to pry her away, my breaths hitching with every agonizing pang.
“Stop!” Desmod yelled, his voice shaking with helpless anger. “If you kill her I swear you’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”
While Desmod spoke, I noticed an odd fragment of my hoodie traveling upwards, and my tortured heart skipped a beat when I realized it was Wi'dei in camouflage. He was making his way to the siren’s face. I didn’t know what his plan was, but hoping to distract her, I jerked and kicked, screaming out every ounce of my torment as I tried to yank her claws out of my body.
The siren yelled again, but her voice began to slur, and I glanced up through my tears to see Wi'dei slipping his body beneath her mask, just enough to let the gas seep through. Her claws relaxed, and I shoved them away, trembling as I placed my hands over my gushing wounds.
“Serena!” Desmod yelled, sliding down the rest of the chain.
“The Uster Clan came back for you, so they need you,” Wi'dei whispered quickly in my ear, still camouflaged. “I don’t trust them. I will join Hlee and her pod. Try your best not to mention me.”
“O-Okay,” I rasped, overwhelmed by pain and emotion.
“Thank you for helping me escape,” he said before wiggling through the net and jumping down towards the ongoing chaos of battle.
“Serena!” Desmod landed on top of the net and stuck his hand through, helping me put pressure on my wounds. “You’ll be okay, we got you.”
The net swung back as Mika’s car took off, leaving the battle behind, and my eyelids fluttered shut as fatigue and blood loss drew me towards unconsciousness.
“We’re lifting you up,” Desmod said. “Jin is a doctor, he’ll take care of you until we get back to base. Don’t worry, we won’t let you die.”
…
The smell of fried chicken woke me up, and I sat up in alarm. I was back in the bedroom, a bucket of chicken on the desk beside me. Lifting the covers and my pyjama shirt, I ran my hand over the layers of bandages covering my abdomen. The siren did a number on me, but somehow the pain was barely perceptible. Maybe vampires had a special way to manage it.
I rested my head back on the pillow and stared at the gray ceiling, my pulse racing my thoughts. I was part fairy. Part. Fairy. It sounded impossible no matter how many times I said it. A fairy. And I could camouflage myself. What else could I do? I wished I had more time to talk to Wi'dei, but he was wary of me, thanks to the vampires.
The vampires who came back for me. But my relief was still tinged with suspicion. Was Wi'dei right? Did they still need me? How did they even find me?
I also couldn’t believe how fast Hlee and her pod came to my defense. Well, I doubt it was for *my* defense. It was for Wi'dei. They knew and trusted him, and he vouched for me. And then he saved my life. I just hoped he made it safely to Hlee’s pod, and that all the merfolk survived their battle against the sirens.
It was only now that I remembered I only had two more years to live, and I grabbed my phone and made a tearful call to my parents. Unable to explain my sorrow, I sank into the comfort of their voices, swallowing back a sob as I begged them to talk to me for as long as they could. They obliged, and we talked for three hours before they had to take my grandfather to his final post-surgery appointment. He was better, and they were returning home after tomorrow. I couldn't tell them I may not be there, so I just hoped with all my might that I'd make it.
After we hung up, I posted everything, desperate for some sense amidst this uncertainty.
\-----
|
Hello all. As alluded to in my first post, the disappearance of my childhood friend, Tim, was only the beginning of my nightmares. As a side note, I apologize for not responding to any comments in the original post. Just writing this is nerve-wracking enough… but I’ll try my best and respond this time. And for those of you not caught up with everything, here is the original post:
The next chapter in this ever-unfolding tale of terror takes place just a couple of years after the initial vanishing. I was around eight-years-old at the time, and from what I can remember, was in third or fourth grade. It had been a little over two years since that Summer day and we were in the middle of the Fall. Most people, whether on purpose or simply due to the passing of time, had forgotten about the missing kid who “fell into a puddle.” Hell, even I had forgotten about it. I’m definitely ashamed to say so, but I left Tim behind, and I can’t deny that fact. No weirdness had taken place in those two years. The town went back to normal, as if Tim had never lived there in the first place.I was in school on a crisp autumn day, and the leaves had just started falling. The grassy green pigments I was used to had now turned into all different shades of yellow, brown, and red. My friends and I used to always dive right into the leaves and we’d play hide and seek till the sun went down. I was super excited that day because the piles of leaves were massive, like mini colorful mountains. Those were some of my favorite memories from my early childhood.
As soon as the clock struck 11:45, I anxiously awaited my teachers’ approval to unlock the shackles keeping us in that confined classroom. And like the start of a horse race, we ran like bullets to play our favorite game; manhunt. In case you weren’t aware, manhunt is like the next level of hide and seek. There’d be two teams; one would have a given amount of time to find a good place to hide and secure their location, while the other team would count down until the time was right for them to hunt the hiders down. The goal was for the hiders to make it back to home base without getting caught. We bet our Halloween candy from the other night on the winners’ bowl. Today, I made sure to be a runner; I knew the perfect place to hide, after all.
3…2…1…GO!!!! Before I knew it, I was bolting through the battlefield. I ducked under swings, and flew past teachers as I made my way to the edge of the human child-pigpen I was fenced in. But, this particular fence had a secret. A hole: one big enough for a tiny kid like me to crawl through. No one would even think to look for me out in the trees behind the school, and when the time was right; BAM, I’d be back at home base before anyone would be able to realize they hadn’t found me yet. I’d just sneak into autumn’s natural hiding spot, the leaf piles. I could already taste the sweets and sours of the winning candy in my watering mouth.
I checked my left and right to see if anyone followed me, but I was in the clear. I dirtied up my white shirt and blue shorts as I dug my way out, like one of those army men training in the movies. Making it to the other side, I picked myself up and looked around for the perfect pile of leaves to disguise myself in. And there they were, right under a larger-than-life oak tree, one of the grandest heaps of leaves I had ever seen. I couldn’t help but giddily smile as I sunk my way deep into the brush of fall crinkly fall colors. I did so quietly, as to make sure I wouldn’t be alerting the seekers of my where-a-bouts if I crunched too much as I snuggled myself inside the cocoon.
And there I lay. Still smiling, I put my hands over my mouth to hold back from giggling. I had the kind of overwhelming joy a kid gets the first time the tooth fairy visits them, or meeting Goofy at Disney World. I was ecstatic. This feeling soon turned to disgust as I started noticing my surroundings. It smelt atrocious… and I could only imagine hundreds of bugs both living and dead inside this home I’ve made for myself. I wasn’t too scared of bugs, in fact, I loved digging in dirt and picking up wriggling worms. But for some reason, I felt utterly disgusted being in there. It felt moist and sticky and intoxicatingly gross. My eyes started itching… no burning, as I viciously rubbed at them in a fruitless attempt at making the pain go away. The scent seemed to make it’s way into my lungs and started relentlessly stabbing at them. I couldn’t take it anymore; I squirmed around in the nest in an attempt to find my way out, but I could barely see through my fort, as shades of red and brown blinded my vision. I didn’t know whether my eyes were bleeding or if it was just the color of the leaves rubbing against my face, but what I did know is that I wanted out of there, and I wanted it fast. Wiping my eyes against my leaf-stained shirt, my vision finally started beginning to clear. And that’s when I saw them.
Through the tiny slides between her limp eyelids laid two soft hazel pupils. Beneath those, her little nose had dry snot near the openings and I couldn't help but notice that she was in desperate need of some lip balm. It took me a second, but I finally recognized my fellow hider as a girl named Laurel. She was in my class the year prior, but I never really got to know her as she was always by herself. I do recall many of the kids thinking her to be weird, as she mostly spoke to her “imaginary friend.” But that didn’t bother her… She’d often scoff back at those judging her by telling them that her friend had promised her that one day they’d take her wherever she dreamed of going and that we’d all be jealous in turn. Needless to say, none of us were envious.
“Hey Laurel, what are you doing in here?” I whispered to her. She just kept staring at me, but never gave me a response. “Are you hiding in here from someone too?” She looked rather sickly, probably due to eating way too much candy last night. “Um… come on, let’s get out of here.” I reached within the swarm of leaves for her hand and finally got a hold of it. It was tiny and gentle, yet chilly and, once again, sticky. Too many lollipops, I assured myself. I finally made my way into the refreshing sunlight and took in an enormous breath of autumn air. I was still holding Laurel’s hand, but something didn’t feel quite right. She was a small girl, but at this moment she felt almost weightless. When I looked back I noticed she wasn’t fully out of the pile yet. Only her hand has breached the forest of leaves. It was coated in some sort of red sap. And so I tugged once more and this time her arm made its way out… only her arm.
Before I could even let out a yelp, a large hand wrapped around my mouth. It was rough. It felt like the ridges on its fingers were cutting my face with each slight movement. The hand was white and pale, but was covered in filth that contrasted the almost plastic look of the skin. He didn’t have to turn around for me to know who he was. It might’ve been a couple years, but somehow I still knew it was him. The man who wallowed by the windows of that abandoned home as Tim disappeared into the thin water; the scraggly man.
“Shhhh… It’s all right…” His whispering voice was soft… sinister. It felt as though his words had penetrated my ears and burrowed their way into my brain. My breathing became increasingly heavy and he could tell. “Your friend and I were having a playdate, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s our little secret.” I finally managed to free my mouth from his grasp and let out a shriek of pure terror. I heard someone in the distance question the source of the sound. I knew they were coming to look, and he knew it too. “I have to go now,” he told me, “but you have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone about me. Not your mom, not your dad, not anyone. And if you do,” his final words seemed to linger for what felt like hours, “I’ll know.” And with that I heard his footsteps walk away, crunching through the leaves, as he made his way back into the shelter of the trees. But he wasn’t even running. His motions were so innocent, and even when a teacher and a couple of other kids found me, I knew he was still there. Still watching. Eyes wide open.I then became distracted by the blood curdling howl a teacher let loose upon my ears, followed by one of my classmates upchucking their lunch from the sight no one should go through the suffering to witness.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Sirens and yelling from parents and cops flooded the schoolyard. Kids wondered what was going on as their moms and dads desperately picked them up. But the ones that were crying… they knew what happened.Soon enough I was being swarmed by officers. They were all talking incoherently, but I’ll never forget the one thing I did manage to make out. I clearly recall one of the officers blurting out, “isn’t this the same kid who was the last to see that missing boy a couple of years back?” I’m not sure what it was about that comment, but my heart sank. “Yes, yes it was.” I could’ve sworn I had only thought that, but suddenly everyone looked down at me in sheer silence. Their eyes were bugging out of their sockets, as if I had just said some taboo curse. Luckily for me, my parents had just arrived to break me free of their critical gazes.I wasn’t able to spend long within the comforting grasps of my parents arms, as a burly police officer with a mustache too big for his lip approached me; the sheriff. And once again, just as he did two years prior, he crouched down to my level and placed a caring hand on my shoulder… “Let’s talk, son.” But I wouldn’t be talking to him that day. I wouldn’t be talking to anyone. There was nothing for me to say. And He made sure of that…
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Every night I looked out my window, I saw him. His ghost-white skin haunted the darkness itself, as he stood on the other end of the sidewalk. Most of the time he’d just be standing there, staring at my window. If we made eye contact, he would occasionally wave and sometimes put his index finger against his where his mouth should’ve been. I could never make out any facial features on him. It was as if his face was shrouded in a mist of ambiguity. So every night I’d turn the other way to face the never-ending hallway outside of my room. The one lamp my mom made sure to always keep on out there showed his shadow dominating the wall. If I stared too long, his shadowed head would cock sideways like a dog hearing an unfamiliar noise. He was always there watching over me, like a demented guardian angel.
And that’s how my life went from then on out. Our dreadful nightly routine became the norm for quite some time. That is, until the next incident… |
Alimony bleeds me dry every paycheck, but that’s nothing compared to the other payment coming due each night.
Last week, I came home to an intruder in my crappy studio apartment. He sat on the edge of my sagging Murphy bed, strangely out of place with his tailored suit and briefcase. His hawkish face was dominated by all-black eyes, staring at me behind silver spectacles.
If I hadn’t been plastered, I might’ve jumped out of my skin. My tired brain had been playing tricks on me lately, and hitting the bottle this hard certainly didn’t help.
“Are you really there?” I asked.
“Yes; don’t be alarmed Mister Hinkle. I am Grk-Krk-hck—“ his name came out like a guttural coughing fit, “—but you may call me G. I’m here to discuss a settlement.”
Settlement?
I wanted to run from the intruder. But the name… I actually knew it. “You sent me a letter a few weeks back. Big wax seal. You’re a lawyer?” I remembered skimming the document, and casting it aside.
He nodded.
“Sorry, I read ‘Temporal Tribunal,’ and thought it was a prank.”
“Afraid not.”
I didn’t understand. “If she wants more money, I’ve got nothing else.” I gestured to the room, completely bare save for the bed, an a folding table where I ate my meals.
G laughed. A wheezing, sickly laugh. “I’m not here to collect your money. I’m here to collect time.”
“Time?”
“The Temporal Tribunal collects stolen, wasted time, and restores it to the rightful owner,” G said. “My, how you robbed your wife of her formative years.”
I hung my head.
“Before we take you to court, she asked to try a settlement. We’re proposing you repay her 5 years, a few hours at a time, over the next decade.”
“And if I refuse?”
G shrugged. “The Tribunal despises adulterers. You’d probably owe double.“
I was going to wake up. This was a booze-fueled nightmare. “Deal.”
G licked his pale lips.
“Shake on it.” He held out his hand.
His skin felt fibrous and coarse, like cheap sheets at a seedy motel. There was no border between the edge of his sleeve, and the beginning of his flesh. His suit WAS his skin.
He smirked, curling the corners of his thin, pale mouth. “You’ll be seeing me again.”
One second he was there. The next, he simply wasn’t. There was no puff of smoke, or even my door clicking shut.
I brushed it off as the work of my panicked, overtired imagination; a stress-hallucination brought on by the jackals in three piece suits who helped my wife tear my life apart.
Turns out I wasn’t so lucky.
True to his word, G returned. I see him every night at 3AM, leering at me from the foot of the bed with those cold eyes. When I blink, the clock jumps to 6– just minutes before my alarm.
Even still, I held out hope it was a recurring nightmare until last Friday night. I turned off my alarm, planning to sleep as late as my body allowed. I blinked away an entire weekend, walking at 6, Monday morning.
I caught on slower than I’d care to admit: The thing my wife loosed on me is collecting my debt every night. A few hours each day, a few days each week.
I have no idea what happens during the missing time, but I’m certainly not sleeping. I’m feeling the effects of chronic sleep deprivation. Everything aches, and I’m throwing back coffee by the pot just to stay upright.
My next step will be coming up with an experiment to figure out exactly what’s happening after 3 AM.
There’s no way I can live like this for the next decade.
|
My name is Solomon Anderson, and I'm a monster hunter. Quite possibly the best there is and ever was. Actually, scratch that "quite possibly." No one will ever be able to reach the highs I have reached or get as much experience in this profession as I have in just the past twenty years alone. I've died, went to hell, and came back swinging. You all are lucky to be reading from a guy like me, for I will have some great things to tell you.
Well, actually, if it was me I wouldn't be doing this at all. But my daughter Sara keeps telling me I need to keep a journal to help with my memory and to keep a proper record of all my activities. I fail to see the point when everything is up here but whatever, she's the boss. I do kinda get the memory thing, my brain don't work too good from getting smacked around all the time. I really have no reason to post these entries but hey, I figure if I'm writing all this shit down then at least someone should read it.
I guess I should start with the basics of my operation. I work with my team of three people. I have a fourth guy who works here, Scott, but fuck Scott. The guy's a slacker. My team consists of me, my daughter Sara, and my butler (and part time best friend) Cornelius. We do any supernatural jobs we're hired to outside of the funeral home. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the funeral home. We're the Anderson Family Multipurpose Funeral Home and Crematory, and we're one of the best in the entire country. (near the bottom of the list, but hey, it still counts.) I have a right to be proud, my team and I do good work. We're smart (mostly) and efficient (mostly).
Okay, I'll tell a story now, I'll get to the main thing which finally made my daughter really push me to start keeping a journal.
So this morning I work up, had about fifteen pieces of bacon for breakfast and then got dressed and headed to the funeral home. We didn't have anything on for today so the schedule was to sit around and wait for a call. My butler Cornelius texted me and informed me that he wasn't gonna be bale to make work today because he was sick. So now it was just me and Sara cause that fucking loser Scott had the day off. Sara was just hanging out in the lobby on her phone and I was in my office. We got a call and instead of taking it for me, Sara just picked it up and immediately transferred it over to me. I fucking hate talking to customers. Believe it or not, most people are stupid. Sara's twenty something too, she should be able to answer calls on her own! I didn't have a choice here, so I picked it up.
The call was from married couple who claimed there was a ghost in their house. This stuff happens all the time and 99% of the time there's no ghost so I figured this would be an easy day. Getting Sara to come was like pulling teeth. She didn't have a valid excuse though. We both knew nothing else was gonna happen today because all the dead people go to the better funeral homes and we're in a low period of monster activity. September is a weird month cause it's right at the start of fall but not quite Halloween season yet, and Halloween is when shit gets busy. In fact, it's when we make most of our money.
Anyway, I made sure I was wearing one of my good suits and Sara looked as presentable as she was gonna get today, so we headed out.
We got to the house and when the couple answered the door, I immediately barged in and started waving my bible and crucifix around, making my way into the kitchen. I shouted all the generic stuff you tell a ghost, "leave this place," "you are unwelcome," "allow your soul to rest in peace once and for all!' I probably could have sited a few bible passages, but c'mon, there's a total of like three people in the world who have read the bible.
While I was doing all this, Sara was making all the proper greetings to the family and making the usual apologies for my behavior. She explained that all supernatural activity should stop when we leave and we will take the proper precautions to put a stop to all this. Bless her heart, we got it down to a system now. You always have to make sure to leave the possibly of more activity open so you can come back later and get paid again when they continue to be paranoid. I was barely paying attention to my surroundings, just waving the cross around and basically hurling insults at the spirit who I believed not to be there, when I noticed something on the floor. I paused and walked over to it. It was barely noticeable but the light caught it just right to make a shine on the smooth, white surface. I put the bible on the counter and got down onto the floor. I picked the thing up moved it close to my face just to make sure I knew what I was seeing. A tooth.
A chill ran down my spine. The only words that came to mind were "oh fuck"
I called the couple and my daughter into the room, and Sara ran in, probably noticing the shake in my voice. A few moments later the couple had entered and I raised the tooth up to them.
"You guys didn't lose a tooth recently, did you?"
They were very confused at this because there was no possible way for any tooth to be here.
I put the tooth in my jacket pocket and took a deep breath to calm myself down. I then told the couple to write us a check and then leave the place to get some lunch. It took some urging on both ends but they soon left. Now it was just me, my daughter, and it.
You see, this couple didn't have a ghost in their house, they had a demon. It's a special one that I've encountered many times and have not beat. I the one time it didn't win was because I made a deal with it to leave. Not many people know this, but one of my front teeth is fake. You can't notice it at first glance but if you look closely you'll see it's a slightly different color and shape to the rest of them. This is because of this demon. I call it "The Dentist." It's very tall, and very skinny, so skinny you can see it's bones through it's skin. It's arms are longer than it's legs and there's three fingers on each hand, each one tipped with long, thick, claws. And the head is entirely made out of human teeth.
I told Sara to go to the garage and get a hammer, and after she left I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I pulled the tooth out of my pocket and opened my mouth, holding the tooth high enough so I can see it next to my fake tooth.
Yeah, this was my tooth. It knew I was here the moment I walked in, it was mocking me. Sara hadn't come back from the garage yet so I was on my own for the moment. I went back into the kitchen and seeing that I found the tooth near the basement door, I decided to head down.
I could take this fucking demon, world's greatest monster hunter, right? I've been to hell and came back swinging. And demons are from hell, I could take this guy easy, with or without a weapon. I didn't have a weapon actually. Sara hadn't come back with the hammer. She must have had trouble getting into the garage. Or the garage didn't have a hammer and she was looking around for one. Oh well, no biggie.
I made my way down into the basement, I turned on the light only for it to flicker and go out. I didn't have my flashlight on me so I pulled out my phone and used the flashlight on that. I took a few steps only to hear the sound of chattering teeth. The shiver went down my spine again and I decided to book it, and ran up the stairs. I slammed the basement door shut and locked the door behind me.
I started breathing hard and figured upstairs was the best place to look instead. So I made my way up the stairs with one question on my mind: Where the hell was Sara with the hammer?
I'd feel much better if i wasn't unarmed and had something to whack the fucker in the head with. I turned off the flashlight on my phone and sent Sara a text: "Where the hell are you?"
I made it into the bedroom and saw something that made everything click.
The couple, brutally killed. With all their teeth missing.
The demon messed with the minds of both me and Sara, making us think this couple was still there and talking to us, if they had even been alive to call to begin with. I heard the sound of chattering teeth behind me and I was so angry I forgot what I was fighting. I turned around and punched the thing in the head. It stumbled back, probably surprised I had the balls to just punch it. Seeing it in front of me now I noticed the brand new, white, bloody teeth added to the mass of old teeth that was it's face. The teeth were shifting around where I had punched it, as if trying to set themselves back into place. I took my tooth out of my pocket and flicked it over to it.
"We had a deal."
It leaned over, used the tip of it's claws to carefully pick the tooth up, and then placed it onto the side of it's head. It then took a few steps closer and pointed at my mouth, making it's point loud and clear. It wanted the rest.
Sara came up the stairs behind it, holding the hammer. She had a cut on her cheek. I don't think it was trying to seriously hurt or kill her, just trying to make an example of her.
Sara smacked it in the back of the head with the hammer, causing teeth to fly everywhere. It franticly got on it's hands and knees and began picking them off the floor and shoving them onto the back of it's head. I had Sara toss me the hammer, which I barely caught and slammed it down onto it's forearm, breaking the bone. it grabbed me buy the neck with it's other arm and I slammed the hammer into it's face a few times causing it to drop me and start picking up more teeth.
Thank God for my daughter, she helped figure out the thing's weakness. I pulled out my crucifix and pressed it onto the thing's neck. It jolted back and when it saw the thing in my hand, it scooped up as many teeth and it possibly could in it's hands, ran and jumped out the bedroom window. it ran over to a storm drain, shoved the teeth onto it's face, took a quick look back at me, and then jumped into a storm drain.
Sara and I got the hell out of there and called the police about the dead bodies. The news report didn't mention all the teeth at the crime scene, so I'm guessing the thing went back and got the rest it left behind.
So yeah, I owed my daughter a favor after almost getting her killed by the evil tooth fairy, so I'm doing the journal now. I'm sure I'm gonna have to do something else to make up for this sooner or later, but whatever. She'll hold the grudge until she gets to use this in a few weeks.
So if any of you hear a weird clicking or chattering teeth late at night, I suggest you get the hell out of there.
You know what the worst part of the whole day was? I didn't even get paid.
P.S. Thanks to Sara for helping me set up a reddit page. |
**The Stakeout**
The morning sun filters through the shutters of our office in the French Quarter, casting long, dappled shadows on the worn wooden floor. The faint hum of jazz from a nearby club and the distant chatter of tourists lend a semblance of normalcy to the room.
Yet, that normalcy is tainted with tension. Reine and I had another spat this morning over how she rearranged the office supplies. Something about her needing the space on the desk for "personal matters" which she didn't clarify. But these days, it feels like those little annoyances are the only constants in our relationship. The lighthearted teasing and warmth we shared last night at the Tet dinner feels like a distant dream. The return to our day-to-day life brings the same petty, inconsequential bullshit arguments back on the menu. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. Is this the new norm?
The desktop pings, bringing me back to the present. The background report I requested on Xuan is in. A quick skim reveals no major red flags. Mostly details about his life I know already. He's an accomplished quantum physicist, respected in his field, and a prominent lecturer at Tulane. No arrest record.
Another detail surfaces that tugs at a personal chord within me; Xuan came to America as a refugee at the tender age of six. His family were boat people, escaping the aftermath of the Vietnam War. My own parents were boat people. I've grown up listening to their stories, feeling their silent pain. The horrors Xuan must have witnessed, I can't even begin to imagine. What that does to a person's soul...
One random detail does catches my eye though: he’s a member of some sort of academic organization, full of leading scientists and engineers. 'Nexus Consortium.’ The name sounds innocuous enough, but my gut tells me it's worth digging deeper.
I shut down the computer. And just as I'm getting up, Reine looks over, her eyebrow raised in that inquisitive manner I've grown fond of. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
Clearing my throat, I craft a believable excuse on the spot, "Got a lead on the Landry case. I need to head over to Algiers. Might take me most of the day."
She narrows her eyes. "Want some company? The more the merrier."
"Don't you need to go over the forensics for the Thibodeaux break-in? The evidence bag with the lock?" I remind her, hoping she won't push it further.
A thoughtful expression crosses her face. "Oh, right," she murmurs, her gaze drifting towards the large file on her desk.
Guilt gnaws at me. I hate lying to her, especially when it feels like the walls between us are growing taller every day. "Hey," I begin, my voice softer, "sorry about earlier. About the whole desk thing."
She offers me a small smile, her gray eyes locking onto mine, "It's okay. I overreacted. I just...I've been needing space lately."
I chuckle, "You always have your quirks."
She smirks, the hint of mischief back in her eyes. "Speaking of which, can you get me a bánh mì with extra pickled daikon and jalapeños while you’re out?”
I raise an eyebrow at the oddly specific request but agree with a light laugh. "Craving the heat, huh?" I tease, not suspecting the deeper undercurrents of her desires.
Her eyes searched mine, but I held her gaze steadily. "Oh, and one last thing..."
"What is it?" I ask, already heading to the door.
"Just... be careful, okay?" she says with a touch of sadness in her voice.
"I always am," I replied, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her cheek.
—
Before leaving the office, I take a few extra precautions. I put my phone on airplane mode to prevent any location tracking and use a burner phone. I also decide to take the back roads, avoiding the main streets where I may run into someone we know.
The drive is nerve-wracking, my mind oscillating between worries about Xuan and guilt about deceiving Reine. I try to focus on the investigation at hand. My first stop is Xuan’s apartment.
As I park my car a block away from Xuan’s Uptown apartment complex, my burner phone buzzes with a new text message. It’s from Kira. I gave her this number just in case we need to keep in contact.
"Stay safe, anh."
My fingers hesitate over the keys, searching for the right words. Finally, I type back: "I will, I promise." Simple but to the point.
As the late morning sun casts its glint over the picturesque Uptown apartments, I spot Xuan stepping out of the complex. He's dressed casually, his attire suggesting nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the unease from last night’s video hasn’t left me.
I give him a head start before starting my car, making sure I don’t draw any attention. He makes his way to a nearby coffee shop, and I park a little further down, choosing to watch from a distance. After ordering what seems to be his regular morning caffeine fix, he leaves, seemingly lost in his thoughts.
Throughout the day, I shadow Xuan from one location to another, always maintaining a discreet distance. There’s a predictability to his movements — a local market, the university, a gym, and then a bookstore. On the surface, everything appears perfectly normal. But with every passing hour, I can’t shake the feeling that something's off, almost as if he's masking something beneath the mundane.
While Xuan is in a diner grabbing lunch, I take the opportunity to make some notes on the day’s observations. Distracted, I barely register the soft knocking on my car window until it becomes more insistent. Startled, I look up, my heart sinking when I see Reine's face, her eyes flashing with a mix of confusion and anger.
"Espèce d'enculé!" (You fucking asshole!) she spits, her voice is sharp, unyielding. She only brings out the R-rated French when she's really mad.
My mind races, scrambling to assemble a plausible excuse. “I, uh...” I stutter, failing to form a coherent sentence.
She opens the car door, her eyes scanning the dashboard cluttered with notes and the map highlighting Xuan’s routes. “Why are surveilling your ex-brother-in-law? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“How did you—” I begin to ask.
“The burner phone, Ash,” she interrupts, exasperation tinting her voice. “You left the box in your trash bin. I checked with Abby. You’re not working on the Landry case. Also you left your email logged in. I saw the background check you requested on Xuan. ”
My face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. I was careless, made rookie mistakes. The first was believing that I could outwit a former NOPD detective who knows me better than anyone.
She slides into the passenger seat, her presence filling the confined space, making it feel even smaller. The weight of her disappointment anchors me to the seat, a visceral reminder of the rift between us. My initial instinct is to salvage the situation with more lies, but the look in her eyes stops me. She deserves the truth.
I try to lighten the blow, a weak attempt to assuage the growing tempest in the car. "Look, Reine," I mutter, reaching into the backseat and holding up a paper bag, "I got your bánh mì. Just the way you like it." The gesture is pathetic and insufficient for the weight of the situation, but it’s all I have.
I nod. “Extra pickled daikon and jalapeños.”
She still looks beyond pissed but snatches the bag from my hand with a resigned sigh. “You have until I finish this sandwich to explain yourself.”
I nod, watching as she unwraps the sandwich. She takes a bite, never taking her eyes off me. I feel like I’m under a microscope, about to be dissected. “Kira asked me to check on Xuan,” I admit.
"So, you're spying for your sister now?" She shoots back. "Let me guess, she thinks he's seeing another woman?"
I can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, even in the seriousness of the moment. We had both jumped to the same initial conclusion. Great minds.
“No, nothing like that. She’s genuinely worried about him,” I insist.
I reach over and grab the tablet from the glove compartment, hitting play on the hidden phone video Kira captured of Xuan.
Reine’s eyes widen as the video plays, the sandwich in her hand momentarily forgotten. As the screen is filled with the pulsating and shimmering form of the eldritch horror, the bánh mì slips from her grasp, splattering condiments on the dashboard and floor.
"Sainte mère de Dieu…" (Holy Mother of God…) she whispers, her voice trembling. The stern, controlled demeanor she held just moments ago shatters.
She turns to me, her face pale, her voice trembling. “What the hell is that, Ash? How can something like that even exist?”
I look down, the weight of my decisions weighing heavy on my shoulders. “I don’t know, but that’s why Kira is worried about Xuan. She thinks he’s gotten himself involved in something... otherworldly.”
“You think?!” Reine’s voice rises in disbelief and fear. “And you thought you’d face this alone? Without telling me?"
My mouth goes dry. I'd anticipated the backlash from my earlier lie, but facing her raw emotions now, it felt different. "Kira made me promise not to tell you," I mutter, ashamed of my excuse.
Reine's eyes darken. "She did what?"
"Kira didn't want to involve you," I explain, my voice barely audible as the guilt churns within me. "She wanted to keep it between me and her.”
The reality of my choices is like salt in an open wound. I can see the hurt in Reine's eyes, layered with fear and anger. This isn’t the kind of relationship we’ve built. We are partners, in every sense of the word. We’re supposed to carry burdens together, yet here I am, dropping the weight of the universe onto her, unprepared and unannounced.
Just as Reine is about to respond, her eyes flicker to something outside. The words freeze on her lips, and her gaze hardens as she intently looks out of the window. I follow her gaze, my heart immediately lurching into my throat.
My hand darts to the glove compartment, pulling out the laser microphone we'd used in countless past investigations. The contraption looks like a binocular, but it's specifically designed to pick up vibrations from glass panes, allowing eavesdropping from a distance. Pointing the device towards the diner window, I adjust the frequency, trying to tune in to the conversation inside.
Reine looks at me with wide eyes, aware of the gravity of the situation. "What are they saying?" she whispers.
I hand one of the earbuds to Reine, and she hastily inserts it into her ear. We can just make out snippets of the conversation inside the diner. The audio is not perfect, the ambient noise from the street making it harder to discern the words, but we hold our breath, straining to listen.
A crystal-clear voice breaks through the ambient noise. “... Dr. Le, I trust the preparations for the Void Whisperer are on schedule?” The woman’s tone is refined, with a clipped British accent, a stark contrast to the rustic diner setting.
Xuan’s response comes through muffled, “Yes, Ms. Lockhart. Everything is prepared. In two days, the world will know of Lửa Đen.”
My mind races at the mention of the ominous name, Lửa Đen, the Black Fire. What is Xuan getting himself into? What is the Void Whisperer?
Both Reine and I lean in, as if physically getting closer would somehow make the fractured conversation clearer through the earpiece. The woman's voice is calm, but there's a steely undertone that sends shivers down my spine.
"... His flames will bathe the world in darkness and from the ashes, a new era will rise…" Ms. Lockhart's words come through the earpiece, a mix of fervor and devotion in her voice.
Reine and I exchange worried glances. "Is this some kind of a cult?" she whispers, her voice quivering. The concern in her eyes mirrors my own.
The conversation continues, fragments of words and phrases filtering through the static interference of the earpiece. Xuan's voice comes through again, sounding almost distorted and unsettlingly distant.
“...I-I’m not sure,” Xuan's voice trembles through the earpiece, the uncertainty clear. “Is there no other way?”
“There is no room for doubt, brother. We are the harbingers of a new eon. Each one of us must be willing to sacrifice everything on the altar of the Dark Flame.” She urges, her tone chillingly gentle.
"Sacrifice?" Reine mouths silently to me, a line of worry etching her features. The questions multiply in my mind, each one more disturbing than the last.
There's a pause, and the muffled sound of Xuan's deep, shuddering breath filters through the ambient noise. “I understand, Ms. Lockhart,” he concedes, a hint of despair in his voice. “Nothing can stand in our way. I apologize for my moment of doubt.”
The conversation between Xuan and Lockhart continues, but their words become harder to discern. They talk in hushed tones, whispering about arrangements, people in place, and a device capable of breaching barriers beyond human comprehension. It’s a puzzle, each piece more intricate and confusing than the last.
Just then, the scene inside the diner blurs for a split second as if distorted by a sudden heatwave. In that fleeting moment, a terrifying vision replaces the mundane backdrop. Lockhart transforms, her human visage giving way to a skeletal figure shrouded in ethereal darkness, whispers of shadows swirling around her. Xuan's face is now marked with strange, arcane symbols, glowing a harsh, luminescent blue against his skin. The once buzzing diner is filled with spectral figures, their twisted forms locked in eternal agony.
The world snaps back to normal as swiftly as it changed, leaving me gasping for breath, gripping the car's interior for support.
Reine’s face is white as a sheet. “Did you see that?” I feel her hand clutch mine, her grip tight with fear and anticipation.
“You saw that too?” I reply, my heart pounding against my chest like a frantic drum.
The silence in the car is heavy as we watch Xuan and Lockhart leave the diner. They go their separate ways, a casual observer would think nothing of the meeting.
But we know differently. We stumbled into a web far more intricate and dangerous than we could ever imagined. There's no turning back now.
|
2006. The worst year of my life. The year our 11 year old daughter Casey disappeared. Casey was the light of our lives, my wife Evelyn and I doted on her from the day she was born, never did we think that a random stormy day in September would be the last time we would ever see her.
23rd September 2006:
I awoke to the smell of pancakes cooking away in the kitchen, it was 9am, I lay and gathered my thoughts as heavy rain pelted off my bedroom window, I was thinking about how I was just about to get promoted to assistant manager at my firm, money was tight lately and it would really help out. just then i the bed jolted as my daughter Casey ran from the hallway and jumped on top of me “daddy wake up, mommy’s making pancakes…chocolate chip, your favourite” I laughed and picked her up in my arms and brought her into a tight embrace “is she now? Well I better get dressed and come right down” I laughed as I tried to get up off of the bed. Casey ran back downstairs, i quickly got dressed and followed behind her. “Smells amazing hon” I said as my wife glanced over with a smile “yeah well it was Casey’s idea, I’m just the cook” she said with a fun sarcastic tone. I sat at the breakfast bar while Casey handed me a knife and fork and a half empty cup of coffee, she’d spilled the majority on the floor on her journey over to me.
“Wow thank you Casey this looks amazing sweetie” I said as Evelyn places the pancakes in front of me and rolled her eyes while trying to hide a giggle “your welcome daddy” she said batting her long lashes as she watched me take the first bite. “Hey Casey, why don’t we go for a walk in the woods after breakfast? look for deer tracks” I said trying to swallow my mouthful “ooooooo yes please, I’ll go get dressed right away” she said excitedly, I chuckled as I watched her run up the stairs at lightning speed.
“C’mon Casey, times ticking” I shouted up the stairs, feeling impatient “coming daddy!” She yelled from over the landing as she appeared at the top of the stairs. Her curly red hair fell over her face as she tried to shove on her pink bobble hat, she had already put on her white coat with the fur hood and a pair of red snow boots “let’s goooooo!” She said in a sing sing voice, and off we went.
As we walked through the woods, the trees I twisted around each other at the top, casting a dark shadow onto the wood floor, the wind whistled through the leaves and the rain fell softly onto our faces “daddy I think I see a track” Casey shouted from up ahead “oh yeah, let me see” I ran slowly to catch up to where she was pointing to “your right, it is a track, good job honey” I said, feeling impressed. We walked further through the woods and chatted about school and what Casey had been getting up to, just then a tall man with his face half covered with a scarf stopped in our path “hey buddy e..everything ok? I said feeling uneasy “hand over the girl” he said in a deep, emotionless tone “what? No..no!” I said in a panic, he then pulled out sawn off shotgun and points it toward us “hand over the girl or I will shoot you in the f*cking face” he seethed. I stood in shock, a million things racing through my mind “please! Don’t hurt us” I pleaded “you have one more fucking chance, hand her over or so help me god I will kill you” I stared at his cold dark eyes and finally did the unimaginable. I handed over my only child to a masked monster. “Daddy no!!!! Please daddy help me! Don’t leave me” Casey screamed, tears streaming down her face “I’m so sorry” I said.
But what was I supposed to do, I didn’t want to die. I know what your thinking ‘worlds worst dad’ but I’m you know she’s not even my kid, not that she or anyone knows, her mom had her on a one night stand and I brought her up as my own. Right f*ck I need to get my story straight, we went on our walk and she was kidnapped by a mad man, well that’s actually true I just did nothing to stop it.
The next few weeks were hell, Evelyn was inconsolable, police were constantly in and out, taking statements and trying to find witnesses. I felt awful lying to my wife, twisting the story ever so slightly and I felt bad I really did but I was in too deep and soooo close to getting that promotion, I could make this right. We’d have more children, we could still have a good life.
7th October 2006:
It had been 2 weeks since Casey was taken, we’d just returned home from putting up fliers when two police officers knocked at the door “officers, please tell me you’ve found her” Evelyn said, her voice cracking “can we come in, we need to talk” i gestured them inside “please sit down sir and madam” “I’m afraid a body has been found near an old shack in the woods, I’m really sorry but it appears to be Casey’s” Evelyn let out a scream that wasn’t a shiver down my spine “please god not my baby, not my Casey” I fell to the floor as I cradled my hysterical rial wife. Shit what have I done I thought. Will anything ever be the same? At least now she can never tell that I didn’t fight for her.
17 years later:
I sat in my chair watching as my teenage twin boys played on their game station, Evelyn in the kitchen making my favourite..chocolate chip pancakes, when suddenly the phone rang “I’ll get it hon” I said as I picked it up from the side table “hello” “hello daddy remember me” my blood ran cold “wh..who is this?” I stuttered “oh I think you know exactly who it is and ill see you soon daddy” the line went dead. I stood in complete shock as I tried to come to terms with my new nightmare. |
Probably the earliest memories I have of my life are storytime.
Dad would sit in his special seat in his room, and I’d sit cross-legged on the floor.
Storytime was important. Storytime was special. Storytime couldn’t be skipped.
Every night. It was a ritual. An event.
I liked it, mostly.
He’d often read from picture books. He’d always shuffle in new ones. Stories about animals, leaves, gremlins, ghouls, talking clouds - all that good stuff. As a young kid, I didn’t realize just how weird it was for him to have so many darn kids books at his disposal.
Anyways.
There was one important rule that always came with his nightly storytelling: Whenever he shared a tale, I wasn’t allowed to get distracted.
In the earlier years, it felt like he was much more lax about this. If I yawned or dozed off, he was pretty forgiving. But if I interrupted him, saying I was hungry or bored or wanted to play video games, he’d shut me down quickly. He’d stare at me from his chair. An intense, angry glare. Then, with my full attention, he’d simply say: “What would the uninvited guests think about this?”
Naturally, I didn’t have a great answer to this question. At first, I assumed it was just an expression akin to saying it’s ‘raining cats and dogs’ – some phrase that sounded like nonsense but one that I'd understand when I was older.
Either way, I ended up becoming a pretty good listener after months of this ritual, and started to really relish these moments with my dad. The stories themselves were boring, sure, but he’d always work hard to spice them up with great pacing and impassioned voice acting.
It wasn’t until I turned nine that his storytime rules became much stricter.
At this point, if I got itchy and looked down at my arm to scratch it, he’d snap his fingers, then glare. “What would the uninvited guests think about this?”
If I noticed a snowfall happening outside, my eyes briefly darting to the window, it would be another snap of his fingers, another disapproving look, and another mention of uninvited visitors.
I’d even learned to stare right at him, nodding intently at the appropriate story beats while my mind was off wandering about something else. Still he’d somehow be able to catch it.
Innocently, I brought this up to some of my close friends at school, who found the whole thing - including the fact that he still read stories to me, nightly even - a bit weird. My curiosity flamed, and I brought it up to him at dinner one day.
“Dad, why is storytime so important?”
He didn’t look up to answer. Fork with mashed potatoes in one hand, that day’s paper held out in front of him in the other.
“It’ll make you smarter. When you grow up, you’ll be thankful about it.”
The answer didn’t really quell my curiosity. I pressed on a bit more.
“And you really need me to pay attention the whole time?”
“Yes. Without a doubt.”
Not a particularly detailed answer from the old man.
If this paints a strange picture about my pops, I do want to make something very clear: he was a great dad. He was always there when I needed him, whether it was for help on my homework or as a shoulder to cry on for something my nine-year-old self thought was the end of the world. He was supportive with all my hobbies - dorky as they were - and never seemed interested in forcing a particular worldview on me. There were only two topics he was guarded about: talking about my mom, who died giving birth to me, and of course, the stories.
Once I hit ten, he ditched the picture books altogether.
The next stories were all ones he came up with himself. They were… interesting, to say the least.
I can recall a few of them that left greater impressions on me, for reasons I’ll get into soon.
The first was the story about the Werewolf who Should’ve Known Better. This werewolf had sharp teeth, sharp claws, and a big heart, like all the werewolves that came before him. He’d heard all the tales about townsfolk crying foul about the wolves and blaming them for various ills, but he brushed them aside. This werewolf was an optimist. One fateful day, he climbed down the hill to finally greet the townsfolk, but they chased him out with pitchforks and rocks. He realized quickly, much as he wished it weren’t the case, that things hadn’t changed. His story would be the same as those of wolves from generations past.
The second story was about a boy who would freeze up in terror whenever there was an earthquake. Rather than dropping under the table and covering his head as he was supposed to, he’d instead stop in place, unable to move an inch. Noticing this, his mother decided to calm him with a story. Earthquakes, big and small, she told him, were all caused by a friendly giant in the sky. Small rumbles meant the giant was exercising, and bigger quakes meant the giant was bouncing on a trampoline. The stories were silly, but they helped the boy find some relief, and soon, he was able to consistently drop, cover, and hold, all while visualizing a fantastical picture in the sky.
The most important story of the bunch was one he decided to save for a special night.
At this point, I’d become the perfect listener. It was routine and instinct, and nothing could distract me.
Even as my dad’s storytelling antics got stranger and stranger.
He’d turn the TV on midway through a tale and start slowly lifting the volume. He’d walk around the room as he spoke, bouncing a ball against the wall with increasing force. And, strangest of all, he’d sometimes bring large stuffed animals into the room that he would hide behind as he told the story.
I barely slipped up. Sometimes the face of a particular stuffed animal would pop out to me, or my eyes would be drawn to follow the movement of the ball he was bouncing. He’d always catch me. He’d always notice. He’d always say the line. “What would the uninvited guests think about this?”
Finally, I asked him, “Who are the uninvited guests?”
He broke into a big smile. It stretched across his face with an unsettling curve, like a caterpillar. Like his cheeks were being pulled.
Then he shook his head.
“There’s still time,” he said.
And there was indeed. The night of the party wasn’t for a few weeks.
When it finally rolled around, it was a sight to behold.
I never knew my dad had so many friends!
They were all laughing. Friendly. Mingling. Shaking hands. Looking at the pictures around our house. Eating. A gathering of sophisticated-seeming adults. None of them paid much attention to me at first.
I assumed this event wasn’t a big deal - Dad had mentioned briefly that some folks might come over to our house in the near future. I still remember the look on his face when they arrived - it was an expression I’d never seen him wear before. He tensed up, a half-smile on one side of his face. His eyes looked like they were welling up with tears as he squinted. I never quite knew what it meant.
After dinner, the guests all started breaking off into some strange behavior. A few of them were staring up at the ceiling in our living room, spinning ever-so-slightly in place as they did. I saw a group of five or so just standing in the bathroom, not really doing anything. One of the guests, a gentleman in a fine suit, started climbing up the stairs on all fours. When he got to the top, he’d walk back down to the bottom, and then start again. A few others followed him.
It didn’t dawn on me that something was wrong until I saw one of the stranger’s smiles dripping blood. I thought my brain was making things up, but then someone down the hall looked at me and waved with a similar-tinged smile, red droplets flicking down from her teeth. I saw it more and more upon the guests, and cried for my dad.
He found me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into his room. “It’s started,” I heard him mutter to himself in a whisper.
He shut the doors behind him, and barricaded the entrance as I continued crying.
“It’s storytime, alright?” he said.
I was rattled beyond belief, but the words brought me a light comfort.
He sat in his special chair. The one he always sat in. Then, he told me the story about “Patrick Bear and the Uninvited Guests.”
I tried my best to listen intently.
“On one special day, Patrick found out that he was throwing a party. That was news to him!”
I felt a force pushing against the door.
“The guests rolled in one by one. More than he could’ve ever imagined!”
They were already inside. They spilled into the room, wandering. I averted eye contact with them. My dad shot me a knowing, mindful look. I was doing what he wanted.
“They had big hats and big ties and fancy shoes, but Patrick Bear didn’t care!”
A clutter of strangers gathered behind my dad’s seat. They peeked their heads out to look at me.
The others started sitting around me in a circle. They left only a small gap for me to lock eyes with my father. Through my blurry peripheral vision, I could sense all of their eyes were fixed on me.
“Patrick just wanted his alone time, so fancy friends didn’t mean much to him!”
The whispers of the strangers were the hardest part. “Look here,” “Do you wanna have a staring contest?”, “Look away for just one sec,” they all said in different variations.
“The guests stayed longer than he would’ve liked.”
The bloodied smile of a stranger crept up right in front of me. I kept my dad’s gaze with the two-inch gap to the stranger’s left that had been afforded me.
“But eventually, they…”
I saw my dad’s neck slowly twist. His eyes had averted from me. They looked upwards now, towards a woman that was hovering in front of him. I heard cracks and snaps. The strange, caterpillar-smile returned to his face as his cheeks pulled in opposite directions. Blood pooled from his mouth. He briefly looked at me again, now with an apologetic gaze.
“I’m sorry my sweet one, I had to look at your mother.”
His face and neck contorted in ways that didn’t even make sense, but he was able to slip out one final line.
“H-howwww doe-es theeee stor, stor-ee enedddd?”
Something in my gut knew that closing my eyes wasn’t the answer. I was covered by the strangers, but still, I somehow looked ahead. Somehow, they were a blur. I couldn’t look away from them, but my attention wasn’t with them. It was with the story.
“But eventually, they all went home. And Patrick Bear found peace and quiet, once again,” I said.
A breeze blew through the window. The room was suddenly still.
The house was empty. Everyone was gone. There was no sign of… anything. No family photos, no children’s books, nothing I recognized. Just… generic furniture.
When the cops found me days later, starved and confused, the story was that I was an orphaned boy with no traceable lineage.
Everything I told them about my dad, my upbringing, storytime, and more, couldn’t be proven in any way. I talked about my school, about the teachers and friends I had there, but no one mentioned could recall ever knowing me.
For a while, I was convinced that I’d made up the whole thing in my mind. That I’d been abandoned by my parents when I was young, fled from an orphanage, and squatted in uninhabited properties living an imagined life. A storybook of my own. The events of that final night of storytime and the insanity I encountered were proof that I’d merely decoupled from reality as a child.
Unfortunately, like the werewolf, I learned a painful lesson when my wife Meredith died while giving birth to our son Michael.
Through the sheer shock and horror of it all, I tried to convince myself that it was just a disturbing cosmic coincidence.
But then a package from nowhere arrived at my front door a few weeks after her passing. It was a fully-illustrated storybook. It was called Michael Bear and the Uninvited Guests.
On the first page, in the inner lining of the book, there was a note scribbled in it. It read:
“We can’t wait for the party! We’ll bring all our friends!
Love,
Meredith, Mom and Dad”
I can’t say for certain when the party will be, but if history is anything to go on, the uninvited guests will show up around my son’s tenth birthday.
And so, to prepare, we do story time every night. After all, it’s important. It’s special. It can’t be skipped. It’s a ritual, an event.
And every time he complains about it, I give him the reminder.
“What would the uninvited guests think about this?” |
I have a lot of scary things that have happened in my life, probably more than my fair share. By the way, this is my first Reddit post, so I’m sorry if It sucks.
When I was a child, I was nearly kidnapped 3 separate times. I only remember one of them, but my family has two other times that they say happened which I will briefly go over. One of these times was at a barrel racing competition in Camp Verde Arizona, a lady picked me up as an infant and tried to run away with me, but my dad chased her and she put me down. Another time someone else tried to break into our car when my mom left me inside for a moment to drop the mail at the post office, apparently even as a little kid I had the presence of mind to honk the horn until she came out and the guy left. Again, I don’t remember these specific instances, and you know as much as I do now.
The one time I do remember, I was a little bit older, and my brother and his best friend were there too. My mom owned a restaurant and we would go to Costco to buy tons of whole sale food in one stop, and she would bring us along mostly because she didn’t want to pay a babysitter, but also because we were cheap labor and would load and unload the car in exchange for chicken fingers, or Costco pizza.
This time, my brother his friend and I opted to get paid up front and had Costco pizza while my mom went around the store and got everything on her list. We ate our food and before we went to look for our mom, went into the bathroom. There were 3 stalls, and my brother and his friend were on either side with me in between them. I think I was singing while I sat on the toilet, and didn’t notice when someone else came in.
I don’t remember much about what he looked like, other than that he had a denim jacket and I think he had a skinny clean shaven face. I know this much because he looked under the stall door right at me. I was scared and stopped making noise, and my brother asked if I was ok, and the guy stopped looking at me and disappeared. Nothing happened for a minute, and then suddenly the mans arm reached under and grabbed my pants which were around my ankles. He tried to drag me out under the door, but I screamed and put my hands under both sides of the stall and my brother and his friend grabbed them and held onto me. I think my brother yelled at the guy and we were all screaming, and they kept pulling me until the guy let go and we heard him run out of the bathroom. We tried to run out and get a look at him but he was gone. When we told my mom she went to the Costco people to see if they had surveillance tapes, but they said the police needed to be involved and warrants and stuff needed to be gotten. We ended up just going home.
It was one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me, and I think it still affects me today. I sleep with my bedroom door locked, and have nightmares about home intruders pretty often.
This happened at the Costco in Flagstaff, AZ, probably somewhere between 1999 and 2001, and I’ve always wondered if something else like it has ever happened in that area, or if someone was ever caught for kidnapping in that area around that time. I was hoping putting this on Reddit might stir something up. If it doesn’t though, that’s ok. I just hope we never meet again. |
A few years back i moved in with a friend of a friend. She was a nice girl, we were well suited as we are both fairly independent.
We both worked and had partners. We would often spend alternating nights away and we rarely spent more than 30 mins a day together. We didn’t even have a living room set up because we usually just stuck to our separate ends of the house.
One Saturday night my boyfriend was sick so I came home instead of staying at his place like I usually did on weekends. The kitchen light was on and there were full grocery bags on the counter. I yell out to my housemate that I’m home and get no reply. Assuming that she must have gone back out I make myself some dinner and go to my room to watch some tv.
An hour later I hear her car coming down the street. She had a very nice, loud car so i knew it was her. I get up to go put my dishes in the sink and as I get into the kitchen I hear a door close at her end of the house. I froze in place. My housemate walks in the front door, sees the look on my face and begins to ask what’s wrong when we hear another noise from her end of the house. She quietly asks “what the fuck was that”. I said I didn’t know and I loudly announced “I’ll grab my baseball bat.. I just heard a door close”.
I grab my bat, we tentatively check room by room and find no one. One room left, the laundry, as we approach the closed door we hear the sliding exterior door open, someone running and jumping the back fence into a neighbors yard.
At this point I close and lock the door, I call the police. We stood there, shaking, and all these little dominos fall into place.
For months we had been joking that we must have a ghost because we swore that certain things had been slightly moved from where we left them (by inches or rotation). Sometimes we would come home and there would be lights left on or a smell of cleaning products after neither of us had been there all day. The deadbolt locks on our back doors were down and unlocked even though we both were pretty conscious of security.
There was no forced entry, there was no tampering with the windows. The only way into the house was through the front door, and the only way into the back yard was through the house. It turns out the owner of the house lived on our street. We only met him once, he was a creepy dude and seemingly high off his face at the time. The only things we ever remembered going missing were things like deodorant and the odd piece of clothing. We were never able to prove that he was the one in the house, but it was the most likely scenario as they had obviously been watching us closely enough to enter when we weren’t home, they had a key to the property and all of our direct neighbours were elderly. It’s really unsettling to think too far about it. I’m glad that neither of us were assaulted. It’s so strange to me that they stayed in the house that entire time after I arrived home. I’m glad that my housemate wasn’t there alone that night.
I always thought I had a pretty good gut, but being home with a stranger in the house for an hour without any inkling has given me some serious trust issues with my intuition. |
This is my first time posting on Reddit - after reading heaps of stories on here, I can't help but want to share my own lets not meet experience.
To give some context, I was 14 when this happened and I was with my best friend Holly who was 17. We are both very small ladies and obviously at the time, very young.
It was Friday night and Holly and I went to her friends place for a little get together. Despite both being underage, we drank way too much and by the time we decided to go home at midnight we weren't very steady on our feet. We lived in a small city in Canada and for the most part, it was pretty safe.
I was spending the night at Holly's place and as we were drunk, we took the short bus ride home. The closest bus stop was about a kilometre from her place. The bus stop is a park and ride - so there was a well lit parking lot and the rest of the walk was on a quiet residential road with no street lighting. We walked this route heaps and didn't think twice about walking it on this particular night. We got off the bus, both still drunk and enjoying our walk back to hers. We walked through the parking lot which had a few cars parked and started into the darkness.
Everything was pretty ordinary thus far but I noticed Holly got quiet and started to walk faster, I figured she was sobering up and keen to get home so I started walking faster to keep up. She looked at me, seeing I was oblivious to my surroundings and told me she thought someone was following us. I looked back to see a person walking behind us but a decent distance away. No one else got off the bus with us and no one was around when we got off the bus so we reckon this person came from the parking lot. We both started to sober up real quick but tried to rationalize the situation against our gut instincts. We looked behind us every few seconds to gauge the situation and could see the person was gaining on us. We could now make out that the person was a full grown male. We were both starting to panic and run scenarios through our head when Holly told me we need to run because he has bat. We both started running and as I did, I looked behind me to see this dude did have a baseball bat. I can't remember if he was running too or just speed walking but he was still following us. I remember feeling this horrible urgency and panic overcome me and survival instincts kick in. Holly and I both knew we could not stop running until we're inside with the door locked. I know from running track that if you look behind you while running, you slow down. Against all my instincts I didn't look behind me and after what seemed like ages we made it home. We ran into the house shaking and crying and luckily Holly's dad was awake. We told him what happened and he had us call the cops while he got in his car - he wanted to drive the road to see if he could find the dude and get a better description for the police but he didn't see him. I'm not sure when we lost him or if he followed us all the way home but nothing ever came of the situation.
It's been over 10 years since this went down and I try not think about what could have happened but the thought of a grown dude waiting in his car with a baseball bat for vulnerable people to walk by gives me goosebumps. |
Many moons ago when I was 15 or 16 I worked at Dairy Queen. The store was located on a street where taxis were always back and forth so I never had to call a cab - I would just wait for one to drive by and hail it (my parents didn't drive so we had a deal where they paid for half the cab ride). Whenever I worked the closing shift (midnight or later depending on how long it took us to clean up), my co-worker who lived right next door to the store would wait with me on the picnic tables until I was able to hail a cab.
Late one night while sitting on the picnic table, I noticed a car drive by us. It seemed to slow down, but kept going. I don't know what made me notice it, but I did. Anyway, a taxi comes by and I hail it. My co-worker, assuming I'm in the cab, goes home. I told the driver where I wanted to go, but he said he wasn't going that way so I went back to the picnic tables by myself. I wasn't too concerned, because like I said, taxis would be up and down the street all the time.
While I'm waiting, the car I had clocked earlier comes around the corner and pulls into the parking lot.
Then the driver gets out of the car and starts walking toward me. To this day I do not know why I didn't just run to my friend's house. He said, "It's kind of cold tonight, isn't it?" It wasn't, but I just agreed. Then he said, "It's kind of lonely, too." Cue inner freaking. He went on to say, "God told me to stop and talk to you." At this point, I saw a taxi pull into the parking lot across the street. I didn't say anything, but just starting walking toward that cab. Creep said I can give you a ride. I said, "No, that's ok." Then he said, "I love you."
I sprinted for that cab - probably broke world records, I swear - jumped in the back of the cab and asked the driver if he was working and could he drive me home. He knew I was freaked out and got me home safely. I was so afraid the creep would follow. After that, I called a cab every single time I worked late and waited inside the store until the cab arrived. After I got my license and a car, when I worked late with other girls who had to wait for a ride, I waited with them inside the store or gave them a ride home myself. If they argued, I told them my story.
Creepy Dairy Queen Guy, I don't love you and let's not meet. |
Hello everyone, this story I'm about to tell you happened three days ago, and I have never been this scared in my life.
I'm a french student doing a Masters in Amsterdam in the Netherlands. I live alone in an apartment in a building where there are only students. I'm 22, enjoying life peacefully. To give you a bit of context, I live in a calm good neighborhood, the only noises I'd hear are the tram or parties in the building since a lot of students are there.
one night around 10 pm, I hear a knock on my door. I live on the third floor, and to get to my front door, you have to open the main door which needs a key, then you need to open the door to my corridor with the same key. So people who want to come to my door must have the key, call me or ring at the door so I could open the doors for them from my apartment. Nothing of this happened, I just hear a knock on my door. I usually open the door without a second thought, whether it's my landlord, or a neighbor asking for something, as I told you I feel pretty safe in the building and I could also take care and defend myself in case anything happened. But this time, for some reason, I had a bad feeling about this.
I didn't move at first, I thought the person would just leave, I'd finish my assignments. However, the knocking continued for 30 seconds. I said "yeah" (in English), the person knocking doesn't say anything. ì say in English again "who is it ?", the voice answers in English "It's Uber Eats". (which is weird, because Dutch always speak in Dutch and I recognize the voices and accents of everyone on my floor who have the key to access the floor)
So it wasn't a neighbor, it wasn't my landlord, it was somebody claiming to come from uber eats. But, the issue is I didn't order anything from Uber eats that day.
The voice was unfamiliar, in case it's a prank or a neighbor pulling a joke, it was also a deep voice, at least 40 and probably a smoker. I replied that "I didn't order anything, you must have it wrong", after a few seconds, the knocking continues and the same voice says "I'm pretty sure you did, I have an order under your name". I start panicking, I look around and pick up a knife in case he breaks the door because the knocking was getting a bit louder.
I checked if my door is locked, it wasn't, I was literally 10 centimeters away from him, my front door was the only thing keeping him from me, and I'm glad it doesn't open from the outside, you need a key to open it even if it's not locked. I step back and I ask again, "what's the name ?", he seems to be thinking for a few seconds, then a final knock occurs, it was loud and it translated some anger or frustration.
Finally, I hear him going down the emergency stairs right next to my apartment. the steps were heavy, and the person was clearly in a hurry.
I don't know what he wanted or what would have happened to me if I had opened the door as I usually do, I still haven't understood how he got through the two doors, and why did he come specifically to the last apartment on the third floor? did he try others before? I posted a post about it on the WhatsApp group we have in the building, no one saw anything suspicious, no one opened the door for anyone. Anyway, I'm lucky for my instinct telling me not to open the door, and I'm glad I listened. |
This happened about a month ago and I still cannot shake this traumatic event.
I'm a receptionist for a professional office building in Pasadena CA. A female in my mid-20s who spends the long boring days at my desk listening to my fav murder, crime junkies, and my new obsession, Lets Not Meet the pod, that I started binging yesterday and got me writing this post.
So it was a normal Tuesday at the office. I get off around 6PM and lock everything up. I make my way down the stairs to the lit up parking lot and say goodnight to the standing security guard. I pull out my keys in preparation for the long walk to my car which is located in the employee parking lot. You see, the employee parking lot is a block away from my office building on a secluded street with literally NO street lights or thru traffic. I'm not sure why this street has ZERO street lights but it does. Normally its not dark out by 6PM but since its November its pitch black by this time. So as a routine, I always pull out my keys while I'm in the lit up parking lot and call my boyfriend just in case I get murdered or something... this situation made me realized that my boyfriend cannot help me through the phone...
So I'm talking to my boyfriend, keys in hand, and I see a tall dark figure on the side walk that I'm walking on to get to my car. I say something to my boyfriend and I see the dark figure walking towards me and so I flip on my phone light and shine it in his face and he says "Who the fuck you talking to bitch!" I immediately go off the sidewalk and into the street to get away and say "my boyfriend??"
I could tell right away that he was a dirty meth-head homeless man with a huge beard, kaki shorts, ball cap.
He then starts yelling at me "Who you talking to bitch!" louder and follows me in the street. I literally stop and show him my phone like an idiot trying to prove that I wasn't talking to him!
He then comes up to me at an arms distance and starts calling me awful names and demanding I go to the other side of the street, as if he owned the place. We are both in the middle of the street now. I knew if I crossed to the other side, I would just have to cross again as my car was on the side of the crazy homeless man. I told him "Get the fuck away from me! I'll call the police right now!" with the most disgusted look on my face. (I ain't no bitch to be messed with.)
He then puts his hand in the shape of a gun, puts his fingers up to my head, (in the middle of a pandemic, 6 ft sir!) and in a meth induced slur says "I'LL KILL YOU BITCH. RIGHT HERE. YOU FAT CUNT. ILL KILL YOU!"
My heart sank, at that moment I realized this guy was out of his mind, angry and violent. I start to rush towards my car all while my boyfriends on the phone saying "what's going on?! get in your car! put your keys between your fingers and run!" I see the man run towards my car and lucky I dodged him, pressed the unlock button and got in super quick. He's now standing right in front of my car and proceeds to kick my front bumper HARD saying "FUCK YOU! YOU BETTER NOT CALL THE COPS!" on repeat. He then runs behind the dumpster and is like spying on me behind the dumpster as I'm pulling out. He then starts running around my car, towards the front and I truly thought I'd have to run him over. He starts chasing my car down the road and then stops at his belongings.
I peel into my office building and flag down the security guard, hysterical. I told him there's a crazy man that just threatened to kill me. I call the cops and see the man booking it down the street. Which gave me the perfect view of his face and outfit. The cops sent officers out and I left the scene 5 minutes later. The crazy man was still on the corner just standing there when I was leaving so I screamed "FUCK YOU!" as I drove off. He tried to run after my car lol Apparently the cops couldn't find him. Even sent a helicopter. I later found out that he tried to rob my co-worker this night but was unsuccessful.
The next morning, I saw the crazy man back in front of the employee parking!! But two cop cars were surrounding him. He was arrested! I was happy and anxious that I had to see this crazy man yet again.
He proceeded to hang around that street for the next TWO weeks!! I constantly saw him in the morning and on my lunch. I was so paranoid that he was looking for me. I thought that's why he kept coming back. "He must be looking for me." I messaged our office building manager and they got a trespassing order on the dude. I hadn't seen him again until this Monday, he was sleeping at the exact same spot where I encountered him. My heart sinks every time I see him and I re-live my trauma all over.
Our office building now has employees move cars over from the employee parking lot to the main one around 4 so no one is walking in the dark anymore and we use the buddy system now. I got two pepper sprays that I don't go anywhere without now.
I always thought that my obsession with true crime had prepared me for any scary situation thrown my way. After this night, I realized that no amount of true crime pods could've ever prepared me to fight off someone who has a will to harm me. If this man had a real gun, I'd be done for.
SO- Crazy Meth-Head Homeless Man that almost killed me, LETS NOT MEET!!!!! |
So for starters, I've been dating this girl for a while now, her name being Isabelle going on a year very soon, and all is going well in that regard. However, when we first met she told me about a less than ideal ex boyfriend she had a couple years before she had met me. They still went to the same school, and he ended up going to the same university as us after we graduated high school as well. Apart from that, all three of us went to the same church, meaning there was a lot of opportunity for him to meet us
The creepy encounters with him, Jose being his name, started a little before we graduated high school. After he heard we were dating, he was furious, even going as far as to try and say I was sexually abusive on Twitter, but nobody believed him, given his accusation was complete horseshit and he was notorious for doing the same in the past in order to keep Isabelle from talking to other guys when they were together. Thats was just the beginning though.
It started of small at first, seeing him at the mall whenever we would go out on dates (before it was illegal to go outside). After a while it seemed like a little too much to seem like a coincidence though. He started showing up to our church, which although wouldn't ever really be abnormal, he all of a sudden joined the same youth ministry as well. It seemed as if he was trying to get as close to us as possible at all times.
There was one instance I remember very specifically, at a grad party everybody was invited to. Everyone was in the backyard, and I remember looking across the patio and just seeing him staring at me and Isabelle from the other side. His eyes didn't move, and his breathing was very heavy, as if he was angry anxious or both. He didn't try anything that night though, probably because of the other people there that night. After I left the party and dropped of my girlfriend at her house for the night, I saw a black car following me for a majority of the way home, which I didn't really think much of, and not to sound like that guy or anything, but I wasn't too worried about it either. I'm fairly well built and have done martial arts for a little over 6 years.
The next day that same car was tailing me almost the whole day while I was running errands. Things got a little heated in the afternoon though. I was sitting in my car outside of a store waiting for a curbside pick up when he parked a few spaces down from me, got out of his car, and came up to my window. He started yelling at me, saying I would never be good enough for Isabelle, that she still loved him no matter what I thought, and that he was gonna make sure that she and I weren't together. I just tried to ignore him, starting anything would've probably been a bad move given that he hadn't even touched me or my car, but I was still a little heated. After heading home, it was already pretty late, so I just played video games for a while till I was tired enough to go to sleep.
When I was walking back to my room I saw him from my window, just standing there on the sidewalk looking right at me. The only reason I knew it was him was because of the light from one of the street lamps. My parents had also seen him and asked me to go check it out, since they aren't the youngest of people and wouldn't be able to do much other than yell at him to go away, but as soon as I walked out he just got in his car and left. This happened every night for about 3 days straight.
The last night I ever saw him was not unlike the others, except this time he didn't leave when I went outside. In fact he started walking closer to me. I didn't notice until he was a lot closer but he had something in his hand. I couldn't tell what it was but it looked like a fairly large knife you would use in the kitchen. Adrenalin kicked in and I ran back into the house and told my mom to call 911, after which I went back outside. He was just there in the front yard waiting. When I stepped outside he said, " Isabelle belongs to me, and I'm gonna make that happen no matter what". He ran at me with the knife, but muscle memory kicked in and I had him pinned down after that. The cops came shortly after, and I explained the situation to them, after which he was arrested with a couple different charges I really don't remember. One other thing I do remember however, was what was inside his car. When the police came, they also searched his car to see if he had anything else I should've been worried about. They found a bunch of tape, some rope, another large knife, a handgun, and a camera.
I don't know what was going on through his head, but I could at least guess from that kit he had in his backseat that he planned on hurting me in some way and recording it. I hate to think what would've happened if he had tried to come into the house while everyone was asleep, but I'm glad he was arrested for what he did, or planned to do anyways . |
To start this off, I'd like to give a bit of context.
This happened 4 years ago. I'm a girl and at the time this happened, I was 12 going on 13 in just month or two. The friend I mention in this story was 14 at the time.
The friend, Sally, who I was staying with that night (14F) was quite a bit older than me. At least at the time the 2 year age gap was quite big. At 12-13 years old I was about to start my second year of middle school, whereas Sally should have been about to begin her sophomore year of high school. I met her in the beginning of my first year at a new school; she was older than the other kids in our grade and was considered one of the 'popular' kids, and I think that was what drew me to her at first.
We became fast friends and before we knew it, were spending every single weekend together. Seriously. Every. Single. Weekend.
Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. It was your typical Friday night. We carpooled to her family's apartment after school. I've always been a picky eater, so when her family had dinner I didn't eat with them. I just snacked on the pop tart that I'd stowed away in my backpack in case they ordered something that I wouldn't eat.
Something to note is that her family was pretty religious. I wouldn't go as far as to say they were fanatics, but they didn't allow their kids to watch horror movies or anything that was rated PG13 or older. It didn't steam from the desire to protect them from something inappropriate; Sally's mother had an irrational fear that scary movies had 'satanic messages'. We asked to watch The Purge, and her mom obviously said no. After some negotiating, she agreed to let us watch Hunger Games instead.
After the movie, Sally and I went to hang out in her room. She put on some music, and being the age we were, we gave each other makeovers. By the end of it we were looking much older than just 12 and 14.
This part of the night is when things started to seem off to me.
Sally wasn't the most positive influence. Despite being my best friend at the time, she was manipulative and got off on putting me down. She had a habit of talking to men online and lying about her age. Sally showed me some texts between her and the man she was talking to. I can't give you an exact recount of them, but they consisted of him trying to convince her to meet up with him and just the usual things you'd expect from a creep online. According to him, he was 19, tall, and "blond with soulful blue eyes". Once I saw the texts, I asked if she had a picture of him. Something didn't sit right with me after seeing the messages. She showed me what he looked like, and he was very clearly not 19. This man was at least 40 and looked like he lived in his mother's basement.
Then we got a call from him. Sally answered without hesitation, and when I heard the voice on the other end of the call, I felt like I was going to be sick. "You're so pretty, why don't you come meet me?" He asked.
Sally said that she couldn't because she was spending the night with a friend. The mention of that sparked his interest, and then he proceeded to try and ask us both to meet him. Sally, lacking any common sense, said yes. Thus begun her plan for us to sneak out and walk 15 blocks to meet him in a deserted McDonald's parking lot. I didn't want to go. I was raised on stories of what happens to teen girls who meet random men from the internet in person. But after adamant pleading from Sally that she didn't feel safe going by herself, I agreed.
We took our phones with us for the walk. I had a kitchen knife stuffed in my bra in case something were to happen and I needed to defend myself. The route we had to take to get there didn't have very many street lamps, and there weren't any houses. We were surrounded by trees on both sides of us.
When we got to the parking lot, the only car parked nearby was a black beat up 2000 Toyota Corolla. The car was still running when we got there, and from what we could tell there was more than one person inside. The man from the picture got out of the front passenger seat and left the door open behind him before approaching us.
I turned my flash on so I could see, and he was obviously on something. I can't tell you what kind of drug it was for the life of me, but his eyes were so wide they looked like they were about to pop out of his head. He was jittery and kept twitching. I became very conscious of how big he was. Maybe 6'2", around 280 pounds. For reference, my friend and I did not look our ages, even without makeup. I'm about 5'2". My friend was pretty tall, probably around 5'6"-5'7". We were both significantly smaller than him.
The man reached out for us and caught my friend by the arm. I went to get my knife as quickly as I could, and that's when I saw his friends getting out of the car. He invited us back to his car and offered us booze and drugs, but after seeing my knife and that I was ready to call the police he released my friend. I took Sally's arm and ran faster than I ever had in my entire life.
We took the long way home to avoid them finding out where she lived in case they were following us. Once we got there, her family was still sound asleep. We locked all the doors, closed the blinds, and blocked him on everything. There wouldn't be any sleeping that night; we were constantly peeking out the window, and to our dismay, that same Toyota was circling around her apartment building. Not once, not twice, but three times.
I never mentioned any of this to my parents out of fear of getting grounded or in trouble. I'm 16 now and they still have no clue. I still get nervous when I see a car similar to the one from that night.
As for Sally, her parents never found out either. We agreed to never speak about it again. Thankfully she moved into a new house just a few weeks after that happened. Safe to say Sally and I haven't spoke in three years. She was pissed at me for "ruining her night" and our friendship didn't last for long after that. We had a pretty bad falling out, but looking back on it now it was definitely for the better.
So to Sally, thank you for teaching me a very valuable lesson and making me realize that some people are best just left alone. And to the man and his friends who tried to prey upon two young girls, let's not ever fucking meet again.
#x200B;
Edit: Fixed a typo. |
I'm a woman in my late 20s who has recently decided to take my personal safety more seriously. Last winter my boyfriend got me my first handgun as a valentines day present. The same one he had as I already had a bunch of range time with it.
My boyfriend and his kids and I live 20mins outside of town in a small cabin in alaska and while we're tucked away mostly by trees we do have neighbors around us in a small neighborhood. We know most of the people who live on our loop and are familiar with everyone who takes walks around it.
One morning in mid October we found a pack of crumpled and mostly empty Newports and a couple butts scattered in our driveway. We were slightly spooked bc no one we know smokes those and we hadn't had any visitors. I mentioned maybe our dog had drug them out of a neighbors trash since he had run off a couple times recently but my boyfriend was still suspicious of how they were arrayed. We got a little more wary but mostly shrugged it off.
I was home alone a couple of mornings later and hanging around the house in my pajamas drinking coffee and thinking about doing some house chores. My puppy had been outside for a while and at one point him running past a window in my bedroom caught my eye. He was stopped in the driveway in a very strange low stance staring. I looked toward where he was pointed and froze.
There in the woods 20ft from the house and 10 feet from my dog was a woman. The first thing I noticed were her hands. They were outstretched at her sides and adorned with orange latex gloves, like the kind mechanics wear. Next I noticed her long straight black hair, black skinny jeans and her tshirt cut off at the shoulders. She was standing just behind a short pile of logs with her head tilted back and her eyes closed.
My brain shorted. What the actual fuck.
She stood there undulating in weird compulsive movements that reminded me a of a cat about to puke. I got my phone out and called my boyfriend twice in rapid succession with no answer and was pulling up my camera to document but my hands were shaking as I noticed my dog inching closer to her in curiosity. He was doing a weird back and foward dance still in a half curious, half cautious pose.
My mind was racing, should I be videoing, should I confront her first? should I grab my gun? What if she was armed? What kind of drugs was she on? I realized I didn't want my pup to go near the crazy lady and knew my boyfriend would be so disappointed if I confronted an iffy situation unarmed but I didn't have time to put pants or my holster on and I didn't want to escalate the situation unessecarily by waving a gun around.
All of these thoughts rushed through my mind in rapid succession during the few seconds while I fumbled for my camera. My pup moved even closer to her, only a couple feet away and I made up my mind.
I dropped my phone on the bed and grabbed my pistol from the top of the dresser, slid it out of its holster and pointed it down and out with my finger firmly off the trigger. I walked up to the front door and pulled it open I stepped halfway out onto the steps with my right hand concealed behind the door. I can't for the life of me remember if I called for my dog or confronted her first but in between every sentence I said to her I called him back to me. On the third time he listened and I ushered him inside.
I called out "ma'am, what are you doing?"
She looked up at me mildly suprised and said kinda quietly "nothing..."
I stated "well, you're on my property and you're behaving very strangely" I was relieved to hear my voice sounded steady.
She pause for a minute then said "no I'm going to vals house".
"OK, where is vals house?" I asked, kinda trying to get an idea where she came from.
She pointed at the house I was standing half outside of and said "That's vals house."
I said very firmly "No, this is MY house."
She responded with "OK, I'll leave."
She started gathering up objects from on the ground, what looked like a red bandana, a dark sweater and after a few seconds of watching her fumble I realized she was putting her boots on. She stumbled through the woods towards the driveway and I shut the door and ran for my phone. I got a video of her walking in wide zigzags down my driveway and the audio of my boyfriend calling me back. Later watching the video I picked up more details I hadn't noticed like the fact that she was wearing extra tuffs and a backwards baseball cap and had a full sleeve tattooed on her right arm.
This was my first questionable situation since I started conceal carry and I was super glad to know the safety training I'd pounded into my head stuck. And that I remained calm and was able to talk her into leaving. We posted the video on our local group page and one of our neighbors messaged us not long after that they found her clothes in their driveway and sent pictures. We never got any more info on who she was or who her friend Val was. I checked the woods multiple times and couldn't tell if she'd been sleeping there. I can't imagine my dog would have let her go unnoticed. I went through each shed and storage place on our property for signs of activity or anything missing and it all looked normal but we started locking up better after that.
So, weird drugged out lady with the orange latex gloves, let's please not meet again. Or at least stay the fuck off my property.
Edit:
Photos of clothes found in neighbors driveway and video of her leaving. |
First I'm going to apologise in advance for any formatting/grammar. I'm using Reddit on a mobile and running on 3 hours sleep today...
So this happened to me about 8 years ago.
I used to work at a tobacconist when I was 18, my first job after graduating high school but not my first job in retail. Staff there were hired as casual employees but on full time hours. I got the job at the time because I was young and that meant I was cheap labour but the pay was pretty decent and I was job hunting and took the first job I was offered so I could move out of home.
When I first started there were 4 of us employed. Two of us would be on shift at a time with a 1 hour handover. The opening hours were from 8 am to 6 pm. I was happy doing the closing shifts because I wasn't a morning person.
A couple months into my employement the company decided to change their business hours during weekdays from 8 am to 8 pm, with one 9 pm on late night shopping. This upped my hours so more money and of course I was put on a couple closing shifts a night with rotation between me and another worker. But only one person would stay at the shop from 6 pm.
I was a little bit iffy about this because I lived in a sketchy suburb in a sketchy town, the later in got in the night the more the undesirables were abundant. Our laws prohibit us from carrying protection and at the time I didnt drive so I relied on buses or taxis as transport. Taxis werent reliable here, you'd call one and they wouldnt show or make you wait an hour so I stuck with buses because you knew they'd arrive. Uber wasn't an option then.
There was a transit bus stop 1 minute away from my work. One scheduled to leave about 5 minutes before our closing time. I tried to negotiate this to my boss to close a little early but he wasnt open to the idea. "You can catch a cab?" he offers. Yeah I could but thats not guaranteed, I usually got them on my 9pm shifts. So my routine was to stay on till closing and wait 30-40 minutes for the next bus. As practice I would wait in the closed store until 5 minutes before bus arrived then walk and wait by the stop.
So one night I shut shop. Hang out a bit inside with the lights on so the shopping centre security knows I'm still there and head out to the bus stop at 8.30 pm. I was relieved to see there were about 6 other people waiting at the stop. As I'm standing there waiting for the bus a guy in his 30s or 40s, who is visibly intoxicated and on other stuff who knows what, approaches me.
Him: where you headed?
Me: home.
Him: can I come home with you?
I shake my head no. He then takes a step closer and he is so close I can smell and feel his breathe on my face. Automatically I step back so I'm not out of my comfort zone and try to walk closer to other people. A regular customer I liked could see me and tried to start up a conversation to get me out of talking to this creep but the creep got real pissed at this. He got intimidating and told me to look at him when he's talking to me, he was smiling in a way that made me feel sick and my whole body suddenly rushed with adrenaline. I tried to say I'm not talking to you but he just kept trying to get closer to me and insisted we're going home together.
Thankfully the buses finally started to arrive and I started feeling relieved hoping this guy would get on one before me. Nope. He lingers and asks what bus I'm getting on. There was no way I'm telling so I ask him what bus he's getting on (if its the same one as me I'm catching a different one!), well he told me he's getting on mine. My heart sank. My bus was the last in line so everyone was piling onto theirs and I was about to be left alone with this guy, I knew he would follow me. If i tried to call the cops on the bus would he become aggressive? I was already in "how tf do I get out of this" mode.
Just as my bus pulls up and open the doors, the transit security pulls up behind and rush out the car yelling at the creep "We told you to move on from here!" The creep starts cussing and yelling but walks away. Security guys ask if I'm alright I just nod and jump on my bus before it pulls away. I'm so grateful they arrived when they did and I dread to think what could have happened if this man did follow me home.
To the creepy unstable man, lets not meet again. |
Obligatory apologies for any formatting, I’m on mobile.
This happened right before quarantine hit where I live, a couple days before Christmas in 2019. I (18F at the time) was home from college visiting my family. Two of my three younger brothers (14 11), mom, mom’s boyfriend, Brian (who lives with us), and my three dogs were all at home at the time.
For context, my house has a separate garage from the rest of the house that we converted to a hang out room (put carpeting and a TV and couch in there, my brothers play PS4 in there). The rest of the house has floor to ceiling windows, so you can see the backyard from nearly any room in the house.
This occurred in broad daylight, likely around 2pm. I had just gotten home from lunch and I was FaceTiming my now ex-boyfriend in my room, when my mom and Brian came into my room asking me if one of my friends was the garage. Confused, I said no, and they immediately ran out and grabbed my brothers and dogs, corralling them into the front hallway. They grabbed their phones and called the police stating that there was a 20-25 year old male (obviously drugged out) who had barricaded himself in our garage sitting on the couch watching TV.
Then they explained to me and my brothers that he had locked himself in the garage, gone into our fridge, and was eating our food and drinking my parents wine while sitting on the couch watching daytime television. He also had grabbed a lantern, sleeping bag, and axe from Brian’s tools.
Now, before the police got there, Brian grabbed a baseball bat and walked around the garage to the window. As me and my brothers watched from the window inside, he banged on the window and the gentleman inside screamed at him “I’m waiting for my girlfriend, she’ll pull up soon” and flashed the axe (according to Brian’s recounting).
Finally, the police arrived and subdued our new friend (the axe-wielding druggie in our garage). Not much happened after that and the police took my parents statements and swiftly left with the man in our garage.
Me and my brothers were okay, and quickly updated the last brother (12) on what he had missed when he came home. In the spirit of a 12-year-old boy, he was sad he missed such a wild event that had occurred in our sleepy suburb.
A few weeks later, the police sent my mother the information about the case, particularly the gentleman’s name. My mother, the apparent super-sleuth, decided to research the last name and any public criminal records of the man in our garage. While the only charges she found for this man were a few drug misdemeanors, she did find something interesting about a relative (who we believe is his father). Now, this mans last name is not common and also it is hyphenated, so it is appropriate to assume relation between these individuals (especially since these crimes occurred in the same regional area). Apparently, the man in our garage’s “father” or relative had killed (shot to death) a few people at a convenience store, in order to “celebrate” his 21st birthday.
Now, I know that nobody is exactly their parents or relatives, but this man was in his 20s when he broke into our garage (and took an axe), so it worries me that there could be some undiagnosed mental health issues in his family, and this man was clearly unstable.
So, to the man who broke into my garage to take an axe, I sincerely hope that you got the help you needed. However, let’s not meet again. |
First time posting and not a native English speaker here. I'm a female 28 (18 at the time of the following story).
I'm a petite looking girl, 5.1 pretty cute and look way younger than I really am (was 18 but looked 14-15) so literally a creep magnet. That's why I have alot of weird and not pleasant stories to tell.
This happened when I was a student. I was quite far away from home about 500 km by train and 2 hours by bus. So naturally i made those kind of rides maybe once in two or three month. I always had to take a night train at 8 p.m so I'll get my 4 a.m bus to my hometown. But this time there's a switch up and my train will be arriving at 11. So I'm stuck there for the next 3 hours in this huge waiting room full of people. I'm there for about 20 minutes now as a man sits right next by me. I don't really pay much attention to him as the place is crowded and there's not really many seats left and I'm located right at the entrance of the waiting hall. So it's like the first place you'll take when there's no options.
He sits there for a few minutes just being silent. Then he gets up and leaves, that's when I noticed that he has nothing with him, I mean like no bags or backpack when literally everyone has atleast some sort of bag with them as this was the kind of train station for long distance trains not local ones. It seems a little weird for me, but I thought maybe he's here waiting for someone to pick up from an arriving train.
There's like still another hour untill my train arrives as that same man comes back with a plastic cup of coffee, sits down next to me and proceeds to shove the cup literally right in my face saying: "here, I got it for you, thought you must be cold, drink it" (it was winter and pretty cold) I always was a shy person, even now when I'm way older. So I sit there just staring at the man confused on what the hell is going on as he keeps the damn cup of hot coffee in my face, so I take it just that he doesn't spill it on me.
That's when I notice a few things about him. It was a plain looking man, about 30-35 (I'm pretty bad at judging age) and he has this "I'm a really nice guy" smile, but he was trying so hard to look innocent that you just knew that there was nothing good or nice about him. I'm naturally a cautious person and try not to engage in small talk with people that I don't know. So I say "thank u" and just turn away from him, keeping the coffee in my hand as there's no way I'm drinking that but I don't really know where to put it. I'm getting uncomfortable at this point as I just feel the weight of this gaze, eyeing me up and don't, sending chills down my spine.
He proceeds to stare at me for what feels like a lifetime but really was maybe less than a minute, noticed that I don't drink the coffee he gave me and urges me to take a sip to warm up, I say that I'm ok and not cold at all. Then he says that he really loves my hair and how good it looks with my scarf and coat. Asking me if I was alone here and where I'm going, how old am I and when is my train arriving. I'm really weirded out, giving him short answers and straight up lying to some questions. All this time he's really trying to make drink that coffee mentioning that it's really cold and he doesn't want me to get sick (i was sure now that it was spiked with something).
Then he says something that made my hairs stand up and heart beating like crazy in my chest, the moment I knew that I just had to get out of there RIGHT NOW. He leans in even closer than he was before dropping his voice to a whisper, saying "hey I live 10 minutes away from here, how about we grab a taxi and had over to my place, I have a few bottles of liquor there, maybe call a few of my friend and we'll warm you up and get you back in time to your train, your parents won't even know (yes he thought I was a minor!). And he lays his hand on my leg smiling even more! Right that second there was a train announcement (not mine, I still had like half an hour of waiting) so I just grabbed my bag saying that it's my train and noped out of it but not to the train (in case he decides to follow me). I just locked myself in the bathroom, too scared to even get out of there so I don't run into that creep again. I got on my train safe. But that wasn't the only weird thing happennig that night, maybe I'll post it another time.
So creepy old man, hope NO ONE has the pleasure of meeting you ever again. |
This is going to take a while to explain everything, so stay with me. It all comes around.
My very first car was a dark green 2000 Volkswagen Jetta. It was the most basic of basics when it came to cars. No options whatsoever except for an automatic transmission. It was $300, slow, dumpy, no right headlight, drove straight with the steering wheel practically sideways, let out a cloud of white smoke when started. Every stereotype of a poor high schoolers car you can think of, my car was no exception. Despite it being a piece of German crap, i loved that car. I drove it every chance I had. I don't think a day went by that I didn't drive it. I named it Thunderbunny. She was my baby. My beautiful green baby. But Volkswagens from that generation, Jettas especially, had a pretty bad flaw in the automatic transmission. I'm not sure exactly what causes it, but essentially the transmissions gradually get worse and worse until the car will not shift into third gear. And there's not a thing you can do from there. So, a couple of weeks after Halloween 2019, I was going about 30 mph when the engine suddenly roared, and the car wouldn't speed up. I feared the worse, and my fears were justified. My dad, a mechanic, didn't even have hope for my baby. She was gone already. And so, much to my dismay, we started looking for a new car.
It only took about a month for us to find her. A dark green 1999 Volkswagen Jetta. Exactly like my old car but absolutely EVERYTHING. She was faster, had heated leather seats, auto windows, auto sunroof, everything. All except for an automatic transmission. I knew how to drive manual, so it was perfect. I had a new baby, from the crackhead neighbor girl to scarlet johansen. At least in my eyes. I loved that car even harder, named it Little Boy and was happy.
Ok I'm about to get to the story, but I have a few more quick things to explain, you can skip this if you want, its important but not vital to the story. First is for people that might not know, but when you have a manual car, you CANNOT leave it in gear and take your foot off the clutch. If you do, the car WILL stall, which is bad. So if you do leave your car in gear, you need to turn the engine off before taking your foot off the clutch. If you don't want to turn the car off or have it turn itself off, you need to pull the handbrake or it will roll away. Guess what the only really broken thing on my car was at the point this story takes place. If you guessed the handbrake, you're right. And that was the second thing, no handbrake.
Ok now to the story. I started working as a pizza delivery driver in a smaller, growing town in Michigan, it was good money but every once in a while I delivered to an incredibly sketchy place, and have had a few shotguns pulled on me. One night, about two months ago, I was delivery on a Friday. Usually Fridays are very busy, but this day was a little slow. So when a delivery came in at 8:30, a half an hour before we closed, I jumped on it. I realised it was 7.1 miles away, so all of the closing jobs would be done by the time I got back, and I would have been able to leave immediately. It was way out of town in a wood surrounded neighborhood, but again, no work when I got back to the store? Seemed lile a good deal to me. And im all about those sort of deals. And so I climbed into my car and went to drive 7.1 miles away.
As I pulled up to the house, I began to get a bad feeling. The house was in a small trailer park type neighborhood next to a lake, the kind that the houses are all a good distance apart with a likely drug problem, and was completely dark. No lights inside, none inside. There was a single car in the driveway and an open window on the side of the house. I pulled in behind the car in the driveway and sat there for a moment. Something was off. By the house being completely dark, I mean there wasn't so much as a nightlight that I could see. Usually when i deliver to a dark house, there's at least a light on upstairs or something that would signal someone being awake, waiting for their pizza. But the house seemed dead. Nevertheless, I put the car in gear, turned off the engine, grabbed the small, cheapest pizza we had and got out. Without my headlights on, there was nothing. I could barely see the house, the only light was the dim moon. I walked onto the porch and passed the big open window to the front door. As I reached the front door, I saw it. The door was slightly cracked open, just enough for me to see into the void of the house. Thinking of every single horror movie I've ever seen, I said aloud: 'Fuck that,' and hurried back to my car. I'm a tall, well built looking guy, but despite my wide shoulders and baggy hoodie, I'm a frail thing, and can hardly fight off a small dog. I got into my car and turned on the engine. My headlights illuminated the house, and almost simultaneously the living room light behind the big open window lit up and a single guy looked out and walked to the front door. I cussed to myself and weighed my options. If I went up to the door, I could die. If I noped out of there I would 110% be fired. That meant no new car part, no gas money, no cute dates with my girl, just sitting at home doing virtual school work. It was a stupid choice I know, but I grabbed the pizza and opened my door. Making a choice I'm damn glad I made, I took the car out of gear and climbed out. Mostly so my engine would still be running so that if I needed, I could run back and immediately take off. I walked to the door, where the man had opened it the rest of the way. As I got closer, I got a good look at him. I'm not one to judge a person based on their physical appearance, but this guys head was cleanly shaven and was covered in tattoos. He was wearing a pair of grey jeans and a white tank top. He had a scowl on his face and was staring me dead in the eyes. I looked past him for a moment into the house, which was COMPLETELY empty. As I got close enough that I started opening the pizza bag, he started to reach around his waist. I stopped. He was staring at me with the most evil grin I've ever seen. I knew in that moment, that I was about to die. I had always heard your life seems to flash before your eyes. I thought about my girl, that she wouldn't know what happened. My work would stop delivering upon my disappearance, assuming that my body wasn't ever found. My dad would regret telling me he was happy for me landing this job. God save thee.
That's when I heard it. That distinct sound of gravel under tires. My only pathetically small chance of escape was rolling away. I didn't even look back at the car to know that. I just stared at the man, and was about to say 'fuck you,' when he looked back to my car. I heard the sound of the car rolling, it was getting, closer? The guys eyes went from the driveway to behind me. I finally looked over my shoulder, my car had rolled backwards and had come to a smoothe stop near the mailbox of the house. I looked back at the guy, who had a nervous look. He looked back at me and scowled again and took his hand from around his waist. He reached into his front pocket and took out twelve dollars and handed it to me. I gave him the pizza and watched him slam the door shut. I ran back to my car and practically tore the door off trying to get in. I looked back at the house, and the man was standing in front of the window staring out at me. You better believe I nearly spun the tires on my way out of there. I kept glancing at my mirrors until I started driving under street lights. It was easily the scariest moment I've ever had. As soon as I got back to the store I told my boss about it and she called the police. We never heard anything about it, I assume they went to the house and only found a small cheese pizza. I started carrying a knife on me at all times, and my boss is considering getting trackers for our pizza bags.
Only recently I realised this is a sort of butterfly effect. I thought it was the worse thing ever that my transmission went out, and I cursed Volkswagen for designing such a terrible automatic transmission. But if that transmission was still working, then I would have still had that car when this happened. I would have put the car in park and it would have sat there while whatever would have happened to me happened.
I have zero doubts in my mind that that man was planning on murdering me. So shitty german engineering saved me from getting murdered.
Edit: I'm assuming that when my car began to roll, the guy assumed there was somebody inside (backing up to pick me up?). The engine wasn't revving but if you're about to murder a person you probably don't focus on those details. Sorry for any confusion |
Hi there! I’ve lurked for a long time (my boyfriend loves this subreddit, and is obsessed with Lazy Masquerade videos) and I’ve decided it’s time to share my own story from about 4 years ago. I was around 15, and when I wasn’t too busy with schoolwork, I worked at a newsagency, mainly selling lottery tickets and newspapers. While I had my fair share of creeps, stalkers and loonies, this one, for me, has to be the scariest.
Among my regular customers was an older woman, perhaps in her late 40s or early 50s (although she definitely appeared older than she was). She had scraggly hair that was bleached blonde, and wore extremely bright, gaudy makeup. No one knew much about her, but she was often seen around different, shady men, and from the way she acted and spoke it was understood that she was most likely on drugs. She spoke to me and my coworkers of angels and heaven and fairies and demons, but I simply brushed it off as an older lady going through a midlife crisis and dabbling in some sort of new age spirituality.
From the very first shift I served this woman (when I was around 13 or 14), she was mesmerised by me. From the moment she saw me, she was enthusiastically running up to coworkers and even other customers telling them I was an angel. From that shift onwards, every time she saw me she wouldn’t stop talking about how beautiful I was, that I was pure and innocent and I was an angel; accordingly, she said, I should return to the angels. I didn’t see it as anything sinister, even though I got extremely uncomfortable vibes. I was extremely friendly to customers, and I’ve always been a naturally talkative, bubbly person. In addition, I was still young, naive, and eager to please my boss with my customer service; even though I thought this lady was kind of weird, I’d often just smile politely as she raved on about whatever fantastical thing she thought up.
Over time, she became fixated with me; she slowly began to learn my shifts, and if I was away or my roster changed, she’d ask coworkers where I was. Whenever I was at work, she’d appear. I told my boss this, and how her obsession with me was starting to make me uncomfortable; he told me that I had to put up with it because of the extra income it gave him; because of her fixation with me, this lady would spend hundreds of dollars at a time on lottery, multiple times a week. Once again, I was young and didn’t have too much of a backbone, so even though I felt uncomfortable, I just accepted that this situation couldn’t be changed. I needed the money, and not many places in my town were hiring, let alone interested in taking on a school student.
One day, as I was going to the spot I’d meet my parents (they picked me up at a nearby road), this lady appeared seemingly from thin air. I was so startled that I didn’t even notice when she grabbed my arm and asked if I’d like to ‘return to the other angels, they’re missing you darling’. I was freaked out, but her words didn’t mean much to me and I simply saw it as a strange woman with wacky spiritual beliefs. Luckily that day, an older coworker walked by, saw this, swiftly yanked me away and stayed there until my dad arrived. I wish I could say that was the last time I saw the customer, but it wasn’t.
Even though I didn’t see her waiting for me again, I often felt uncomfortable arriving at work, leaving, and at work itself, as though someone was watching me. This lady kept coming in and kept spending hundreds of dollars from god knows where. However, unlike when I first started, she didn’t come in with a different man each time; she came alone, or with one particular man who I hadn’t seen before. I always felt extremely uncomfortable around him, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. The lady’s ravings got even crazier than ever and, in addition to her usual talk about angels, she started to try getting me to follow her places by claiming the government had tried to poison me just then and she saw them slip cyanide into my food, or that they infected my toothpaste with something that would kill me so I had to follow her now. I never did. One time, when I was busy serving other customers, I noticed her in the corner of my eye lingering around my drink bottle with something I couldn’t see clutched in her hand. Needless to say, I moved my drink bottle very quickly and was extremely unnerved, more so than ever. I told my boss everything but he continued to say virtually that I’d lose my job if I didn’t just put up with it as she brought in a lot of money.
This all came to a climax one day at the end of my shift. I’d just learned how to cash up the registers and close the shop, which was an exciting responsibility for me and made me feel very accomplished. To close up, I would have to lock the roller doors at the front and exit through the back door, which led to a pretty shady concrete area that never had anyone around. It was like a huge concrete jungle, with heaps of twists and turns and tall concrete walls. It was always completely silent and empty; I’d never seen another person in that area outside the back door. As I exited work and locked the door, I felt incredibly uneasy and thought I could hear breathing behind me. However, seeing no one when I turned around, I told myself it was just paranoia. As I checked my phone to see if my dad had left yet to pick me up, I felt a hand grasp my shoulder. Tight.
My whole body froze, and before I even looked I knew who it was. Sure enough, when I turned around this customer was standing there with a huge grin, her eyes sparkling. She engulfed me in a hug, which I wriggled free from. I could tell something was very wrong, so I tried to run but she grabbed my arm; she was stronger than she looked. She tried to distract me and start up random conversations, sprinkling in comments about how the angels were so excited to be reunited with me. I had no idea what she was trying to do until I heard something pull up around the corner. A white van, all its windows blacked out, slowly crept across the gravelly road towards us, and I’ll never forget the way that lady’s face looked. ‘Let’s go!’ she said. ‘The angels have been waiting, you’ll be with them again soon’
To this day I have no idea how but I gained some time of superhuman, fight or flight strength. I tugged my arm free just as the
van was slowing down beside me, and ran. The lady followed but thankfully her physical strength didn’t extend to running. Thankfully I knew the twists and turns of this area quite well now, so I sprinted through this concrete labyrinth until I reached a pillar I knew of to duck behind. I didn’t move. I had a metal keychain which made a lot of noise, so I clutched that in one hand (so it wouldn’t jangle as my body shook) and held myself up with my other hand, ready to launch from the ground and run as soon as I could. I could hear the woman and someone else (a man, I didn’t know who but he sounded like the man I’d seen her with recently) running around, checking crevices and corners, searching for me. After about 15 minutes they gave up, and I heard the van roll away (after a final check using the van; they didn’t know I could see them, but I saw them pretend to leave then turn it off and wait. I think they thought I’d emerge from hiding, but as I could see what their trap was, I continued to stay still).
After what felt like forever, they eventually left. Not knowing if this was another trap set up to coax me out of hiding, I cautiously peered around my corner. Unsure if they were gone, and knowing I was unsafe if I stayed or left, I ran. Thankfully my dad was parked where we’d agreed to meet, and I raced to his car. I got scolded for getting to the car late, then we went home. I took an extended leave after that, and when I eventually did go back to work, the lady was gone, and I never saw her again.
So, lady who wants to return me to the angels, let’s not meet. |
A few years ago I was on a dating site where I matched with a police officer. I thought his dog was cute and figured this was my opportunity to finally pet a K-9 police dog! I was quickly disinterested after listening to him complain about his recent divorce. I don't recall details but i remember It was very apparent he was the problematic person in that relationship. I was also really grossed out by how he fetishised me for my big sloppers, tattoos and colorful hair. I was very upfront and told him I wasn't interested and that he was setting off some red flags for me. He begged me to give him a chance but I said no and blocked his number.
A few days later I get a knock on my door at around midnight. My heart dropped into my butt it startled me so much. I look out my peephole and see a stranger holding food. It's an uber eats delivery driver. I tell him through the door I didn't order food but he said someone else ordered it and he knew my name. I asked who ordered it and he said a name I didn't recognize. I tell him I don't want the food and give him directions to the dumpster to throw the food out because at this point I have no idea if he is actually from uber. Later on I'm going through my dating app matches and realize IT WAS THE COP'S NAME!!! I go through my blocked messages and this guy had texted me A LOT. The last text "I hope you liked your dinner"
I decide it's best I unblock this man so I can keep an eye on what he is saying incase I need to be worried about my safety or if I'm gonna need to go buy some bear mace to drop a cop. A few weeks later im at work (im a hair stylist) and I get a call from a number I don't recognize. I answer because I assume it's a new client. The voice on the other line says "hey Rachel, I'm at Starbucks across the street, what's your drink order?" I ask, "who is this? I don't have you in my appointment book" assuming its a regular and I made a scheduling error. He says his name and again, my heart drops into my butt. HOW DOES HE KNOW WHERE I WORK!?!
I ask him how does he know where i live and work and he explains that he did a reverse image search on photos from my dating profile, found my social media and my yelp page from my salon, then looked up your address from there. I tell him I'm calling his station and reporting him for stalking, and if he ever comes near me I WILL consider it a threat and WILL be ready to physically defend myself. After all lol that he still begs me to give him a chance. I hang up, call the police station he works for (very small town) and complain.... they won't even let me email screenshots of my creepy texts. I could tell nothing would be done. The lady literally said, "oh I'm sorry, he's going through a lot right now. Literally treat it like he's the victim!
He mostly left me alone after but I was so scared living alone for the first time in my life. I have a semi popular meme page on Instagram with about 8000 followers. I sifted through and found like 5 of his accounts. I blocked them and moved on. This was several years ago but all these memories came flooding back when I noticed a familiar profile photo on an account who commented on a post. I must have missed an account of his when blocking. I had posted a photo of me holding 2 big tunas I caught on a fishing trip and he commented "God I wish I was one of those fish. I'd love to know what it's like to be held by you" BARF!!! |
Lovely that I just found this sub, it’ll give me a place to lay this story and hopefully get it out of my mind a bit as it just happened today.
I was driving on a large highway this afternoon in the far left lane meant for the faster traffic flow.
I noticed a car come right up very close behind me so I prepared to get over to let him pass. I noticed when I glanced at the man driving in my rear view mirror he had a medical mask on, but no one in the passengers seat next to him. I figured he’s an Uber driver with someone in the back and avoiding covid risk best he can.
I glance back again and he’s holding something in front of his face. I did a little double take because...surely not...but he was holding a handheld camcorder filming me. I was in shock and didn’t really believe it because...dude we’re on a highway, why...and he suddenly whips to the lane on my right essentially trapping me between the median wall, car in front of me, and him to my right.
He keeps his car at pace with mine staring at me and filming me on his camcorder through my passenger side window and I’m thinking, nah not today, so I dial the police immediately as I’m slowing down. We make eye contact and he slows down too. The police ask for his license plate number and he’s removed it from the front of his car so I try to maneuver behind him to see his back plate.
The minute he realizes I’m trying to follow him for his numbers he goes full on Fast and Furious. I follow him for a bit, but he starts driving recklessly enough to avoid me catching a look at his plates that I just stop because again, crowded highway, and also not a professional high-speed chase driver. Not worth it. They sent a police car onto the highway to find him, but dude was long gone.
So, now there’s a strange man who possesses a film of my license plate, car, and my face that hasn’t been tracked.
I froze up two or three times when cars like his would pass me on the rest of my way home.
I even reassessed the situation thinking I’d cut him off or something, but I’m a pretty go with the flow driver. It also may not seem frightening, but anyone ever make eye contact with someone and just get freaked and a bad feeling? Dude was shady.
To the creepy man hiding your face with a medical mask, filming women on the highway, and likely watching me on your late 90s camcorder right now, let’s never fucking meet. |
My encounters with John started last summer while I was at work. I work in an apartment complex with a few other ladies, so we regularly interact with hundreds of residents and even more strangers, especially during the summer when people are coming in to tour and sign leases. On Monday mornings during the busy season, I usually come in to a stack of pending applications. As the property manager, I have to review the results of each background check as well as every applicant's proof of income to determine if they can be approved to live in the complex based on our requirements.
Monday, May 6th was just like any other. I reviewed the applications from over the weekend--some were approved, and some were not. I then called the applicants to let them know the status of their applications. One of the declined applicants, John, was particularly sketchy looking. His credit score was particularly low, he had no obvious source of income, and a lot of his payment history consisted of late payments. The biggest red flag, however, was a collection for a landlord for over $6,000.00. This immediately indicated to me that he skipped out of his previous apartment and/or completely trashed the place. Like everyone else, I called him to tell him why he was declined and to explain that we would be sending him an adverse action letter.
Once I was on the phone with John, he initially said I must be wrong about the collection account. I gave him the name of the complex. He then tried to explain the "perfectly reasonable" explaination for why he must have the collection account. According to his story, he had been living with his girlfriend, they broke up partway through their lease and decided to both move out as a result. On the day they left, they went to their apartment complex leasing office and paid the remainder of the lease in cash to a woman they had supposedly never seen before. "She must have stolen my money!" he said. "You can't hold this against me!" Though I seriously doubted the validity of his story, I apologized and told him that I couldn't approve anyone that didn't meet our leasing requirements, then ended the call.
Later that day, he called back and told one of my leasing agents, Brandy, that he'd contacted the collection agency and paid off the balance in full. "Now you will approve me right?" She asked him to forward the proof of this to our office and told him, "The manager will have to look at it to decide if you can be approved now." Sure enough, the letter from the collection agency came in later that day. He called back again and she told him again that the manager would have to look at it and then let him know. Meanwhile, I was trying to decide if I even could approve him--technically he still had a collection account on his record (even if the balance was $0.00) and didn't meet some other rent requirements. Thankfully, before I had to make a decision, someone else with great credit and a solid source of income came in and rented our last one bedroom apartment. The apartments are first come first serve, so we called John back and told him that we unfortunately no longer had any one bedroom apartments left.
Fast forward to late July 2019. I'm at work with our newest leasing agent, Sarah, one afternoon preparing for turns. A young man with sallow skin comes in and immediately I recognized him, but I wasn't sure from where. I was fairly certain he wasn't a resident (I recognize most of the people that live at my complex), but maybe he was a friend of a resident or someone that had toured recently. He explained that his name was John and that he'd applied for an apartment earlier in the summer.
At the time I had warned my coworkers of the event, even suggested there was a small chance he might come in over the weekend and to be careful (even though he'd told me he was only in town that one day).
Immediately I was uncomfortable. He looked super angry. He pointed to my desk and asked, "Where is the lady that normally sits there? Where is the manager?" My desk is just that--my desk--but on the weekends when it's just Brandy working, she often sits at my desk because my computer is the only one with functioning speakers. Likewise, Brandy is much older (late 50s), and people very regularly assume she is the manager since she's so much older.
"Oh you must mean Brandy," I said, forcing myself to seem cheerful. "She's not working today."
"When will she be in next? I have a bone to pick with that fucking bitch."
Of course I lied to him. "Oh, she's out sick. I have no idea when she'll be well enough to come back to work."
"So she's at home then?" he asked. "Where does she live?"
I laughed like he was joking and told him that I can't give out any of the employees' personal information.
He then proceeded to "fill us in," telling us that Brandy had screwed him out of the apartment by not letting him know fast enough if paying off the collection account meant he could rent an apartment. Clearly Brandy was conspiring against him, because she rented the apartment to someone else when she KNEW he needed that apartment. Now he was homeless because of her. She was clearly the worst manager in the entire world and someone needed to teach her a lesson. And not only was he homeless now, he was out $6,000.00 because obviously he wouldn't have paid that balance off if he knew he'd lose the apartment regardless.
Sarah and I were very attentive the entire time, frowning slightly and nodding our heads sympathetically as he went on his long, hateful rant. Clearly he was mistaken about Brandy being the manager. His rage really should have been directed at me if anyone, but I wasn't going to point that out to him at this point. In an attempt to curb his anger, I told him there was no way Brandy or any of us would have been acting maliciously in renting the last one bedroom apartment to someone else. The apartments are, again, first come first serve, and we're just doing our jobs by renting the apartments out. I then told him we still had a two bedroom apartment available for rent if he was interested in that unit. I had no intentions of renting any apartments to him at this point and I was pretty certain he couldn't afford the two bedroom (it was twice as expensive as the one bedroom), but my hope was that it would calm him down enough for him to leave because I was showing an effort to accomodate him.
At that point he told me that no, he wasn't interested in a more expensive apartment. That frankly, our complex seemed pretty shitty and he wouldn't want to live here anyway. He then proceeded to ask us a bunch of other questions. Is this a family owned business? Are you two sisters? How old are you? Are you related to Brandy? Does anyone know you're here right now? If something happened to you, would it hurt Brandy?
A feeling of dread washed over me--no one asks those kinds of questions. No normal, sane person at least. Worse, he was standing in the doorway, blocking our only exit. I looked at Sarah across the room and knew she expected me to know what to do.
*I'm going to have to kill this guy*, I realized.
Up to this point I was hoping that being nice and understanding would be enough to get him to leave. In my line of work, you deal with a lot of weirdos. My husband always gets so mad when I tell him about the weird/creepy/gross encounters I have with residents and strangers, and he always asks why I tolerate it. "Just kick people out," he tells me. "Tell them you'll call the cops." The problem is that a lot of the weirdos are harmless, and frankly it's easier to deal with them by being nice than mean. If I (tried to) kicked out every resident that is an asshole to me, the apartments would be empty and we'd be collecting no rent. And if I lost my cool every time someone is weird, every time I'd have to deal with that person going forward would be awkward and difficult because they'd had one bad experience with me. Also, you just never know when my escalating the situation will lead to the other person also escalating further (damaging property or harming someone). But in this case, John was clearly escalating regardless of what I said and did.
I looked at my purse on the floor. Both my phone and gun were in it. It seemed so out of reach. Surely John would notice me grabbing my bag and awkwardly digging around in it. The gun was in a holster in a hidden pocket of the bag. I didn't know if he had a weapon on him. If he realized I was getting my weapon, he might attack me outright. Trying to appear still to him, I stretched my leg out, trying to quietly drag my bag closer to me.
He screamed something about getting "fucked over all the time by fucking bitches" and I finally snapped at him, "You're making me uncomfortable now and I need you to leave!" He tried to say something else and I screamed again to leave. I grabbed my bag, hoping I'd be able to get the gun out fast enough. I don't know if he saw where things were heading or if he just thought I was going to call the police, but he got up and ran out of the office. Sarah and I immediately locked up the office and left.
As we were leaving, Sarah told me how crazy the whole thing was (she'd be wishing for something "exciting" to happen ever since she'd been hired) and I remember telling her I had thought I was going to have to kill the guy to protect us.
"With what? The stapler?" She didn't know about my gun.
"Yeah. Yeah, with the stapler."
#x200B;
Thankfully, John never came back in. It's been over a year now, so I think it's pretty safe to assume he's moved on and won't be back. I'm super glad I didn't have to kill him. If he hadn't left when he did, I'm pretty sure it would have gotten to that point, based on his veiled threats and previous behavior. I really hope that day never comes. |
This happened about 4 years ago, I was 20 at the time. The first time I met the guy who would become my grocery store stalker, he was standing outside the store collecting money for the Salvation Army Christmastime donations. I'm a fairly friendly person, so I like to say hi to people who work at places I frequent to be nice. This guy was a kid around my age, very tall, with a mild resemblance to Lurch from the Addam's family-- dark circles under dark eyes, short black hair, kind of vacant look in his eyes. I chatted with him for maybe 2 minutes, just idle chitchat about the weather and whatnot, nothing particularly memorable or interesting, and then waved goodbye and went home. Little did I know that single moment would be the start of something that would have me genuinely afraid.
About 4 or 5 months passed and I hadn't seen him again, then one day as I was grocery shopping with a friend when as we were chatting she suddenly got really quiet and kind of recoiled backwards, looking behind me. I turned around to see this guy, who had to be at least 6'4", towering over me not 8 inches from my body. He said hi, and told me he remembered me from that December I had talked to him, and then asked for my number. I, being young and never having experienced this type of interaction before, told him I didn't have my number memorized, but that I would write his down and text him later. I kind of half waved my phone at him, pointing out my at the time boyfriend who's picture was my wallpaper, making a point to say "oh look, that's my boyfriend!" To the guy, hoping he would clue in... But, no luck. He told me his number, which immediately upon getting I blocked, without letting him get my phone number... However, what really made my blood run cold was what he said after I put my phone away. He leaned in real close and in a low voice, he told me "Whatever I text you is for your eyes only..."
At this point, I started to feel genuinely uncomfortable. I said "yeah, sure...uh... Nice talking to you but we gotta get back to shopping" and I grabbed my friend and dragged her off, shooting a panicked look at her and asking why she didn't bail me out. Apparently he scared her too with his getting so close to me, and she didn't know what to do.
I want to make it clear, I'm not exactly a small girl, at 5'8" and solidly built, I can certainly handle myself and I very rarely feel intimidated or small in the presence of anyone, male or female, but this guy made me feel tiny and scared. In the months that would follow, he would make me feel truly frightened.
I had hoped that creepy interaction would be the last time I saw he, but that was unfortunately not the case. After that initial meeting with him saying that creepy thing about his texts being for my eyes only, it seemed like I would run into him every single time that I got to the store. No matter what checkout lane I was in, he always seemed to appear the end of it when I was finished shopping, and every time I was in the store I would notice him out of the corner of my eye watching me, no matter what area I was in. One time, I even caught him following me out to my car. At that point, I got scared and decided to say something to the managers. After letting the managers know what was going on, they assured me they would tell him not to talk to me. After that, he wouldn't speak to me, but I would continue to see him following me around the store at a distance every time that I went up there. It got so bad, and I felt so frightened that I started to be afraid to go to the store at all, but I am one of those stubborn people who refuses to be intimidated by someone to point where I'll stop doing something. I had hoped that maybe it was a coincidence that he was following me, after all it was a big store and maybe he just had things to do that just happened to be in the areas I was shopping in, so I started to pay close attention to my surroundings.
Once I started really paying attention, I realized that every single time I was up there, I would constantly notice him in the areas of the store I was in. During my last encounter with him I went up to the store to grab just 2 or 3 items I needed for dinner that night, and I first saw him standing outside the store when I got there, and with his back to me I quickly ran inside, hoping he didn't see me... Unfortunately, a few minutes later I saw him at the very back of the store, and items in hand, I immediately made a beeline towards the front.
As soon as I got near the checkout, I ducked behind one of the shelf displays, and watched carefully at the front of the store to see if CC would appear, and he did. I watched as he looked up and down the checkout, and when he didn't see me there, I saw him step outside.
At this point, I quickly ran into the nearest open cashier, rang up my items, and stuck my head out the door to look for him. I didn't see him there immediately, so I started trying to make my way back to where I was parked. I had parked a ways away, near the side of the store were a bunch of other small stores and restaurants were lined up, and as I was walking towards my car, I realized I saw him standing by the entrance that I had first entered the store through, and ducked behind a pillar immediately, hoping he didn't see me. I watched carefully from behind the pillar, and as he scanned the parking lot he obviously couldn't find me. After a minute or two, he started to walk out towards the direction of the parking lot in front of the store, and so I took that opportunity make a run for it to my car as soon as he was far enough away that I felt safe. As soon as I got into my car I locked the doors, and to my horror when I looked up, he was standing there about 15 feet from my car with a shopping cart in front of him. I knew he followed me, he knew I knew. I fully believe he had chased after me and when I made it to my car, he grabbed the nearest cart to make it look like he was collecting them from the parking lot. I remember just feeling absolutely terrified at that moment.
I went home, and immediately told my grandfather what had happened. I began crying and shaking, and my grandfather told me to get in the car, we were going to settle this. He and I drove up to the store in his car, and he walked me into the store and demanded we spoke with the managers immediately. Both of them.
When the managers arrived at customer service, he asked me to tell them what had been happening, and demanded that they ensure he left me alone or that he would involve the police. The managers swore up and down they would take care of it. As far as I know, he wasn't fired immediately, because my friend who first encountered him with me when this whole thing began told me that she would see him from time to time when she was there by herself, but that any time I went with her, she would never see him. I fully believe he knew whenever I was there, only this time instead of stalking me, he avoided me. Eventually everyone who knew the situation stopped seeing him there, so I think he may have gotten fired or moved on from that store. Either way, I haven't had any issues since, but I have never in my life felt so afraid of another human being as I did that day seeing him make eye contact with me in the parking lot as I locked my car doors. It still creeps me out to think he was watching me so closely every time I entered the store that he could so easily avoid or follow me whenever he wanted...
So to the guy to stalked me every time I went grocery shopping for 4 months straight... Let's never meet again. |
OK so I'm going to try to give you as much back story on this situation as I can. I live in a block of flats, it's a bit of a rough area in my opinion which occasionally has some sketchy characters going about, there are 2 buildings, and in one of them is a washroom where the residents all go to use the washing /drying facilities.
I am a 31 year old woman, and I use these facilities, not as often as I'd like because more often when I go, the same guy just keeps appearing.
The washroom is usually busy, it can take a few visits to go at a time when a machine is not in use, despite that it's very rare to ever see anybody in there, there's no one person I've ever seen in there twice, except the man who's always washing his teddies.
The first few times I saw him, he didn't say much. He looks like someone you'd give a wide birth, he has visible twitches and possible learning difficulties, and didn't usually say anything.
Until one time, after a few run ins, when he took his Teddy out of the machine, held it up like Mr Bean, and said "hello" to me through the Teddy.
I can't exactly remember my reaction, I know that when I responded, I tried to be as nice as possible, considering he probably has learning difficulties and could need a special approach.
By now I've lived here for over 2 years, and he's the only person who keeps reoccurring in the washroom, and this time I'm in there before he is, and he's standing at the door. I try to make polite conversation, as I'm busy doing my laundry, while he's stood at the door with his full attention on me. When he speaks, he sounds normal, his tone and demeanor is different to the way he normally is. He talks about how awful lockdown is, tells me where he works and that he still has to work... You know, normal stuff!
After a moment had passed he, quite firmly and in an irritated tone says "I'm just trying to be socially distant". I apologise and give him plenty of room to get by, he goes to his machine beside mine, and takes out a Teddy from his laundry, and again, like before speaks through his Teddy.
I was about done filling the machine at this point, told him to take care of himself and left, feeling very rattled by this strange change in character from the man who spends all his time washing his teddies.
When I returned to the washroom to put my clothes in the dryer, I'd taken my time to return, maybe 2 hours or so, I didn't want to run into the guy again by going back at the same time as him.
However, when I got there, someone had been in before me and removed my my clothes. They had been thrown all down the back of the washer, definitely not accidentally and this freaked me out.
I picked it all up, threw it in the drier and rushed back to my flat and told my boyfriend what had happened. He told me not to go back tonight, and that he'd go to finish it off. However he'd just started cooking, so it was a long time before he returned.
When he went to the drier I'd put our clothes in, they too had been removed and thrown all down the backs of the driers. Nothing else in the washroom has been tampered with. To me this said I was targeted. The first instance I thought maybe someone had a bad day. But with hours between my moves, and my clothes being targeted, I felt directly threatened.
I know this could be coincidence, it could be nothing, but my instincts tell me something more sinister could be going on, and could have been going on for a long time.
With no real evidence I can't raise alarm with the police, but I am very scared. I'm going to continue documenting this.
What do you think? |
This happened to me around 2 weeks ago and I can't still forget about it. I am aware of the fact it's not that chilling for others, but hey, I still have goosebumbs when I think about it.
Let me start with little backstory - I am female, really small type (166 cm, less then 50 kg) and I was at the time at home on distance learning. I live with my parets in our family home. Usually, my mom is home with me, she is stay at home mom. Dad works on the other side of our home town. We are currently renovating our bath and toilet, so my dad agreed with some workers like plumber, bricklayer, you name it. He never uses help of companies, he is paying only solo workers. This is very importatnt information. Also, english is not my first language, so I am sorry for some mistakes I will probably made.
This particular day, I was home alone, having some online class and playing videogames along with taking notes from class. I am good student, so no problem. It was like 10 am I think. Suddenly, I saw man outside our fence, just looking around with red car parked outside our house too. It was parked in way that shows people, who parked it, wants to go to our house. He found bell and rang it, so I automatically go, in my pajamas, open the door. I felt safe, because dad told me few days prior to that he is expecting plumber so I though this is the plumber,
I opened the door and said my hello. He politely answered and told me he is plumber for my dad (told me dad's last name, which is very, very rare in my country) beause of renovations of our bath and toilet. These infomartions are still pretty much secret, we don't really talk to much people and from what I know, nobody outside my partner, my parents and me knew about renovation. He was just too...convincing. Also, he was acting pretty normal, just some worker asking for enter to house to look at pipes. He gave me excuse why he was there in time my dad was at work - his doctor's appointment was switched, so he was free this day.
I let him in - I unlocked the gate, let him into house and guided him to our bath. He looked at it, had some plumber-like questions about pipes, where this one is coming from, what is that,...and I tried my best to answer. Then I let him into our cellar, where are some of the pipes too and still, he was just looking at pipes and talking about them, still mentioning informations known only from me, parents and my partner.
He made some small talk, but nothing really unusual - actually asked if I have online schooling, because he heard my teacher's voice from my room. No weird questions like "are you home alone" or something. No red alarm was set in my head.
He then told me he will be call my dad and talk about new date for him to go there and work on pipes. First thing which was weird about him was fact he hadn't got my dad mobile number in his phone. I gave him that number, trying to not overthink it. Then he just told my goodbye and I went back home. He went in direction of his car.
I decided to call mom that plumber was here, just gave her some heads up. Mom went silent in phone and asked me about his looks and car. I answerer, he was guys in his 40', red bigger car with, work clothes, brown hair,...she answered me "Lock in, both gate and front doors. This was not our plumber. Don't go outside.". I was actually pretty confused and told her that he knew details, even dads surname. She told me that she don't know who that guy was, because our plumber was older man with big van and right now was in hospital because of his cancer treatment. He phoned the day before about it. I casually glanced through window only to see that man in his red car still parked outside our house, just sitting there. I told mom I locked both door and gate after him, so she no worries. I lied, I didn't want to upset her. Me, little and very much weak girl in pajamas, sitting in unlocked house with guy twice my age, weight and height outside my house who I didn't know, but he knew I am home alone, only on call with my teacher and classmates and layout of my house.
After some time, my mom rushed home only to find me safe and sound, just little bit confused. After her, my dad came home. I told him about this plumber and he confirmed this is not plumber who he paid. He stated again this plumber has not any collegue or co-worker, he's solo and he didn't recognize that man either. Nobody saw him, our neighbourhood is like living in spirit of "my garden, my busines and I don't care about outside world".
We quickly ruled out possibility of co-worker and just some weird mixing up names. As I said, our surname, especially my dad's is very, very rare and he is the only one with this special surname in whole region at least, not inculiding my grandpa, who lives in next town, but in apartment in his late 80'. Possibility of my partner telling someone is 0 %, he's really introverted - so even some weird twisted prank on his side is impossible.
I don't know who I let into my home, but I know he was not plumber. And it gives me chills to this day, because he could easily harm me or even take me away without any help for hours or witnesses and I was just lucky he didn't do anything. |
I’ve never really told this to anyone, only a few of my friends know and it’s a bit of a short story, but nowadays it really makes me nervous when I go outside by myself.
I’m a 20 year old trans guy with anxiety and this event happened about two years ago. I was in college, so about 18 and I had caught the bus into my town to go see my doctor for a doctors appointment. It was broad daylight maybe around 10-11am. I had just gotten off the bus and crossed the road a little earlier than I usually do. The side of the path I was on was empty and I didn’t pay it too much attention to that fact as there are several bus stops on the other side of the road that tend to be quite busy. As I’m walking I didn’t really see these two guys approach me from behind. Now for context, I’m around 5’5 (ish) and I’m not very strong, I find it hard to talk to random people and these two guys stank to high heaven of booze. I was taught if a drunk person ever asks you a question, to just be polite and answer as they can get angry if you don’t.
So these guys are on either side of me and say hello. Nervously I say hello back, trying to be polite. Suddenly the guy on my left wraps his arm around my waist and calls me “his b*tch”. At this point I start to panic. He keeps rambling on about something (I think about a girlfriend?) and laughing with his friend. I can see the next crossing I need to take and the doctors surgery is in the distance.
I start to panic more as I can feel the guy who still has his arm around me trying to guide me towards the street that’s in the other direction from where I want to go. I’m trying to remain calm as I KNOW that if we go down that empty street things will probably not end well.
I don’t know how I managed to, but I managed to slip from his grasp and heavily increased my walking speed. They call after me but I don’t listen and start to run all the way to the doctors, not looking back incase they tried to follow me.
After I was done at the doctors I decided to take a different route back to the bus stop. Though the other route is a straight line and I knew people would be around, I thought it best to go through the centre of town and then get on the bus at a different stop incase they were still trying to look for me. I was so glad I didn’t wear my earphones once I got out the bus, as who knows what would’ve happened if I had been.
Even now days, I always keep out one earphone when walking down the street so I can always hear when someone approaches me.
So to the two drunk guys, especially the one who put his arm around me, let’s not meet. |
I am a 20-year-old female and the story that I am going to tell you happened just recently. I had many creepy encounters and experienced a lot of truly scary things during my life, so I figured out this would be the right place to collect all of it.
#x200B;
I and my mother decided to go grocery shopping together two days ago, so we took the car and she (I don't have a license yet) drove to the nearest and biggest mall, to get as many supplies as possible; because of the ongoing lockdown for the pandemic is better to make only a few trips to avoid unnecessary contact with people. It took us a while to arrive there and, once we did she pulled up near the stores, where I could see a couple men. It is very common in my area to find people stationing in malls and supermarkets parking lots and they are usually quite harmless if you do as they say.
#x200B;
They stay there waiting for cars to come and when this happens, they show the drivers some parking spots to ask what is called "a protection fee": basically, you pay them or otherwise they will damage your vehicle. It is, of course, illegal but the government here doesn't seem really bothered by these kind of activities. Anyway, we met those illegal workers many times before so it wasn't something too scary for us... at first.
#x200B;
My mother parked the car and then, two of those came near her window and asked for the fee, which wasn't much luckily. While she was giving them the money, I looked out of the side I was sitting in and then froze.
#x200B;
There were ***at least*** ten other men.
#x200B;
Two of them were fighting, I don't know over what, and one threw a punch too. Only, when I looked closer, I saw something shiny. In his grip there was a knife.
#x200B;
I started freaking out internally because the situation was way more dangerous than it seemed at the beginning; the worst scenarios were running through my head: two women, ten men with a weapon. I was then brought back to reality when my mother told me to get out of the car to reach the stores, so I immediately jumped out of my seat and got by her side ready to protect her, but when I saw she was chatting and exchanging jokes with one of the two dudes from before, I realized she hadn't seen the group of men that was coming towards us. My mom has a *very* sunny and friendly personality, which, let me tell you, can be *very* a dangerous thing around strangers. I am not blaming her, I love my mother, but an excessive expansive attitude can cost you *a lot*. I know sometimes I come off as antisocial but better be careful and distant than having a knife on your throat.
#x200B;
I quickly told her we *had* to go, with urgency in my voice but keeping a cold and firm tone; if you show people you are scared then you are screwd. You must NEVER show it, because it makes you an easier target.
#x200B;
She followed me, asking what was wrong and trying to tell me that we were safe, so I whispered "keep going and stay silent", and only then she saw the group of men, staring at us. She proceeded to look in an other direction while walking, but I didn't. I gave one one of the men a look full of hatred that was screaming "do not try harm us or I will fight". I know they were numerically superior, but I have been practicing boxe for years so I wasn't going down without battling for my mother's life. The man got the message and looked away. It was still daytime, so if I screamed people would hear us and call the cops plus, criminals prefer as I said before easy and weak targets. I haven't brought weapons with me that day (I usually do), but I will make sure to never commit this mistake again.
#x200B;
We got out of the mall when it was getting dark. I suggested a secondary way to get to the car: the men were all still in the parking lot, there was little light and we also had lot of things to bring with us now. We made it to the vehicle safely because they didn't see us coming, but I swear I am never going to forget my weapons from now on.
#x200B;
Also, I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't looked out of my window or my mom hadn't listened to me. So, always remember: be aware of your surroundings. |
So let me preface this story by explaining that I live in a regional town of Australia. There is no sex trafficking problem here, it just doesn't exist. There's no gang activity, no unsolved murders and no missing people or unsolved crimes. Just to give you the lowdown of the sort of area I live. Also, I'm a transman, I'm pre T so I don't often pass for male despite me trying to, and that is probably somewhat obvious by my profile picture in facebook where I look pretty feminine.
Now onto the story. This happened today and I'm still unsure whether I should do anything about, or if the police would even bother. I flip furniture as a hobby. I like to pick up free or cheap worn out furniture, repair it, repaint it and then sell it on. It keeps my mind occupied. Facebook marketplace is usually my go to where I find stuff. So this morning I found a post for a free table. I message the person asking if I can pick it up today. As I am messaging them, their facebook profile picture disappeared, I thought that was weird but maybe they had just changed it. They agreed to a time and flicked me the address. No worries, its on the edge of town. They send me a random obscure message, are you coming alone or will you have your husband with you. Okay, I'm not married and this is slapping me in the face with red flags but I think maybe the table is heavy and they think I might need help to carry it. I respond with nah its all good I'll be right. There is no response.
I have this uneasy feeling that something isn't right with this, never felt this way before and I don't know why I do now, but I figure its the middle of the day, I've got my phone and I'm driving and this is a safe town, maybe I'm just overthinking the whole thing. So I hop in my car and head to the agreed place. I couldn't find the exact address on my gps which I thought was odd, but nether the less I find the street. There's nothing there, by that I mean, there is a creek that runs by the side of it, empty lots with bushland and tall overgrown grass a disused isolated somewhat motel and three warehouses. By this stage I am feeling really off, everything inside me is saying dude there is something wrong with this whole situation! I'm paying a little more attention to that feeling at this stage, but keep going.
Two of the warehouses have no sinage, but there's a couple of cars out front and I can tell they're used as businesses of some sort, their address isn't the one I was given though. Even though the motel looked like it hadn't been used in years, I see a mid 40s guy sitting on the step of one of the units smoking, I think to myself that's a bit bloody creepy, but maybe he owns the place and is doing some work there and is just taking a break or maybe he's just a squatter. So I drive down the street a little further and find the last warehouse, the address is where pickup is meant to be so this must be it. I start thinking maybe they got the number wrong, I mean, this place has tall weeds surrounding it, rubbish out the front and surely hasn't been used since it was built.
I might like free furniture, but I'm not an idiot. I decide I don't want it anymore and message the bloke that I was sorry but I couldn't find the place. I get a message back saying are you in the ute I saw you drive up and down a couple of times, are you alone? There's no cars or any sign of life at this warehouse and by now my intuition is screaming at me to get out of there. Yes I have a ute, but I don't see anyone around, how did they know that.
I message a reply yeah mate, sorry can't find the place cheers anyway. I get no response for about an hour, no sorry or anything, just an "its the old motel, you have to get out of your car and walk to the back of reception". That same worn down isolated motel with overgrown weeds that hasn't been used for many years, the same one with the weird guy sitting on the step.
I message back what are you talking about that place hasn't been used in years. I get no response. Nothing.
So I head home and sit down for a drink and to google this place again, I've forgotten the exact address he gave so I go back to messenger to find it except its gone. So I go back to Facebook marketplace and the whole add is gone, its just disappeared as if it didn't happen. What do you lot think, did I just avoid something sinister happening? My gut says I did.
Creepy free table guy who was likely planning on doing something really bad to an unsuspecting freebie hunter, lets not meet. |
This happened fairy recently (a few years ago) and freaks me out whenever I think about it too much.
My dad had to go on a business trip to China, so he decided to make it a “family vacation” and take me (a teenage girl) and my older brother along with him. However, my dad had to work the whole time so we only really saw him in the evenings when he came back to the hotel to eat dinner with us.
To make sure my brother and I still had a good time and weren’t bored being alone, my dad organised a tour guide to take us around the city. The tour was organised by the hotel we were staying at, and the rest of the people in the group were other Americans. Overall, we felt pretty comfortable and safe about the whole thing, and were fine exploring the city practically on our own.
When the day started, we first visited a local market. Now when I say it was crowded, I mean CROWDED. I had to hold on to my brother’s jacket or hand most of the time to make sure I didn’t lose him. The market was filled with locals doing their daily shopping and whatnot, so naturally we stood out like a sore thumb. To make things worse, we didn’t speak Chinese and almost nobody there spoke English, so it was easy to feel out of place. It didn’t matter too much to me though, and I continued browsing the shops and taking pictures on my phone. I also took a bunch of selfies (which will be important later). We got to one shop where you could buy tea leaves and fancy cups, and I started looking around in one side of the store while my brother went to the other. While I was browsing, a few men (maybe in their late 20s?) appeared behind me and started to make polite conversation. Now I’ve been told about stranger danger about a million times, so I ignored them. They started asking questions about where I was from, and how old I was. One man even offered to buy me the teacup I was looking at, but I remained silent and walked back to my brother. After it became clear that I wasn’t alone and I wasn’t going to say anything either, the men said something to each other in Chinese and walked away.
I didn’t think too much of it then, and the day continued. Throughout the day, we visited a bunch more tourist spots: a silk factory, some monuments, etc, and I kept taking pictures and videos. In the evening, we came to our last destination: Tiananmen Square. It was PACKED and I was scared I would get lost in the crowds, so naturally I stuck close by my brother again. As we walked through the plaza, we came to a wide, open plot that was a bit more secluded from the main entrance. The tour guide told us we could wander around a bit and meet back in the same spot in around 15 minutes. As my brother and I started walking around, an older man approached my brother. He was very well dressed, not in a suit, but had on fancier clothes than a normal tourist would wear. He started asking my brother questions about directions to another monument that was close by, which I found extremely odd. Clearly we were tourists and not from the area, so why was he asking us for directions? The man started walking slowly in the opposite direction of where I was, and my brother unknowingly started walking alongside him while trying to give him directions.
Being a normal restless kid, I started walking around and taking selfies. As I lifted my phone up, I froze. The men who had tried to talk to me in the tea shop almost 10 hours earlier, were there. And watching me. They tried to be nonchalant about it but at that point I was hyper aware that they were watching me and talking to each other about me. It was also extremely clear that they were taking pictures of me under the guise of taking pictures of the monument, so I tried to kind of cover my face and look down. They were also extremely close, and at this point my brother was not close by me anymore.
Without thinking any longer, I quickly screamed. Not in a shriek, but more like a kid throwing a tantrum kind of way. This caught my brothers attention, who quickly turned to look at me. I jogged up to him and played up the whole “tantrum” saying that my feet hurt and we needed to go sit down back where we came from. I could tell he was irritated by my behavior, but he agreed and I quickly pulled him away back to our tour guide. When we were safely surrounded by our tour guide and tour members, I turned to my brother and told him (in our not commonly spoken native language) that I was pretty sure I was being followed. Even though my brother didn’t see the men, it was like something clicked for him. He walked behind me with his hands on my shoulders for the remainder of the tour and told me that he had texted our dad about what was happening. I never saw the men again and we soon went back to the hotel.
Later, when I was going through my photos and videos, I almost had a heart attack. The men that I met in the tea shop were in the background of nearly every single one. They were quite far away, and almost never looking directly at me, but they were there. The whole day.
I don’t know what would’ve happened if they had gotten my brother far enough away from me, or if I hadn’t noticed them. My mind has run through the possibilities, and every single one gives me nightmares. What creeps me out the most is knowing with almost complete certainty that they have pictures of me, and I don’t know what they did with them.
So creepy men in China who were almost definitely going to kidnap me, let’s not meet again. |
First of all, I'm french, so, forgive me if I make mistakes...
Second of all, my story is probably gonna be long, but I think it's worth it !
Anyway, let's get into my story.
It all started 2 years ago, I dropped out of school, I was at home everyday, suffering of depression and social anxiety , and since both of my parents work, I was alone in my house a lot of time. So, one day, I was alone, just chilling , watching netflix and eating some snacks in my room, then, I heard the interphone ringing. I never answer the interphone when I'm home alone, because of my anxiety, so i just ignored it, even if the person was really persistent.
#x200B;
Then, a few seconds later, I heard noises in the hall of my residence (I live in the ground floor, so when people make noises, I hear it) . I assume it was the neighbors.
#x200B;
But a few seconds later, I heard someone ringing and knocking on my door brutally. With my anxiety issues, I started to feel anxious and I grab a knife, in case this person was trying to break into my house. Then, silence.
#x200B;
But when I thought it was all over, 1 or 2 minutes later, I heard someone who was literally beating my kitchen window , so hard that my window got open. At this point, I was hiding in the hallway with my knife, so I got to see the man's face when he open the window and look into the kitchen to see if anybody was there. I was terrified, I didn't know what to do, but when I discretly look at the man's face, it was really disturbing : he was really chill, cold, relax. He looked into the kitchen one last time and leaved. I knew there were something wrong with this guy.
#x200B;
But I was so scared that I call my aunt to pick me up, because I really didn't want to spend more time at home after what just happened. So I was waiting, still holding my knife, anxious af, until she came. Days after this incindent, I never saw this guy again.
#x200B;
So, that, was 2 years ago. But yesterday, my dad told me something he never told me before, because he didn't wanted me to be anxious : two sisters of my neighborhood saw a guy hanging around my house for a few days, especially around my bedroom window (my window is just in front of the residence parking lot, and the guy was hiding behind cars and stalking me through my window, and I had no clue of what was happening). One day, one of the sisters took a photo of the guy, so he knew he was discoverd. The girl who took the photo told my dad about all of this, and my dad was watching if the guy was still around our residence , but he never saw him , and since then, nobody saw this guy.
#x200B;
My opinion is : this guy's first move was to knocking and ringing at my door, to see if there were anybody there. I don't know if he figured that I was there or not. I think his second move was to stalk me and hanging around my window, but when one of the sisters took a photo of him, he knew he was screwed. That's why, when my dad was watching if the guy was still around, he didn't show up. He knew he was completly screwed. A question still hauting me : what would have happened if nobody saw him ? If nobody took pictures of him ? And, most importantly, what were his intentions ? Do I was the target of this guy? Too many questions, but not many answers...
#x200B;
Anyway, to the creepy guy who was stalking me, let's not meet again. |
Once upon a chilling night, in a quiet town shrouded in mist, there lived a man named EDP. He was known for his insatiable appetite for sweets, especially cupcakes. One evening, driven by a powerful craving, he heard rumors of a legendary bakery hidden deep within the woods.
Ignoring the warnings of the townsfolk, EDP ventured into the dark woods in search of the elusive bakery. The trees seemed to whisper to him, and the path grew increasingly eerie as he walked deeper into the heart of the forest. Soon, he stumbled upon an old, decrepit cabin, its windows shattered and door ajar.
Inside, he discovered a single cupcake sitting atop a table, illuminated by a flickering candle. He couldn't resist the temptation and took a bite. But as soon as he did, the room echoed with a sinister laughter, and the candlelight revealed the true nature of the cupcake – it was made of human fingers and teeth!
Terrified, EDP tried to flee, but the door slammed shut, and the walls of the cabin seemed to close in around him. The laughter grew louder, reverberating in his mind. He realized he was trapped in a nightmarish trap, a concoction of his own desire for sweets. The legends were true – this was the cursed bakery, where those who indulged never escaped.
And so, EDP's desperate screams echoed through the woods, forever becoming a cautionary tale for those who craved more than they should. The townspeople would later find the cabin, abandoned and engulfed by an unnatural darkness, a grim reminder of the fate that befell the man who went in search of a cupcake in the haunted woods. |
Somewhat intermediate follower, first time poster.
It was a typical Tuesday morning around 3:00am. Kat woke up. She didn't get much sleep last night, and was as tired as a little kid after a day at a theme park (simile). She had to go into work at 5:00 today instead of the usual 6:00am time. Something about a shortage of workers either missing or ending up dead, she couldn't remember right now with how tired she was. She got dressed, made herself some breakfast to go, then hopped in the car and started to drive through the dark and damp forest It was always creepy at night, but the fact that it started to rain cats and dogs made it worse. She has to be wary of deer and other animals in the road...but tonight...she would face the worst type of monster in the woods...something made of flesh and blood, just like you and me. Out of nowhere, this black and white splotch of a figure just appears out of nowhere in the middle of the road. She slammed on the breaks, the tires, almost begging for mercy, for her to keep going, but she doesn't. She just barely stops in front of the figure and it's...a mime?! "What in the world is a mime doing out in the woods this early" she thought. She stepped out of the car, and the mime mimicked her, his creepy smile and almost lifeless eyes starting at her. "Are you okay?" she asked...but the mime just started... menacingly. The mime then started doing what mimes usually do. The old fake wall gag, tripping over something invisible, just the usual stuff. "Ugh...weirdo. Go annoy someone else at freaking 3:00 in the morning." .The mime stops then just stares at her, the eyes becoming even more lifeless and the smile disappearing as kat gets back in the car and drives off around the mime. When she looks in the overhead mirror in the car, she can see the mime in the background more or less floating in the air...but also sitting down? Also like he's in some kind of invisible car. "Freak". She continues to drive off, then her car starts to sputter as she gets into the outskirts of the city. "Aw c'mon, not now ya hunk of junk car....pleeeasaseee....." the car stops. "DARN! .she hits the horn in frustration, as a mechanic shop sign lights up and the doors open. "Huh... convenient but I'll take it." Kat puts the car in neutral and also flips the caution on, then starts to roll it into the shop. She then goes to talk to the shop owner, who is dressed in a mechanics outfit, and speaks with a southern accent. "Howdy der las, welcome to my humble shop. What can I get you in for?" the owner ask. "Just some car trouble...not sure what" Kat says "ah...I see. I saw you were a bit annoyed with this happening. Late for work or something?" the owner ask. "I'm about to be...can I just leave you my number and come back for it later once you get it fixed? I'll have to take the subway." Kat says. "Of course pardner, it'll be done in a jiffy!" Kat pays the owner then starts to make her towards the subway, entering the tunnel by Elm Street. When she gets down there, it's all empty... until she sees that dang mime again. It still has its creepy smile and it's creepy eyes, that are now more or less just white dots. "Uh... hi again." Kat says as she waves nervously, noticing there's a red substance in his hands. The clown waves back. Kat starts to walk forward then so does the mime. She stops, then so does the mime. She walks to the left then so does the mime. She walks to the right, he walks to the right. Up,up,down,down,left,right,left,right, the cycle keeps going still she stops. "I... think I'll just walk to work" Kat starts to walk back towards the entrance, but then suddenly stops in her tracks. She can't move. "What?" Kat tries to move again but still can't...it's almost as if her limbs are being controlled. She then starts to turn around to face the mime. "WHAT THE-" a train passes by, muting whatever she said as it continues on. "HEL-" before she can finish, the mime acts like he zips his own mouth shut, and so does Kat, making it so she can't speak...she just silently screams and starts to cry, almost begging him to stop..but I don't. I slowly turn around, having my back in the same direction as the wall and having kat facing towards me with her back towards the tracks. The panic in her eyes was just delightful... cute even. I then slowly start to walk back towards the wall, and Kat starts to walk towards the tracks. As we both walk backwards, I start to think of all that's happened so far. Waking up, walking through the woods, almost getting hit by her car, following her through the woods, making it to the subway after hearing she would be here...and just like that, there's a bright flash of light and she's gone. Another victim of this cruel world has been taken curtosity of the mime. |
Its been days I haven't left my house I don't know what to do I'm running out of supply's im going insane by the minute. I don't know who to trust really, ok I should calm down know and tell you all that happened well I have never spoke to my friend in 2 days I figured that she was busy but no I was wrong but also my gut was right we now communicated through analog radios as we know that these things can't effect analog devices but what relevance dose this have? well her voice on the radio calling out for me it was not her. her voice or its voice was a distorted version of her once soft voice now demonic and tempting. I have never been to work or outside since that day and to add more salt to my already open wound I turned the news on and sure enough she's dead and you know what the police had to say no foul play NO FOUL PLAY, can you believe that but the news showed her body being carried on a stretcher to the ambulance with blood on the body bag what no foul play was there. the last video she sent me was a link of what she saw I don't think I will ever release it with how disturbing it was. but the fact remains that thing with my face was the one to kill her now its coming after me. it stalks my property every single day and night no one can see it but me. I should just end it all now maybe im living a nightmare. anyway tonight is the night I catch one of these assholes, on camera and dead. im going to bed I've been up since 5am and now its 3am now as I type this good night everybody.
(computer shuts off)
What a day as dalton gets into his bed the, `the noises whisper in his ear like a voice calling for its victim`
What the hell. the post has been altered well in my drafts shit did this thing manage to get into my computer. anyway its 8am now no daylight yet so the things must still be outside.
#x200B;
BANG.
SHIT! its inside my house. `you can't hide dalton` ~~do you remember me im here to help. please come out.~~
Im hiding in my garage I don't know why these things are trying to communicate through my post or how they can do this but I'm now aware what these thing are not demons not aliens. they are mimics ancient creatures that existed way before humans. their true forms I don't know I've only seen drawings of them. I can't even type properly my story telling is not that great when things are actively looking for me but for what it is I must find out what these things are. `you really think there is room for the two of us? You will soon give into your fate and soon every one will humans are weak minded trash a disease.`
This is not me its taking control Shit the more close they get the more my laptop acts up you know what writing this story is pointless if I'm dead anyway
~~come on out dalton I just want to hear your voice again.~~ `you will soon realize this is what you were all meant for food to feed us this is our home you were only delaying the inevitable`
(Thump)
hay you guys want me I'm right here.
`like I said so weak minds you will soon give into temptation`
#x200B;
No more like leading you guys to your death
`weak foolish child you forgot we are not like you.`
go to hell!
#x200B;
BANG (gun shots).
its finally over iM safe hah Im Safe im safe `IM FINALY MY SELF>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.` |
Somewhat intermediate follower, first time poster.
It was a typical Tuesday morning around 3:00am. Kat woke up. She didn't get much sleep last night, and was more or less a zombie with how tired she was. She had to go into work at 5:00 today instead of the usual 6:00am time. Something about a shortage of workers either missing or ending up dead, she couldn't remember right now with how tired she was. She got dressed, made herself some breakfast to go, then hopped in the car and started to drive through the dark and damp forest It was always creepy at night, but the fact that it started to rain badly made it worse. She has to be wary of deer and other animals in the road...but tonight...she would face the worst type of monster in the woods...something made of flesh and blood, just like you and me. Out of nowhere, this black and white splotch of a figure just appears out of nowhere in the middle of the road. She slammed on the breaks, the tires, almost begging for mercy, for her to keep going, but she doesn't. She just barely stops in front of the figure and it's...a mime?! "What in the world is a mime doing out in the woods this early" she thought. She stepped out of the car, and the mime mimicked her, his creepy smile and almost lifeless eyes starting at her. "Are you okay?" she asked...but the mime just started... menacingly. The mime then started doing what mimes usually do. The old fake wall gag, tripping over something invisible, just the usual stuff. "Ugh...weirdo. Go annoy someone else at freaking 3:00 in the morning." .The mime stops then just stares at her, the eyes becoming even more lifeless and the smile disappearing as kat gets back in the car and drives off around the mime. When she looks in the overhead mirror in the car, she can see the mime in the background more or less floating in the air...but also sitting down? Also like he's in some kind of invisible car. "Freak". She continues to drive off, then her car starts to sputter as she gets into the outskirts of the city. "Aw c'mon, not now ya hunk of junk car....pleeeasaseee....." the car stops. "DARN! .she hits the horn in frustration, as a mechanic shop sign lights up and the doors open. "Huh... convenient but I'll take it." Kat puts the car in neutral and also flips the caution on, then starts to roll it into the shop. She then goes to talk to the shop owner, who is dressed in a mechanics outfit, and speaks with a southern accent. "Howdy der las, welcome to my humble shop. What can I get you in for?" the owner ask. "Just some car trouble...not sure what" Kat says "ah...I see. I saw you were a bit annoyed with this happening. Late for work or something?" the owner ask. "I'm about to be...can I just leave you my number and come back for it later once you get it fixed? I'll have to take the subway." Kat says. "Of course pardner, it'll be done in a jiffy!" Kat pays the owner then starts to make her towards the subway, entering the tunnel by Elm Street. When she gets down there, it's all empty... until she sees that dang mime again. It still has its creepy smile and it's creepy eyes, that are now more or less just white dots. "Uh... hi again." Kat says as she waves nervously, noticing there's a red substance in his hands. The clown waves back. Kat starts to walk forward then so does the mime. She stops, then so does the mime. She walks to the left then so does the mime. She walks to the right, he walks to the right. Up,up,down,down,left,right,left,right, the cycle keeps going still she stops. "I... think I'll just walk to work" Kat starts to walk back towards the entrance, but then suddenly stops in her tracks. She can't move. "What?" Kat tries to move again but still can't...it's almost as if her limbs are being controlled. She then starts to turn around to face the mime. "WHAT THE-" a train passes by, muting whatever she said as it continues on. "HEL-" before she can finish, the mime acts like he zips his own mouth shut, and so does Kat, making it so she can't speak...she just silently screams and starts to cry, almost begging him to stop..but I don't. I slowly turn around, having my back in the same direction as the wall and having kat facing towards me with her back towards the tracks. The panic in her eyes was just delightful... cute even. I then slowly start to walk back towards the wall, and Kat starts to walk towards the tracks. As we both walk backwards, I start to think of all that's happened so far. Waking up, walking through the woods, almost getting hit by her car, following her through the woods, making it to the subway after hearing she would be here...and just like that, there's a bright flash of light and she's gone. Another victim of this cruel world has been taken curtosity of the mime. |
Title: "Ethereal Encounters: A Dance with the Demon"
Alex, an unassuming young man with an insatiable curiosity, possessed a unique gift—he could astral project. With practice, he learned to navigate the realms beyond the physical, exploring the boundless expanses of the astral plane. However, one fateful night, his ethereal journey led him to an encounter that would forever change his perception of reality.
As he ventured into the astral realm, Alex's consciousness soared. Colors danced, and sensations were amplified. But this time, the atmosphere felt different—charged with an ominous energy that tingled his senses.
In the distance, a shadowy figure materialized—a demon of unfathomable power. Its eyes gleamed with malevolence, its presence exuding a palpable sense of dread. Unlike anything Alex had encountered before, this entity emanated raw darkness.
Fear gripped Alex, his astral form paralyzed in the demon's chilling gaze. The demon's voice resonated in his mind—a symphony of whispers that sent shivers down his spine. It revealed ancient secrets, dark desires, and a hunger for the energy of the living.
But as the demon's presence grew stronger, so did Alex's determination. He reached deep within himself, drawing on his connection to the astral plane. His form radiated with a radiant light, pushing back against the darkness that threatened to consume him.
A battle of wills ensued, a cosmic dance between light and shadow. Alex's energy surged, and with an ethereal roar, he banished the demon's presence from the astral realm. As the demon's form dissolved, Alex felt an overwhelming sense of triumph.
When he awoke in his physical body, he was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. It was as if the battle had taken place not just in the astral plane, but within the very core of his being.
In the aftermath of the encounter, Alex's perception of the astral realm evolved. He realized that the realm was a reflection of the energies within, a manifestation of his own intentions and fears. Through his struggle with the demon, he learned that even in the most ethereal of realms, the power of one's spirit could triumph over darkness.
"Ethereal Encounters: A Dance with the Demon" is a tale that delves into the realms of the unseen, reminding us that even when facing the most formidable of adversaries, the strength of the human spirit can illuminate even the darkest corners of existence. |
I always had a fascination with antique stores, so when I stumbled upon a little shop tucked away in a corner of the city, I couldn't resist going in. The moment I stepped inside, a sense of unease washed over me. The air was heavy, and the lighting seemed to be dimmer than it should have been.
My eyes were drawn to a dusty shelf in the corner, where an old porcelain doll sat, its glassy eyes seeming to follow me. The doll was delicate, with a frilly pink dress and a perfectly curled wig, but there was something off about it. Its smile was just a bit too wide, and its eyes seemed to hold a hint of malice.
The shopkeeper noticed my interest and informed me that the doll was said to be haunted. Supposedly, it had a history of strange occurrences surrounding it. I laughed it off, attributing the eerie feeling in the shop to the atmosphere and my own overactive imagination. I decided to buy the doll, thinking it would make a quirky addition to my collection.
That night, I placed the doll on a shelf in my bedroom. As I settled into bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I brushed it off as my mind playing tricks on me, but then I heard a faint giggle, like a child's laughter, coming from the direction of the doll. I dismissed it as the wind or a distant sound, trying to calm my racing heart.
In the following days, odd things began to happen. Objects would go missing and turn up in places I was certain I hadn't left them. Footsteps echoed through the empty hallways of my apartment, and sometimes, when I glanced at the doll, its position seemed to have shifted ever so slightly. Each night, I was plagued by vivid nightmares, all featuring the doll in different unsettling scenarios.
One evening, I returned home to find the doll had moved from the shelf to my bed. Its glassy eyes stared up at me, its smile more pronounced than ever. Panic surged through me as I tried to rationalize the situation. Maybe it had fallen off the shelf? Maybe I had absentmindedly moved it? But deep down, I knew something was horribly wrong.
As the days passed, the activity escalated. I would wake up to find the doll sitting at the foot of my bed, its head turned to face me. I heard its laughter echoing through the apartment, even when I was certain I was alone. I could no longer dismiss the incidents as mere coincidences or my imagination.
Desperation gripped me, and I decided to return the doll to the antique shop. As I walked through the shop's door, the atmosphere was even heavier than before. The shopkeeper looked at me knowingly, as if expecting my return. She took the doll from my trembling hands and placed it back on the dusty shelf. "It seems the doll has taken a liking to you," she said with an unsettling smile.
I left the shop, feeling a mixture of relief and dread. The doll was no longer in my possession, but I couldn't shake the feeling that its malevolent presence would continue to haunt me, whether it was physically by my side or not. The memory of those glassy eyes and that twisted smile would forever be etched in my mind, a reminder that some things are better left untouched in the shadows. |
The wind howled outside, and the rain pounded relentlessly against the windows. I sat alone in my dimly lit room, trying to shake off the unease that had settled in my chest. A flickering candle cast eerie shadows on the walls, playing tricks on my mind. Every creak of the old house sent shivers down my spine, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.
I tried to convince myself that it was just my imagination running wild, that the stories of this place being haunted were just tales to scare the faint-hearted. But then I heard it – a faint whisper that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. My heart raced as I strained to make out the words, my breath catching in my throat.
I felt a cold draft sweep through the room, despite the windows being tightly shut. The candle's flame danced wildly, casting elongated, twisted shadows that seemed to move on their own. I clutched the edges of my seat, paralyzed by fear, as the whisper grew louder, more insistent. It was as if a hundred voices were speaking in hushed tones, their words incomprehensible yet filled with a malevolent intent.
In a desperate attempt to escape the mounting terror, I stood up, my legs trembling. That's when I saw it – a fleeting glimpse of a figure in the hallway, just at the edge of my vision. My breath caught in my throat, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. I blinked, and the figure was gone, leaving behind only the echo of its presence.
I knew I couldn't stay in that room any longer, surrounded by whatever unseen horror lurked in the shadows. With trembling hands, I fumbled for the doorknob and stepped out into the corridor. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet, and a cold sweat broke out on my brow. Every step I took was heavy with the weight of the unknown, the feeling that something was following me, just out of sight.
As I made my way down the hallway, the whispers grew louder, more urgent. They seemed to be closing in on me, enveloping me in a cocoon of dread. I wanted to run, to flee from whatever malevolent force was at play, but my legs felt like they were made of lead. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, to retreat to the safety of my room, but I pressed on.
And then, as I turned a corner, I came face to face with the figure. It stood there, shrouded in darkness, its eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The whispers reached a deafening crescendo, and I felt a searing pain in my head. And then... everything went black.
I woke up back in my room, the sun casting gentle rays through the window. The storm had passed, and the house was quiet. I couldn't be sure if what I had experienced was a nightmare or something more sinister. But one thing was certain – I would never forget the terror of that night, the feeling of being utterly helpless in the grip of an unknown and malevolent force. |
In a remote village nestled between dense forests and shimmering waters, the legend of La Llorona had been passed down through generations. It was a story that sent shivers down the spines of children and adults alike.
Long ago, in a time when the village was thriving and life was simple, lived a beautiful woman named Isabella. Her beauty was said to rival that of the moon, and her laughter was as melodious as the songbirds that filled the air. She was deeply in love with a dashing young man named Alejandro, and they were blessed with two children who were the joy of their lives.
However, jealousy consumed Isabella's heart. She had heard whispers that Alejandro had been seen with another woman from a neighboring village. Fearful of losing him, her jealousy grew into an uncontrollable rage. One moonlit night, driven by her emotions, she took her children to the riverbanks and in a fit of madness, drowned them in the rushing waters. The realization of what she had done hit her like a thunderbolt, and her anguished cries echoed through the night as she searched frantically for their lifeless bodies.
Legend has it that Isabella's soul was cursed for her unspeakable act. Dressed in a flowing white gown, her once-beautiful face contorted in sorrow, she would wander the village and its surroundings, wailing for her lost children. The villagers began to call her "La Llorona," which translates to "The Weeping Woman."
Her ghostly presence haunted the village, her cries becoming an eerie lullaby that chilled the night air. It was said that if anyone heard her cries up close, misfortune would befall them or their loved ones. Parents would tell their children to stay indoors after dark, lest they come across her sorrowful Spirit
As years turned to decades, La Llorona's story became a cautionary tale, a reminder of the destructive power of jealousy and the consequences of giving in to one's darkest emotions. Though her restless spirit still wandered, her story was told as a reminder to cherish love, to overcome jealousy, and to embrace the bonds that held families and communities together.
And so, the legend of La Llorona continued to echo through time, serving as a chilling reminder of the tragic tale of Isabella's lost love, jealousy, and the haunting consequences of her actions. |
My father is a very broke man, he used to live off of my great aunt and grandma but they passed last September. We can barely afford food anymore, so, I decided to start helping out by babysitting. I took a walk down to the rich neighborhood and went asking door by door if they needed a babysitter or nanny. One ended up saying yes, the old couple that lived in the biggest house at the very end of the road. They presented me their adopted 12 year old boy, so I happily accepted and the old couple left, I went inside and everything seemed normal-well for rich people that is. There were two grand staircases and the kitchen was to the right of me. I asked the boy if he was hungry or ate at all and he just stayed quiet and just looked down at the ground. I didn't realize this at first but the boy was acceptionaly boney, almost too boney. I asked him if he was anorexic or something but he still didn't say anything, then as I walked over to the kitchen I saw a note on the counter..so I picked it up and read it.
"Whoever is reading this, thank you. Thank you for babysitting that boy. He has caused so much misery in our life, so I want to say thank you and that we are sorry. He saw you. He will most likely grow attached now, and he will be hungry. There is food in the fridge for him, not the normal precooked turkey or the brownies. Check the left door, don't be alarmed if you see raw animal body parts, it's HIS food. We learned he only eats goats, so get him that. We have been starving him because lately each time he eats he gets stronger and more out of control. We are so sorry, but we will not be coming back. This is your problem now."
-Linda
"What..the fuck?" I thought to myself as I checked the fridge, there was indeed two gray legs, kidneys, livers, and a heart. I looked back at the boy, he's now staring at the fridge drooling and his eyes abnormally wide. I closed the door and found some gloves, then proceeded to get out a kidney. I put it on a plate and gave it to the boy hesitantly. The boy dropped the plate and then it's when I realized, he was staring at me drooling. I feed the boy..myself. I grab a kitchen knife in an attempt to kill the boy, but that's when his eyes blacked out and his face separated into four parts revealing a gaping fleshy hole filled with rows of teeth. I dropped the knife in shock and panicked as the boy ran over and took the first bite of me, it was my leg. Specifically the bottom part of my leg. I felt a pinch, but I saw the wound and it was gaping with spewing blood. Adrenaline rushed in even more and I grabbed the knife and stabbed him in the back of his head, he backed down but tentacles eroded from his back, grabbing my hand and ripping it clean off my arm, then the next hand..and then my legs. He tore open my stomach, showing what he eats..a liver, kidneys, intestines, and a heart. I scream, somehow not dead yet. The pain was unimaginable. I died later, now I'm just a weeping spirit..roaming the house and keeping an eye on that boy, the house was vacant, other than him and however many other victims there were. I prayed to whoever that he died of starvation and never escaped. |
Write down in the coments |
Title: "Unholy Encounter: A Demonic Possession in Norwalk, CT"
In the quiet suburbs of Norwalk, Connecticut, a sinister tale unfolded that would forever haunt the locals. The story began innocently enough, with a teenage girl named Emily moving into an old house. Yet, what should have been a fresh start turned into a nightmare as Emily fell victim to a powerful demon's possession.
With each passing day, the house's peaceful facade shattered. Objects moved on their own, strange noises echoed through the halls, and an eerie darkness seemed to settle over Emily's eyes. Local rumors spread like wildfire, and soon the town was abuzz with whispers of the supernatural.
Emily's desperate family turned to Father James, a seasoned exorcist known for confronting the darkest forces. Armed with faith and resolve, he arrived in Norwalk, determined to free Emily from the demon's grip.
The exorcism took place in the very heart of the haunted house. The air grew heavy, shadows danced ominously, and Father James faced off against the malevolent entity. The battle transcended the physical realm as the demon's whispers intertwined with Emily's voice, creating a spine-chilling chorus that sent shivers down everyone's spine.
Father James delved into the demon's backstory, uncovering its ancient origins and vengeful quest for power. The demon's rage was palpable, its desires twisted by centuries of darkness.
As the exorcism reached its climax, Father James confronted the demon with compassion. He offered a chance at redemption, a path to break free from its cursed existence. The choice hung in the balance, the air thick with anticipation.
In a stunning turn of events, the demon chose redemption. Emily's body trembled as the entity released its grip, its malevolent presence dispersing into the ether. The house itself seemed to exhale, its oppressive atmosphere lifting.
With the demon's departure, Emily's eyes cleared, and her family embraced her with tearful relief. Father James left Norwalk, carrying the weight of the encounter with him, forever changed by the battle against darkness.
The story of the demonic possession in Norwalk, CT, became a legend told in hushed tones, a cautionary tale of the thin line between the mundane and the supernatural. The old house stood as a witness to the struggle, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, the power of redemption and the strength of the human spirit could overcome the most malevolent of forces. |
(cross-post)
Just to clarify, I won’t give any names for obvious reasons, although I do sincerely hope that there will be a braver person to unveil the awful happenings that take place when the curtain closes. Also, please excuse any typos or mistakes, but I am writing this in precarious conditions and in a rush.
For context, I was one of the main characters on a top-rated horror TV Show that has been going on for over a decade. Considering the genre, it was not uncommon that a lot of actors (playing main characters or side characters) died. It’s a perk, to be honest, because if you want to change jobs, you can just notify the writers and producers, and they will kill you off. And then they throw you a last supper and off you go. Although, come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing any of the actors in any other roles since, but more on that later.
Now, I didn’t ask to be killed off. I liked having a cushy job and a steady income, this was my comfort bubble. So, when I got the script, I was disappointed to say the least.
I don’t have the papers anymore, but this is the summary:
My character, let’s call him Alex, is a paranormal investigator. He appears on the show a lot, at first, he starts off as a wannabe joke, runs into a couple of real-deal ghosts and becomes a kick-ass ghost hunter. He has a few ghost-hunter friends. He is not really the main character, but he does appear in most episodes, at least since season 2. Now, the story arch of the whole show has been a little slow lately, so they needed a big boom type of event to set up the next season. They decided to kill a bunch of us off and have a couple of us return as ghosts. Decisions were all based on rating, the most loved and most hated of those who would die, are to come back. Alex and two others were smack in the middle, so they just die, and our journey is over. .
When we received the script, we were also invited for the famous last supper with the producers, writers, first assistants and some of the TV staff. Naturally, the two returning characters were not to partake. It’s kind of a rite of passage and a very well-regarded event. The invitation you receive for this dinner party is... I mean, I am sure the White House does not send such formal and beautiful invites. It’s stunning, it comes with a huge gift basket, which includes suits and/or dresses, depending on your gender and preferences, perfumes, make-up, shoes. My basket contained a beautiful all-black Brioni suit, with a black shirt and tie to match. The shoes, albeit looking very expensive (they were Salvatore Ferragamo after all), were not my cup of tea, but hell, free, and expensive, I can put them on for one evening, I thought. There were other little titbits, like golden plated, and probably ridiculously expensive mints, La Mer face-cream, hell, I think the whole basket cost north of 20k, and I was sure the dinner would be much more than that. We were going to be picked up by a personal limo (we could even choose which type) and taken to the producer’s personal mansion where seven gourmet courses were awaiting us.
Don’t get me wrong, I am a well-paid actor, and I haven’t shied away from living a comfortable, sometimes extravagant lifestyle, but this was exceptional, even for me, so I was quite excited. It made the whole dying on the show bit bearable. Which is why, two days before they were to shoot my death scene, and therefore mark my last day on set, when I was approached by a random assistant who told me not to go to the dinner, I laughed it off. He was jealous, probably not invited to dine with the creme de la crème, and therefore wanted to salt my game. No sir-ee, I thought.
Then again, on wrap-up day, he came to me and said:
“Sir, I cannot emphasize this enough - do not go to that dinner!”
“Hey pal, what’s your problem?”, I asked. Normally I would have not engaged, but I was quite emotional that day. It was the end of a chapter, a decade spent with the same people, doing the same thing. I was on edge.
“Did you keep in touch with the others? The ones who died?”, he asked.
“What?”
“Nobody has ever heard from them, sir (he used my actual name, we are not in a 60s British TV show here, but I will go with “sir” for obvious reasons). Some of them not in ten years.”
I winced. I’d never thought of it until now. I wasn’t close to anyone on set. I never really realised it, but work was work and play was play, and we were never really encouraged to mix the two. Those who were really close on set were still going strong, the ones who died so far... well, not to say that nobody cared about them, it’s just like... when that colleague leaves your company, and you write nice goodbye cards saying “let’s keep in touch” but you never do.
“You’re crazy, dude!”, I replied. “I should go report you.”
“NO!”, he reacted, looking genuinely scared. “CALL SOMEONE!”, he started yelling. “SOMEONE WHO DIED, CALL ANYONE!!”
“Ok, dude relax!”, I replied, trying to calm him down. He was shaking uncontrollably at this point, on the verge of tears.
“Call someone, sir. If anyone picks up, then go to that dinner. But if you can’t find anyone, from the 40-something actors who died in the past seasons, then please just skip it”, he said, managing to keep his cool.
“All right, time to wrap up the last scene!”, I could hear them call out to me, startling me. I looked at the assistant one more time, feeling uneasy. When he noticed the producers looking our way, he made himself scarce. He was queasy, jumpy, had a Yes master type of vibe to him. I almost decided he was a lunatic, but I couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of genuine distress that he conveyed to me during our short conversation. A problem for later, I thought, for now, time to work.
The five of us each had unique deaths throughout the episode. Two of them died in traps set by some maniacal ghosts who didn’t want to be hunted (one impaled from below and one cut in half from above). A ghost killed me and my on-screen wife, as we were trying to exorcize another one (a pen jammed in the eye for her and a less gruesome, yet equally as effective flattened by the flying-across-the-room-piano for me). As for the last one, he died because they thought they were in the clear, when they weren’t really. Your standard horror plot, where you think two live to tell the story, but you end up having only one final girl. That was the main character, she survived. Her boyfriend would come back to haunt her, and my wife would protect her. But that was for next season. As for us, skewer, tagliata and piano pancake, this was the end.
We didn’t need many takes; they use so much CGI and AI these days that your acting doesn’t have to be top notch anymore. Then we received flowers and signed cards that read “it was a pleasure working with you”, “keep it real”, “let’s keep in touch”, etc. And then we parted ways.
That night I went out for drinks and dinner with my best friend and her wife, a bittersweet event to celebrate the end of an era. This was Wednesday. I told them about the lunatic on set.
“What did he say happens to these people?”, Mary asked me as I finished telling the story.
“That’s the thing, he didn’t say anything specific – just to not go, and implied that they disappeared.”
“So, call them”, she proposed.
“Hey, this is the dude who plays Alex, we worked together 5 years ago, just wanted to make sure you weren’t eaten by your old employer. Great to hear you’re doing a-ok!”, I said mockingly. “It’s just weird, you know?”, I added, switching to my normal tone.
“Use my phone? That way they won’t recognize the number”, she offered.
“Yeah, but then they won’t pick up maybe?”, I argued.
“Out of like 40 people, at least one is bound to pick up!”
“Look…”, I began, not sure where I was going with it. “Fine. OK, let’s get the bill, grab a bottle of wine, relocate to my place and prank call some actors in the middle of the night!”
We all laughed as my statement seemed to lighten the mood, and I signaled for the check. After having paid (I had invited, after all), we stopped by a gas station and bought the most expensive wine they had. We then ubered to my place and sat at the newly renovated kitchen island. Season 12 money, I thought to myself.
“All right, here, let’s try the first number”, I said as I pulled out my phone and copied the number into Mary’s.
As soon as I dialed and tapped the green button to call, a robotic female voice informed me that the number was no longer in service. Odd, but a mere coincidence, I thought. By the 5th occurrence, it was beginning to feel less of a coincidence, and more of a problem, so I daresay I was relieved when the 6th picked-up.
“Hello?”, a half-asleep voice said.
“Mark?”, I asked.
“No, who is calling?”
“I’m calling for Mark, please.”, I repeated, not giving my name.
“Wrong number”, the person said and hung up.
Strange, I thought, but called back.
“Hello?”, he picked up again, this time audibly annoyed.
“Hi, really sorry to bother you at this hour, but it is imperative that I speak to Mark.”, I said firmly.
“Look buddy, there is no Mark here, you must have the wrong number.”
“Wait!”, I bellowed, making sure he doesn’t have time to hang up. “Just a second, I don’t have the wrong number, I am sure of it, this used to be Mark’s number.” I gave him Mark’s full real name and identified myself at this point, but for obvious reasons, I won’t repeat it here.
“For real?”, the guy on the other end said, surprised. “That’s wild, man. I’m a huge fan. But I’m sorry, I’ve never met Mark. This number, it’s somewhat new, I moved out west six months ago, changed my number and everything.”, he explained.
“Sorry to bother you so late, man.”, I said and hung up.
My stomach was beginning to feel hollow. Something was off, Mary and Jen could tell as well. We continued calling the other 40 or so numbers, but they were all mostly disconnected. Only on one other occasion someone picked up and stated we had the wrong number, again.
“So, what now?”, Mary asked as I finished the list of 40 plus people.
“Find the guy who told you about this and ask for further clarification?”, Jen volunteered.
“What if you get him in trouble though?”, Mary asked.
“I don’t know… I guess, I just don’t go.”
“If something’s happening to these people, though, shouldn’t you find out?”
“What do you propose then?”
“How about… you don’t go to dinner… But you go to the house?”, Jen suggested.
“What do you mean? I don’t even know where it is, there’s no address, a limo is supposed to pick me up.”
“So you follow the limo?”
“And then, you expect there is no security… in a place like this?”
Jen sulked. It was complicated, we were curious, but it did feel dangerous. I also recalled the genuinely terrifying look and feel of that assistant from earlier.
“We use a drone.”, Mary suggested after a long silence. She worked in filming and had amassed a sizable collection of really high-tech drones. Plus, she was proficient in flying them, it was a good idea.
“Also, I don’t think you should be home when they come. I have a feeling it might not be safe.”, Jen added.
“Mhm, Jen’s right. Plus, my best drone has about an 8-mile transmitting range, depending on where the location is, we might need to drive.”
So, we had a plan. On Friday, the day of the dinner, I would be relocating to their place, where we would be waiting in their car. When the limo would come to pick me up, we were to follow it with the drone. Jen would be on stand-by to drive, if we needed to follow the drone ourselves, to make sure we kept it in transmitting range. We debated whether I should be wearing my Brioni suit and just show up at the party if it looked safe, but we agreed there were several issues with my plan, such as: what if a suit had a GPS in it? and if nothing was wrong at the location, how would I have known how to get there? The GPS idea came from Jen, and got us all worried, so we agreed to take nothing from the basket. Furthermore, I was to even leave my phone at the apartment and buy a brand-new set of clothes, just to be on the safe side. If all went well, I’d go back home, change and call the producer, or someone from the party, making up an excuse for why I wasn’t home when the limo came to pick me up and volunteering to go myself. That way, if it was all in order, I’d keep the dinner plan.
On Thursday I contemplated going back on set and talking to that assistant. In fact, I got as close as the entrance of the building, when I changed my mind and went home. Then I changed my mind again and went back to the set. Suffice to say, I was a mess. Finally, I decided to wait for him to come out, and tackle him then. That never happened. Maybe it was his day off or maybe I missed him as I was driving back and forth, being indecisive. By this point, my stomach was aching, and I could barely hold food down. I wasn’t worried much about missing the party, but I had already made all sorts of scenarios in my head, and in most of them, I was ending up dead. I contemplated calling the other two to check if they had been warned, but I was worried maybe they’d be in on it. I was so paranoid; I could barely shut an eye that night. Mary, Jen and I agreed not to be talking about this on the phone, or with the phones around us, and Mary went as far as buying a couple of burners for the stakeout. On Friday morning, Mary came to pick me up with a set of brand-new clothes. I got dressed and we left. If there was any GPS on me, it would indicate that I’d still be at home. We ordered in, and watched a couple of movies to pass the time. At times we laughed at how ridiculous this would feel if there was nothing happening at that dinner, but I could tell that none of us genuinely believed everything was all right.
Come 7:30, the agreed time for the limo picked up, we had the drone in place and waiting. We got lucky twice, first that the driver then drove back to the house instead of the limo rental company or whatever, and second, that the drone stayed in range the whole time. The location was beautiful, remote, yet close to town. The house looked more like the Disney castle than a house, with amazing decorations. The limos of the people who actually decided to go to dinner were awaited with trays of champagne and Amuse Bouches, and everything looked superb. I was starting to feel both stupid and jealous.
“I think I should go back home and call them.”, I said to the girls, feeling impatient.
“Wait… wait a little bit more”, Mary said.
Nothing seemed out of place. I mean, no, that’s not correct. Everything seemed out of place. It was like a fucking fairy tale come to life, and I was missing out. Animators, chocolate fountains, lavish poolside decorations, and this was just the outside. We were all in awe. Not even in my wildest dreams would I throw something like this.
“No honestly, look at that, I’m just going to go”, I said again.
“Give me a second”, Mary said one more time. “Let me just look around a little. Get an all clear from all angles, ok?”
“Fine. But if there is nothing in half an hour, I’m going. We are stupid, and there is no way in hell I’m missing all of this.”
She nodded and flew the drone across the entire palace. There was nothing out of place. Things just got more and more extravagant as we looked closer. Mary found an area that was not full of people, or supervised, and could fly the drone low enough to peer through some windows. The inside was breathtaking.
“Hang on”, she said. “What’s that?”, she pointed at the screen, zooming in. Now, unlike in movies, zooming in does not make the image crystal clear with every pinch. The whole thing was quite blurry, but it looked like a floating piano in the great room located at the back of the house.
“Do they play floating instruments, like at that restaurant in Singapore?”
“It’s in Jakarta, and it’s not floating instruments, the whole place is floating”, Mary corrected herself as she looked around with the drone. “And they can’t play this piano, there is no way to sit at it, it’s just floating.”
“I think it’s just a weird decoration.”, I offered as an explanation.
Mary shook her head and continued looking around with the drone. I couldn’t really tell what she was looking for, but she did not look happy or relieved.
“Hmm…”, she said.
“What?”, I asked hastily.
“It’s just… Look at this grand room, how its set up, with seats, like a viewing area, see? But then the piano is hanging, kind of out of sight from the seating area? I mean you said it yourself, the whole thing is a fairy tale, and then you have this room… It’s dark, and twisty and it has a floating piano and seats?”, she explained. “If I could just go in and get a closer look, maybe hear something about it?”, she continued as she was navigating the drone around the windows.
The thing is, the drone was big, it wasn’t undetectable. And it wasn’t all that quiet. The only reason we could get it to go that low was because the back area of the house was not yet populated. But inside the place? It was very risky, we would be caught. And maybe it wouldn’t be traced back to us, but what if it was? All our careers would be over, and if, which at this point it seemed more farfetched than ever, but if we were right about something unholy going on here, it would be even worse. Mary, although I was sure, aware of the above listed issues, seemed set on going in.
“This is a bad idea, Mary.”, I said.
“Look, if I am wrong about this, I will take the fall for you, OK? Best friend went crazy with jealousy and crashed the party. If anything, it will increase everybody’s ratings and worst case for me, I’ll spend the night in jail. But dude, if I am right, and I have a really really REALLY strong gut feeling that I am right, I might be saving your LIFE”
I nodded. I didn’t like it, but hell, I also did not like the fact that I could not get in touch with one of the 40 or so people I called, or that I couldn’t find that assistant again. Mary found an open door and flew the drone inside. From there we could hear some voices from the party, but nothing discernible.
“What in God’s name is this?”, Mary asked us, pointing at something on the screen.
At first, I couldn’t quite figure out what she was pointing out, but upon closer inspection, my heart stopped. Before I could even form words, or thoughts for that matter, I needed to get out of the car and get some fresh air. I jerked open the car door, bolted outside and threw up my entire lunch, some of it still undigested.
“What’s wrong with you?”, Mary asked me, as she followed me out of the car, gently placing the tablet on the back seat.
“I know what they are doing there.”, I replied.
I grabbed the tablet and pinched at the screen until the object of my panic became clear – a saw was hooked on the ceiling. Mary piloted the drone around it and around it’s strings, which exposed that once cut, would leave the saw falling in a swinging motion. Elsewhere in the room, from the floor, a steak was barely peeking. Much like in the script. They were planning to re-enact the script, only this time there would be no CGI. When I explained the script and my thoughts to Mary and Jen, they looked at me in disbelief.
“You don’t think they plan to kill you, just like you died in the show?”, Jen asked incredulously.
“In normal circumstances, I’d give this whole set up the benefit of the doubt, but if you put all that we found out in the past two days…”, I trailed off.
Mary, who was still flying the drone and was entirely focused on the tablet, froze in place.
“Look at this”, she said, turning the tablet completely towards me and Jen, who, in the meantime also got out of the car and was now sitting behind me. Neither of us expected what was on the screen. Mary had flown the drone into the adjacent room, somewhat of an old-school office, where, on the big oak desk lay two scripts: “Snuff 41 – Part 1. The assistant who blabbed” and “Snuff 41 – Part 2. Alex, Jane and Erik” (our character names). On the big brown leather chair overlooking the desk, a person. The person was none other than the assistant who had tried to warn me two days prior, his throat slit and his mouth sewn together. Suddenly, none of us had any more questions or doubts. This was real and it was bad.
“We have to report this right now”, Mary said, and we all agreed. “I’ll call 911.”, she said, looking for the burner phone in her purse.
“911, what is your emergency?”, a monotonous voice resonated for all of us to hear.
“Mary, put the phone down. You might want to see this first”, Jen said. She was still watching the screen. The drone was now no longer being flown around by Mary, but being directed by someone. A faint voice could be heard.
“Quick, put the volume up”, I demanded.
“Well well well, if it isn’t our guest of honor. We figured you’d show up eventually. And don’t you worry, soon you will have your moment in the spotlight - like all your kind craves, actors! Am I right?”, the person on the other side of the drone said laughing.
Just as I was about to reply, what, I don’t know, someone else took the drone. It was our producer.
“Oh, I see you’ve met the chief of police already. That’s right. You’ve heard me, the chief of police. We’re also here with the chief of staff for the navy and the head of national security. So if you were thinking of calling the police, well.. That’d be redundant, wouldn’t it now?”, he said, also laughing. “Now, let’s begin. Set him down, let him know what’s waiting for him once we get him.”
I won’t put down what followed next, because the level of gruesomeness can’t really be put into words. Suffice it to say that they gathered around to watch a snuff film, where the actors were being murdered in the same way they had died on the TV show. I wanted to stop watching, Mary was screaming next to me to stop, but it was like watching a car crash. You know what you’re doing is wrong, but you just can’t look away. And so I looked as they killed off the first guy and then the girl, and I looked as the set up was ready for me, thinking that without the assistant, I would be there also. The guilt was overwhelming as I realized he gave his life up for mine. Tears were running down my face as I was taking the horrors in, as I was looking at the laptop, seeing the biggest and baddest boys in the industry partying like they’d been to the premiere of their lifetime. Only it wasn’t, they were doing this regularly.
“Hey!” Mary shook me. “Snap out of it, you need to run!”
“We all need to run, I think.”, Jen interfered. “We need to run, get out of the country, change our names and pray to God nobody recognizes him”, she said pointing at me.
“No, we split up. You’ll be safe one state over, but me.. I think I’ll hand myself in, it’s over for me anyway”, I said, still crying.
“Fuck no, snap out of it”, Mary shook me again. “I know a guy, he’ll get you paper work, you run, go to South America, it’ll be easy.”
And that’s what we did, and here I am it’s Sunday and I am telling you my story. I am in a godforsaken place somewhere I won’t name, for obvious reasons. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know who to call, so I’m reaching out to reddit in the hopes that someone has some sort of power or investigative drive to get to the bottom of it. I have nothing to offer, I’ve lost everything but my life, and I would have given that up gladly if I knew that would put an end to this, but it won’t. Those fucking bastards, they’re going to keep doing this, unless someone stops them.
|
We lived across the street from a graveyard where I learned how to ride bike, and took many strolls in. So living there never really scared me. I was always a curious kid and really liked to explore the grave yard and look at the tombstones to see if I could find one older than the other. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I would explore the house. Looking through closets, cabinets doors, and the attic until one day I decided to look through the basement. I walked down the stairs at just after midnight on a Tuesday. My parents sound asleep in their room. Like I said before, I was a curious kid and like going through things just to see what I could find. I never took anything. Just looked and put whatever it was back in its place. As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I looked around at everything down there. Our basement looked almost like a dungeon. Dirt floor, cold stone walls that were built in the late 1800’s, early 1900’s. I had never really gone down there for anything before because I knew what it looked like. It made me feel a little uneasy being down there, but I was determined to explore and see what I could find. I noticed my dad had some exercise equipment down there in a corner of the basement. On the other side there were boxes that had who knows what inside. So naturally, that’s where I went. I started moving the boxes around, opening each one as I moved it to see what was inside. There were a lot of boxes, but I looked at them and moved them with purpose knowing I had to put them back into place so no one knew I was down there moving stuff around. As I got to the last box, I noticed what looked like a manhole cover to a sewer on the basement floor. I thought to myself, “Why is there a manhole cover in the basement? Shouldn’t that be outside on street level?”. Now, remember that I said I was curious. My curiosity got the best of me and I instantly wanted to know what it was doing there in my basement and what was inside. Thankfully my dad had tools down there and I so happened to find a nice, big crowbar that would do the job of taking the cover off the floor. I grabbed the crowbar and with my small, skinny arms and all my might, I pried the cover off the floor. It was heavy and made of thick steel, but I got it off. I couldn’t see anything when I looked inside. I was pitch black in there, so I went to my dad’s tools looking for a flashlight, when I heard something come from the hole in the floor. It sounded like a moan. All of the hairs on my body stood up at once and I stood paralyzed in front of my dad’s tool box. I looked back at the hole, but saw nothing. I grabbed the flashlight, walked over to the hole, turned the flashlight on and shined it inside of the hole. There was a ladder that led to a dirt floor underneath my basement and what looked like a tunnel that led in the direction of the graveyard. I was stunned at what I had found, and my curiosity grew more intense. I went back to my dad’s tool box to see if I could find a knife or something that would aid as a weapon just in case. Not once did I think, stay out of the damn hole. So down I went with the flashlight in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. The tunnel looked like it was miles long. Not even my dad’s flashlight could illuminate the end of it, so I started walking. It was quiet. All I could hear was the sound of my heavy breathing and my footsteps. Nothing else. I had been walking for about 5 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. I heard foot steps behind me, so I turned around as fast as I could and shinned the flashlight in the direction that I had heard the sound come from, but there was nothing there. I did a complete 360, and saw nothing around me, but dirt walls. I kept pressing forward trying to figure out where this tunnel led to. As I kept walking, I tripped over something I hadn’t seen. I went face first into the dirt, half mad and half embarrassed at myself for not paying better attention. I started to get up slowly with one knee on the still on the floor when I heard heavy breathing that wasn’t my own. I looked up while I was kneeling on the floor and that’s when I saw it. A humanoid looking creature on all fours right in front of me. It looked like something straight of out your nightmares. Pale, hairless, almost wet looking skin. It had a mouth, a very flat nose with slits instead of holes, but no eyes, yet I felt like it was looking right at my soul. It had hands and feet, but its legs were bent backwards like a dog, and where your forearm would be, it looked like it had an extra joint. I held my breath for what seemed forever trying to think of my next move. Should I drive the screwdriver into its forehead, or should I make a run for it? I was running out of options fast because I had no idea what its intentions were or what it was going to do. I decided to run back to my basement. As fast as my legs could take me, I got up and ran. I ran faster than I have ever run in my life without looking back. I could hear it running behind me, getting closer with each second. It also made that moaning sound I had heard earlier. Now at least I knew what it was that made that sound and it terrified me even more. I ran, and I cried at the same time. Who knows what that thing would have done to me if I slowed down even a little bit. I could see the light from the basement that came through the hole exposing the ladder of in the distance. It almost felt like the faster I ran, the further away the ladder was, but I made it. I got up the ladder as fast as I could, and as I got out of the hole and into the basement, my dad happened to be standing there waiting for me with the manhole cover in hand. My dad was a pretty big guy, so it didn’t surprise me when I saw him fling the cover over the hole, covering it as soon as I got out of there. He grabbed me and pulled me up the stairs and into the kitchen. Then went back downstairs and moved all the boxes back to their original place. When he came back up, I could tell by his facial expression that he was furious with me, but he didn’t yell at me or anything of that sort. He looked at me dead in the eyes and said, “Don’t ever open that manhole cover again”. I haven’t been to the basement since that night, but every now and then I can still hear that moaning sound that is now etched into my brain. |
When the Thompson family moved into their new home in Brookside, a quintessential suburban neighborhood with white picket fences and manicured lawns, they were eager to leave behind the chaos of city life. Their transition seemed smooth, especially when a cheerful, handwritten note was dropped in their mailbox a few days later:
"*Hey Thompsons!
We're the Millers from next door. We'd love to welcome you to Brookside with our annual Halloween Bash. Join us for some spooky fun!
Cheers,
Jake Lucy Miller*"
Excited to mingle and make new friends, the Thompsons eagerly RSVP’d. Little did they know, the Millers had a taste for more than just good company.
On Halloween night, the Thompsons, dressed in matching ghost outfits, stepped into the Miller's warmly lit living room. Laughter echoed, and the aroma of homemade treats filled the air. The party seemed perfectly ordinary, save for the red "punch" that had a slightly coppery aftertaste.
As the evening wore on, Mr. Thompson began noticing oddities. Guests whispered, frequently touching their necks, and there were persistent comments about how the Thompsons seemed "full of life."
Mid-conversation, Mrs. Thompson felt a sharp nip at her neck. Pulling away, she saw Lucy Miller's face inches from hers, eyes deepening to an inky black, lips parting to reveal emerging fangs. Panic gripped her.
The Thompsons quickly pieced together the horrifying reality: Their friendly neighbors had an insatiable hunger, and it wasn't for candy.
Thinking fast, Mr. Thompson switched on his phone's flashlight, shining it directly into Jake Miller's eyes. The sudden brightness disoriented Jake, giving the Thompsons a brief window to escape.
They sprinted for the door, Lucy in pursuit, her once-welcoming smile now a snarl. As they burst out into the chilly night, they ran towards their house, locking every door and window.
Morning couldn’t come soon enough. As the sun's first rays peeked over the horizon, the dangers of the night seemed to melt away. Yet, the truth about Brookside and its inhabitants remained.
The Thompsons moved out the very next day, leaving behind the deceptive tranquility of Brookside. And the Millers? They just waited, toothy grins intact, for the next family eager to join the "friendly" community. |
In the remote town of Silverwood, nestled deep within an ancient forest, lived a man named Ethan. He was an introverted artist who found solace in the tranquility of his surroundings. The whispering pines and rustling leaves were his constant companions, and the town's tight-knit community was like an extended family.
One fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the first stars began to twinkle in the sky, Ethan felt an eerie sensation wash over him. The air grew still, and the forest seemed to hold its breath. He dismissed it as a trick of his imagination and carried on with his work, painting a canvas illuminated by candlelight.
Days turned into weeks, and a sense of unease settled upon Ethan. He noticed fleeting movements at the edge of his vision, shadows that seemed to dart just beyond his line of sight. Whispers seemed to echo through the trees, though no one was around. He began to sense a presence lurking just beyond the boundary of his perception.
One night, unable to shake off his growing discomfort, Ethan decided to take a walk through the moonlit forest. The trees seemed to lean in closer, the path winding into unfamiliar corners. Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him, quick and rhythmic, yet somehow ethereal. He quickened his pace, but the footsteps matched his every move. Heart racing, he finally turned, only to catch a glimpse of a figure disappearing into the shadows—a figure that seemed to have taken the form of a wolf, then shifted seamlessly into the shape of a man.
Ethan's fear turned to a determination to uncover the truth. He delved into the town's history, listening to whispered tales from locals who spoke of a Skinwalker—a shape-shifting entity that could mimic the appearance of others. The legends spoke of their fascination with those who possessed unique talents, drawing them into a twisted dance of obsession.
As Ethan's research intensified, so did the stalking. The figure appeared at the edge of his vision more frequently, sometimes as a fleeting shadow and other times as a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness. The lines between reality and illusion began to blur, and Ethan's art reflected his torment—images of haunting figures and shifting forms.
With the help of a wise old woman from the town, Ethan discovered that the key to confronting the Skinwalker lay in reclaiming his sense of self and strength. He embraced his creativity and used it to weave protective charms and symbols into his artwork. He began to confront the creature, speaking with a confidence that masked his underlying fear.
The final confrontation took place on the outskirts of the forest, where moonlight filtered through the leaves like silver threads. The Skinwalker appeared, shifting between forms, attempting to lure Ethan into its trap. But armed with his newfound resilience and the power of his art, Ethan stood his ground. With a final burst of determination, he unveiled a canvas infused with his own essence, revealing a radiant light that banished the creature's darkness.
As the Skinwalker dissolved into the night, Ethan realized that his own strength and creativity had been his greatest weapons. The forest seemed to sigh in relief, and the town returned to its peaceful rhythm. Ethan's art now carried a sense of triumph and resilience, a testament to his ability to face the shadows that had once stalked him.
And so, in the heart of Silverwood, a man's courage turned a tale of darkness into one of empowerment—a story whispered around campfires as a reminder that even in the face of the supernatural, the human spirit could shine with an unwavering light. |
Title: "Whispers of Darkness: The Haunted Doll"
Page 1:
In a forgotten corner of town, an antique shop hid a cursed relic—an innocent-looking doll with sinister secrets.
Page 2:
Amelia, drawn by its mystique, purchased the doll. Little did she know, she invited a powerful demon into her life.
Page 3:
Strange events unfolded—objects moved, whispers taunted, darkness loomed. The doll's malevolent aura spread, binding her in fear.
Page 4:
Desperate, Amelia sought help from Father Thomas, a seasoned exorcist. Armed with faith and knowledge, he ventured forth.
Page 5:
Father Thomas delved into occult lore, discovering the demon's origin—a dark sorcerer who sold his soul for power unbound.
Page 6:
As the demon's grip tightened, Amelia's world spiraled into chaos. Shadows danced, voices mocked, its strength grew.
Page 7:
In a decisive act, Father Thomas invoked ancient rites. The doll trembled, the demon's anger evident in its flickering eyes.
Page 8:
In the astral realm, a battle raged between faith and malevolence. Father Thomas confronted the demon, their wills clashing.
Page 9:
Amelia's life hung in the balance as Father Thomas fought. The demon's fury was matched by his unyielding resolve.
Page 10:
As the exorcism reached its climax, the doll convulsed. The demon's grip weakened, its power fading.
Page 11:
In a final surge, Father Thomas called upon divine forces, forcing the demon to reveal its tormented past.
Page 12:
The demon's story unfolded—an insatiable hunger for power, a twisted path. Its malevolence was born from tragic choices.
Page 13:
With newfound understanding, Father Thomas offered the demon a chance for redemption, a way to break its cycle.
Page 14:
In an unexpected act of courage, the demon chose sacrifice. Its malevolent essence was banished, consumed by light.
Page 15:
Amelia's world slowly returned to normalcy, the haunted doll now a symbol of triumph over darkness.
Page 16:
Father Thomas departed, carrying with him the knowledge that light can pierce even the darkest of shadows.
Page 17:
As time passed, the echoes of the demon's malevolence faded, but its lessons endured.
Page 18:
In the end, Amelia and Father Thomas forged an unbreakable bond, forever connected by their shared battle against the supernatural.
Page 19:
Whispers of darkness may linger, but they are no match for the strength of those who face them head-on.
Page 20:
The haunted doll's tale became a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the power of redemption. |
I had always been drawn to the unexplainable, the things that went bump in the night. So when I received a call from a desperate family, pleading for my help in ridding their home of a malevolent presence, I knew I couldn't refuse. Armed with my knowledge of ancient rituals and a heart full of determination, I ventured into the darkness that awaited me.
The house stood tall and imposing, its windows reflecting the moonlight like watchful eyes. I took a deep breath and knocked on the front door, ready to face whatever awaited me within. The family greeted me with weary smiles, their eyes heavy with sleepless nights and fear.
They led me to the heart of the house, where an atmosphere of unease hung in the air. The temperature seemed to drop as I stepped into the living room, and a sense of foreboding settled over me. The family recounted their experiences – objects moving on their own, voices whispering in the dead of night, and an overwhelming feeling of dread that pervaded every corner of the house.
With solemn determination, I set to work. I lit candles and prepared a circle of salt, creating a barrier against the entity that plagued this home. As I chanted ancient verses, the air grew charged with an energy that was both electrifying and unsettling. The flames of the candles flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
And then I felt it – a cold breeze that seemed to come from nowhere, accompanied by a guttural growl that echoed through the room. I held my ground, my voice never wavering as I continued the ritual. The entity fought back, its presence growing stronger, but I refused to back down. I had faced malevolent spirits before, and I was determined to drive this one away.
A sudden force pushed me back, as if an invisible hand was shoving me aside. |
The air grew frigid as I stepped into the abandoned mansion. My heart pounded, not just from the chilling temperature, but from the knowledge that I was entering a place rumored to be cursed. They called it the "Crimson Manor," a name that sent shivers down my spine even before I crossed the threshold.
As I wandered through the dimly lit corridors, a sense of unease settled over me. The air was thick with a heavy silence, broken only by the faint sound of my footsteps echoing against the decaying walls. Dust-covered furniture stood frozen in time, as if waiting for occupants who would never return.
I reached a grand hall, where a massive fireplace stood, its embers long extinguished. In the center of the room, a sinister-looking pentagram was etched onto the floor, surrounded by strange symbols and candles that had long burned out. A chill ran down my spine as I realized the significance of the markings before me.
A guttural growl echoed through the hall, and I spun around, my heart racing. There, at the far end of the room, stood a figure cloaked in shadows. Its eyes gleamed with a malevolent light, and its contorted features twisted into a gruesome grin. I stumbled back, unable to tear my gaze away from the creature that stood before me.
"Who dares intrude upon my domain?" its voice hissed, sending icy tendrils of fear down my spine. I couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to respond. My mind was paralyzed by the terror that had taken hold of me.
The demon's laughter filled the air, a sound that seemed to come from all directions at once. "You are but a pawn in my game," it taunted, its voice dripping with cruelty. "A foolish mortal who thought they could unlock the secrets of this place."
I felt an invisible force constricting around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I tried to run, to escape the clutches of the demon, but my legs were like lead. The walls seemed to close in around me, the very mansion itself turning against me.
As I gasped for breath, I caught sight of a faint glimmer of light from a nearby window. With a surge of adrenaline, I summoned every ounce of strength I had left and sprinted towards it. The demon's furious screams echoed behind me, but I didn't dare look back.
I burst through the window, glass shattering around me, and tumbled onto the overgrown grounds of the mansion. Gasping for breath, I stumbled to my feet and didn't stop running until I was far away from the Crimson Manor.
Even now, safe within the confines of my own home, I can't shake the memory of those malevolent eyes and that chilling laughter. I know that the demon's presence will forever haunt my nightmares, a reminder that some things are better left undisturbed, and that there are forces in this world that are beyond human comprehension and control. |
The old house on the hill had been abandoned for years. It was said that the previous owners had been murdered in their sleep by an unknown assailant. The locals whispered that the house was cursed and that anyone who entered it would never return.
One night, a group of teenagers decided to explore the house. They were dared by their friends to spend the night inside. They laughed off the warnings of the locals and entered the house.
As soon as they entered, they felt a chill run down their spines. The air was thick with an eerie silence. They explored the house, room by room, but found nothing out of the ordinary. As they settled down to sleep, they heard strange noises coming from upstairs.
Suddenly, they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. They froze in terror as they saw a figure emerge from the darkness. It was a ghostly apparition of a woman, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.
The teenagers tried to run, but found that they were trapped inside the house. The doors and windows had all been sealed shut. They were trapped with the ghostly figure.
The ghostly woman began to speak in a voice that sounded like it came from beyond the grave. She told them that she was the spirit of the previous owner of the house and that she had been murdered by her husband.
She warned them that they would never leave the house alive unless they solved her murder. The teenagers searched the house for clues and finally found a hidden room where they discovered evidence that proved her husband had killed her.
As soon as they found the evidence, they heard a loud scream coming from upstairs. They ran up to find that the ghostly woman had vanished. They broke open the windows and escaped from the house just as it burst into flames.
The locals say that the ghostly woman’s spirit was finally at peace after her murder was solved and that she would never haunt the old house again.
I hope you enjoyed this story! |
“Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair,” - Ozymandias.
Day 2 of being a host.
Despair...Delusion...Detriment...Delirium...Distress
Depression.
What is the emotion of depression if it wasn't for these other emotions grouped together? What is depression? Oxford defines it as "The condition of being depressed in spirits; dejection." However, I see it more as the loss of feeling and or motivation due to the overproduction of trauma/ emotions. You see, we all experience trauma differently and we all know what depression is one way or another. However, true...bottomless depression is only felt by the ones who are in the lowest possible situation.
I am the personification of that bottomless depression. Today, I awoke in a broken bed that is supported only by the many 2-liter bottles and pizza boxes under it. The trash in my home has overtaken many spaces that occupy in my daily life. A trail absent of filth and debris led to the fridge, bathroom, and finally toward my front door.
I can't even motivate myself to clean off my bed and remove months-old food from the part of the bed I don't use. Life is nothing but a drool existence and I feel as if I move day to day, month to month completely checked out of this reality and disassociating to escape the inevitable dread of knowing I'm a slob, unworthy of attention or love. The ever-lasting hope I have is with the woman I love more than anything on this wretched planet and even she would shrivel in disgust and hatred if she saw how I lived.
This day was strange from the beginning. I woke with my usual brain frog while being surrounded by a small mountain of cola cans and take-out boxes. As I stumbled to the kitchen to make my morning cup of coffee I noticed it was much cleaner than normal. What used to be a pile of expired food, mold-infested dishes, and the one clean-ish coffee cup was now a stack of clean and scrubbed-down countertops in which I hadn't seen the actual color in ages. The marble countertop with my custom backlights was radiating a cool blue light. I look around in a sleepy stupor thinking someone may be in my home but it was just me in my one-bedroom apartment.
It kept getting more and more strange. The floor which was covered in discarded pizza crusts and riddled with unknown black stains and mold was now a clean carpet that was soft to the touch and dry. No stains were left just the floor. "Am I dreaming? Did someone sneak into my home and clean my home while I slept" I thought to myself. I looked around the home and every surface was clean. All of my dirt and grimness built over the years because of depression and laziness was all but gone. The burden of living in a dumpster was lifted from my shoulders but I still don't know who did this random act of kindness. My parents hate me and disregard me as a child of theirs. All of my personal friends live in a different state.
As I wandered around the foreign landscape I was startled by a sudden "ding" I shot behind my bathroom door holding a plunger as a weapon while my heart raced faster than ever... I sat there for a minute before I smelled a familiar scent...coffee...but This didn't relax me but put me more on edge because I never started the coffee I only WANTED to. I looked around the bathroom door even though my flight or fight response was telling me to flee and hide. To my shock and relief, nothing was there but the general unease was still lurking around the corner. I grabbed my cup of coffee and added my cream and sugar and then sat down sipping in quiet contempt.
I thought to myself how weird it was that all this stuff was clean and taken care of but as I was shaking the feeling of dread off a strange voice spoke and it wasn't my own. I looked in a hurry almost spilling my scalding hot coffee on me.
"You have been chosen to continue my work" The voice rang out like a thousand buzzing insects in my head. Reverberating in my skull caused my ears to bleed and my head to feel as if it was about to rupture. "Who the hell are you" I screamed aloud covering my ears from the roaring insects. " I am the Headless King. The Anthesis of The Absolute. The one who ends all stories." As the voice spoke it became more and more clear. Less like a ton of winged insects and more like a calming breeze singing as it dances through an ancient forest. "You... It is your story that is meant to end the one known as Auren. His story has come to an end and you will deliver the final blow." The voice was that of my father before he became a drunk drug addict who would abuse me physically and mentally. At first, I was taken aback by this but the voice reminded me of a time when that same man took me fishing and taught me how to ride my bike. This was the same man who cried and told me I was the most important thing in his life... It was... Comforting and made me tear up.
"Dad...?" I whimpered as I pulled my head out of my hands and uncontrollable tears ran down my warm cheek. But as I looked up it wasn't my father standing before me... No, it was a large suit of rustic armor with wild fungus growing from every crack. Its head was missing and in its place was a large fungus that was pulsating and glowing red. The smell of iron and decay was almost overwhelming my senses so I quickly covered my nose as the putrid smell was assaulting my olfactory sense to the point of wanting to vomit. As I looked away It spoke in my father's voice again...
"Son, you must do this. We are the headless king. You cannot resist your own self." It was then my body was forced to look at this thing that was in front of me. I didn't feel malice or anger from it but love and acceptance. The look and smell it gave off was confusing me but ultimately a nonissue as it spoke more. "We are the headless king I will protect you, my perfect host. The god you know has hurt you and destroyed you so we must work together to assault the heavens and take him down. We can do this as we are the end. We are the headless king"
Its words rang in my soul as if it was saying something axiomatic. I couldn't resist my body as it moved forward and grabbed the sword it was holding. As I grabbed the sword I could feel a wave of happiness wash over me... It was something I hadn't felt since I was a child. The sword was almost in a pristine condition. It was nearly weightless and was covered in old text that I didn't recognize. When I pulled it out of its scabbard the blade itself was rustic colored but was undamaged and had an unnatural shine to it. The Headless King stood there and watched as I swung the sword. It was so sharp it wasn't even making a sound as it cut through the air. I sheathed the sword and looked at The Headless King. "Why me?" I asked calmly
"Because you were made for this. Your life is hard and painful because God knows who you are and what you will become. God may write these stories but WE end them. God's story has come to an end and we will be there." The sound of its voice rang in my soul and in my mind. As if it was always there. As if I never was Alex, the slob who lives in a mountain of filth. No, I am Alex... The Headless King. As I accepted the role in my mind and soul I began feeling an uneasy feeling in my stomach and the room started to spin wildly. A squirming feeling was in my stomach and I ran into my bathroom and vomited into the toilet. I... I vomited maggots and blood. I felt as each one squirmed up through my throat and into the toilet. Some were left in my mouth and writhing around as I tried to spit as much as I could. I fell over after... I was burning up and sweating but the cool tiled floor of the bathroom was comforting.
Hours later I awoke on the ground and my clothes were changed. "Did I black out again and change my clothes?" I thought to myself. I walked into my bedroom which was now removed of all filth and saw my computer was on playing a news channel. "Police reported a break-in and missing persons of an "Ethan Chambers" who was convicted of child predation earlier this year. This is the 3rd of missing persons of people who are on the sexual offender registry. Ethan was last seen wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt and stone-wash blue jeans. If you have any information on his whereabouts please contact the local police" I thought nothing of it at first and picked up my phone.
I saw a text from my ray of light... Sarah. "Hey, Alex. I heard you screaming and are you ok? I'm worried! I tried to come over but you weren't home." I smiled thinking she still worries about me. "Man I am a fucking mess," I said under my breath as I texted back "Yea, I was having bad pains and went to see a doctor." I hate lying to her but I don't even know what happened myself... Was it all a fever dream? I wasn't sure. To my surprise and elation, she messaged back within seconds "Oh thank god! I thought you were getting attacked or robbed! Do you need help though? I could come over." My heart skipped a beat as she messaged this and I got nervous... "What if she sees the mess I made here what if she sees I'm a slob?? what if what if what if" I thought of every possible thing that could go wrong and said "Now is not a good time" I sighed in relief and closed my eyes....
The phone dinged again and she replied "Sweet! I'll come over in an hour I just got off of work but I need to change before heading over!" I was confused but I see I actually sent "Sure, I need the company"... I ... swear I didn't message that... "Where is my mind...." I thought to myself as I walked into the bathroom to wash my face with cold water. I flipped on the light and started to splash my face with cold water. My heart was racing and the thoughts of Sarah coming over almost caused me to go into a panic attack. I paced back and forth in the bathroom talking to myself trying to rationalize what happened. In my pacing and self-loathing something in the bathroom caught my eye... It was in the bathtub. I opened the curtain slowly and saw the rustic sword covered in dry blood. Hanging from the ceiling was a ... Black Sabbath T-shirt..." Did... Did I kill that Ethan guy?" I said under my breath. I broke out in a sweat and my hearing went dull. I could only hear the sound of my racing heart and breathing as I got light-headed and fell. I grabbed my heart and backed out of the bathroom and closed the door.
"We did that. His story needed to end and soon everyone will forget who he was. Ethan needed to leave this place... Do not fret Alex." My father's voice rang in my head as I looked around and didn't see The Headless King I shouted "Why me? Why are you using me?" I heard no answer but the silence was answer enough. "Why does an ineffable being beyond comprehension have to explain something to me?" I thought... I didn't know why I was being blessed by this thing but I... liked it... The original shock of seeing the shirt blew over me and I understood. We are The Headless King and We are Axiomatic. I don't need an explanation to do something I just do it... These people I'm killing and erasing are bad... At this point, I couldn't even remember my boss's name, and even the media about him didn't even exist. Am I good or evil? No, I just am...
Knocking on the door woke me up and jolted me to reality. I looked back into the bathroom and looked into the tub and it was empty...I quickly googled Ethan's name and nothing showed up. He was gone... forever... how come could I remember him. That was all interrupted by another knock on the door and Sarah calling my phone. I went to the door and answered it and in came Sarah hugging me. "Don't worry me like that again!" She said as her arms wrapped around my midsection/ "Uh... I had to poop... my bad" I said rubbing the back of my neck nervously. "well then at least text me, dummy. Anyways... so this is your place?" I laughed as she spoke. She was breathtakingly beautiful today. She was wearing just pajama pants and a loose-fitting shirt but she looked comfortable.
We sat down on my couch and watched TV in my living room. I noticed she kept covering her arm but I saw a bruise where her hand was. "You know you're safe here right? I ... don't want you to hurt. I can help you" I said quietly... She sat there and looked at me with tears running down her face and said "I don't know what to do... My father found me again... I can't afford to run away again." She buried her face into my chest and hugged me. I ran my hand through her hair and said "It's going to be ok. Just stay here I'll sleep on the couch." She whimpered lightly and held me tighter.
We sat like that for almost an hour until she fell asleep in my arms. I carried her to my bed and tucked her in before lying down on the couch. I... Don't know what to do since this happened just the other day. Am I cursed or blessed? What am I? I will keep you guys in touch but until then.
\-The Headless King |
Playing games are usually fun and dont really get associated with death or harm but in our world there is some games which this game counts its more of a ritual with rules which you need to follow and im not going to say the rules as i dont want anyone to suffer what i had to go though as i did play the game and it was horrifying.
It was a normal day me scrollin though my reddit untill i found a weird subreddit till this day i dont really understand where and what was the purpose of that subreddit was but it caught my eye so i clicked it and began scrolling as i did i caught somrthing interesting the bath game a game in which if beaten is rewarded with a wish which comes true i was like wait a wish and it comes true i read the comments and consulting if i should do it or not and i made my decided to play this game i waited for the right time and began i did everything untill it became more than a game i saw her in my mind ( daruma san ) as i had my eyes close she fell on a rusty pipe and lost an eye in the process i was terrified but continued as i felt her presence behind me as i washed my hair and myself as the rules say i will say this if you play this game DO NOT OPEN YOUR EYES as it wont be a plesant experience and you will probibly die but onto the story i finished the shower and still with my eyes closed got my towel and left as i have to keep the tub water full and dont let it drain.
And as i went to bed i knew the next day was when the atual game started as i woke up i knew something was off but it diddnt become noticeable untill i saw something in the conner of my eye blurry but visable i knew it was her as she got closer and closer slowly thought the day i waited untill i felt her close behind me and i did what only she gets affected by a chopping motion as i yelled kete as it means stop in Japanese i saw in the conner of my eye she was stunned as i got distance and it was 12 i noticed it was the end of the game and i bairly escaped as she did get close to me and as it hit 12 am i made my wish for a small ammount. Of wealth i woke up and left my bed and when i opened i saw a box with specs of blood on it when i opened it i saw a decent ammount of cash as i wished for but i also saw a note next to the cash and when i read the note i shivered abit as it said " you were lucky but will you play again?"
As i read i knew i cant play it ever again as i lived knewing i survived basically a paranormal encounter |
There is a path, deep in the Wyrdian Wood, that has no end, and no beginning. You do not find it, it finds you.
I must issue a warning upon this path. It harbors malignant entities insidious by nature. Survival is less than thirty percent.
You may hear sounds. Abnormal, abhorrent sounds. You may catch glimpses of the unimaginable as you stroll onwards. But heed my warning. Do not deviate from the path in any way. Keep your eyes forward, slightly lowered.
The entities here wish to cause you harm.
You may hear a sobbing, a wailing that strums at your heartstrings. So broken. So sad. So vulnerable. I can assure you it is none of those.
An inhuman form, twisted by shadows and ill intentions awaits your bleeding heart with gnashing teeth.
Ignore it. Please.
Sometimes you may hear a boisterous laughter coming from several disembodied voices. It can come from miles behind, and it can be right in your ear. Do keep that in mind.
They look humanoid from shoulder down. Then the anomalies begin. The creature has several necks bent in impossible ways, and innumerable heads twisted and writhing in pain and ecstasy.
The eyes are hollow and the carnivorous teeth stretch into a Cheshire grin, salivating and starving. Hungry.
Oh so hungry.
And so very happy to greet you.
There is sometimes a shadow that trails just over your shoulder, on the edge of your peripheries. Flitting in and out, from side to side. It is silent, but persistent, at times even tapping harshly on your shoulders.
It’s main goal is to anger you, to agitate you into violence. You blood pressure rises and you begin to see red.
Calm yourself. Think of lavender and sage. Take deep, measured breaths. Any violence will be returned tenfold. You will not survive.
Another particularly violent creature that may cross your path is seemingly less anomalous in nature. Before it appears, a deep growl announces its presence.
The sounds of the insects and leaves moving in the breeze become muted, and you hear footsteps approaching. The ground will tremble beneath you.
This is very important. You must stand completely still. And remember, keep your eyes lowered. Stay alert. Any move you make, any breath you take, just might be your last.
This creature appears to be a surviving member of the Arctotherium Angustidens family. This species went extinct forever ago, but this one somehow survived.
Massive and homicidal, it weighs several thousand pounds, but moves at the speed of a human, or faster in most cases.
This enormous bear-monstrosity will not hesitate to eviscerate, and then eat you (not necessarily in that order).
Luckily for you, it’s sight is extremely diminished. It can only track you if you make a sound.
Other than that, you have the whispers in the wind, the blood tinged mud, and the undulating waves of unease to keep you company.
May the twisted root be with you. And the withered one far, far away. |
Have you ever had a dream where you live in a forgotten industrial town full of abandon factory's and in one of them lives a man named Phill Johnson if you have then this story is for you.
#x200B;
Title: Forge of Shadows: The Haunting Tale of Phill Johnson
Chapter 1: The Desolation of Ironhaven
In the forgotten town of Ironhaven, where the rusted remnants of a once-thriving industrial era loomed, lived Phill Johnson—a welder whose grim reputation spread through hushed whispers. The town itself was a testament to decay, abandoned by progress and left to crumble beneath the weight of forgotten dreams.
Chapter 2: The Phantom Craftsman
Phill Johnson was a figure shrouded in mystery, his existence known only by the eerie echoes of his welding torch resounding within the walls of a derelict factory at the town's edge. Locals rarely spoke his name, for tales of his uncanny craftsmanship and the unsettling quality of his creations had cast a long shadow over Ironhaven.
Chapter 3: Shadows in the Flames
Amidst the twisted metal and dim light of his abandoned workplace, Phill's craftsmanship took on a sinister life of its own. His welds seemed to draw spirits from the void, and his sculptures bore twisted semblances of faces and figures that seemed to beckon from the shadows. Whispers of phantoms haunting the factory only fueled the town's trepidation.
Chapter 4: The Ghosts of Ironhaven
Curiosity led a group of adventurous youths into the depths of Phill's forsaken lair. Amidst the flickering welding arcs, they discovered a collection of his eerie creations, each bearing an unsettling resemblance to the townsfolk. As the lines between reality and the paranormal blurred, they realized they had stepped into a nightmare far more disturbing than they could have ever imagined.
Chapter 5: Unearthly Alliances
As the town's decay deepened, Phill's own story emerged—a tragic tale of obsession and a pact forged with something far more sinister than the realm of the living. Ironhaven's fall mirrored Phill's own descent into darkness, and the youths found themselves entangled in a battle against forces that threatened to consume both the town and its enigmatic welder.
Chapter 6: The Cauldron of Malevolence
In the heart of the factory, a confrontation brewed. The youths, guided by the remnants of Phill's humanity, confronted the spectral manifestations of his creations. Shadows danced on the walls as ethereal whispers crescendoed into a symphony of dread. Amidst this symphony, they discovered a portal between worlds, a tear that threatened to unleash the very heart of Ironhaven's darkness.
Chapter 7: Reckoning
As the lines between dimensions blurred, Phill Johnson's tormented soul grappled with the malevolent forces he had inadvertently awakened. The factory became a battleground of steel and spirits, and the youths fought valiantly to seal the rift that threatened to plunge both the living and the ethereal into eternal torment.
Chapter 8: Echoes of Redemption
In a cataclysmic clash, Phill confronted his own creation—a monstrosity of metal and malice that mirrored his guilt. Through his welding torch, he attempted to mend the breach he had unwittingly created. In the furnace of this final confrontation, Ironhaven's past and future hung in the balance.
Epilogue: A Town Reclaimed
"Forge of Shadows" is a chilling saga that delves into the depths of human obsession and the terrors that lurk in the forgotten corners of a desolate world. Phill Johnson's journey from a solitary craftsman to a reluctant hero serves as a haunting reminder that sometimes the greatest battles are fought not against external forces, but against the darkness within. |
A few months ago, I had an experience that has stuck with me. It wasn't a paranormal experience or particularly unusual. In fact, it was rather mundane, but the effect it's had on my mental state is comparable to that of a nightmare. The difference being that nightmares terrify through irrationality and symbols. This experience was grounded in plain, everyday reality. On the surface, there was really nothing scary about it all, but underneath—underneath is where the dread resides.
It was an early weekday evening and I had decided to go out for groceries. I don't have a car, so I got on the bus, did the shopping and was heading back to the bus stop, holding four bags of groceries, when it started to rain. Only a light rain, but one that hadn't been in the forecast.
People were still getting off work at the time, so quite a few were already waiting at the stop when I got there.
The bus arrived on time, but it was packed. Rather than get on only to stand with my grocery bags for the entire ride, I decided to wait for the next one, but because sitting around makes me restless, I left the bus shelter and started walking down the street towards the next stop.
I had my earphones in. Music was playing. It was nice despite the rain.
The music drowned out the noise of the street.
The darkness was soothing.
I passed one stop and kept walking.
Suddenly the rain started coming down harder, and I picked up the pace, hoping to get to the next bus shelter before I got drenched.
There was a little plaza up ahead, and a few cars had lined up to turn from it onto the street, but the first had inched too far forward and was blocking the sidewalk. It was a grey SUV with tinted rear windows, and as far as I could tell there was only the driver inside.
I could see him looking at me.
I looked at him too. He was in his 50s, grey-haired and wearing a baseball cap.
I figured he was feeling bad for blocking my way.
As I got level with him, I saw his driver's side window slide down, and he said something to me that I didn't hear because of my earphones. I took one of them out—being returned abruptly to the noise of the street, cars and harder-falling rain—and he said, "Horrible weather. I can give you a ride if you want."
He smiled, and as he did I felt a chill pass through me.
At the time, I rationalized it as caused by my being wet in a summer wind that had turned colder, but even then I noted the weird contrast between his mouth, which had curved into a grin, or at least the appearance of a grin, and his eyes, which were deep but vacant, blank. It was as if his smile had been disconnected from his eyes. This wasn't friendliness but an impression of it.
The inside of the SUV was well lit.
Beside the man I saw the passenger's seat covered in a clear plastic, on which rested what looked like a toolbox. "Let me just move my things," he said, still maintaining the same synthetic facial expression, reaching for the box. I caught just a glimpse of metal as he moved it onto the back seat. "It won't be any trouble."
I clutched my groceries tighter. "Thanks, but I'm good," I said, squeezing between the front of the SUV and rushing traffic.
The world seemed somehow darker contrasted with the SUV's bright interior lights, as if night had fallen— and kept falling.
Cars drove by uncomfortably close to me.
Looking inside the SUV as I passed, I noted that it was impeccably clean for a vehicle carrying tools, although the toolbox itself had also been clean. Unused, perhaps. The man, too, seemed almost sterile in his cleanliness. Why was there plastic draped neatly over the passenger's seat, I wondered, and my mind provided dozens of possible answers.
We're trained to do that, aren't we? To come up with explanations of why our instincts are wrong.
*Don't judge a book by its cover. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Guard against bias. Guard against stereotypes.*
If he were a woman, would I still be scared? my mind asked.
No, was the answer.
My heart beat in tune with the precipitation and the music still playing in one of my ears.
*Thump, thump, thump*, went the SUV's windshield wipers.
There was nothing ostensibly wrong with this pleasant-seeming man, who was merely doing good by offering me a ride home in the pouring rain, yet instinct told me, Don't get in the SUV. Keep walking and don't look back.
"You sure?" he asked.
"Thanks, I'm good," I said, soaked by now and barely registering any sound except the blood coursing through me.
"No worries, friend."
The words blended with the rain.
I walked a dozen long steps, looked back and saw that he had turned his head to look at me through the passenger's side window.
Traffic was heavy and he was still waiting to make his turn.
Thinking about it now, if I could have reduced my instinctual unease to a single word, it would have been superficiality. Everything about him was surface. A filthy surface scrubbed spotless. He was an approximation of a human. His smile, his clothes, even his age. Only his eyes had given him away, portals into a devouring nothingness.
I had never, and haven't since, experienced eyes like those.
When I was little, my parents used to say that most people were generally good but some were tricky. That evening was the first time their description had hit home. We keep our eyes open for tricky people, they would tell me—to avoid them.
When I got to the bus shelter, I didn't care how wet I was or whether my groceries were ruined. All I wanted was to get home and feel comforted, so I was beyond relieved when I heard the bus approach. I got on, fell into an empty seat and decompressed.
As the bus pulled away from its stop, the SUV was still waiting to turn.
Nothing had happened, but I spent the bus ride shaking, head down and watching drops of rainwater gather and fall to the floor.
Moving lights from the outside spilled eerily into the bus.
Shadows crawled across them.
About forty minutes later I got out at my usual stop, consoled by the familiar sight of my apartment building and feeling I had let my imagination get the better of me, when I noticed that just behind the bus was a grey SUV.
My heart almost stopped.
Was it the same one—had it followed behind the bus all the way here? I was too far away to see inside. I hadn't memorized the license plate. But it felt like the same one.
I turned toward home.
I ran.
My grocery bags swung wildly at my sides.
Even before gathering the courage to glance back and see, I knew: the SUV followed.
Menacingly, it rolled slowly alongside the cracked sidewalk, down which, having dropped my groceries, I darted toward my building.
A few people stared from the other side of the street, but I didn't care.
Cutting across the building's grassy front lawn, I slipped but didn't fall, using my hand to keep upright, reached and pulled open the front doors. I could barely breathe. I knew it wasn't my imagination urging me forward now but survival. Fiddling for my keys, I said a prayer I hadn't said since childhood, and holding the keys in both trembling hands got the electronic fob close enough to the wall-mounted sensor to open the lobby doors.
Sluggishly—excruciatingly—they opened.
I went through.
And, agonizingly, they closed.
I pressed the button to call the elevator maybe ten times, kept looking back: seeing nobody, seeing nobody, seeing someone approaching the apartment building.
The elevator dinged.
I jumped in, frantically pressed the button for my floor, and watched as the figure passed from outside to inside. It was definitely a man, and he was wearing a cap. He was definitely wearing a baseball cap.
In a final burst of clear thinking, I also pressed all the other buttons. I didn't want him to see what floor I lived on. I wanted the elevator to stop on every single one.
The elevator ride took forever.
Finally I arrived on my floor, attacked the lock with my key, entered my unit, locked the door, pulled closed the security chain and slumped against a wall. Breathing, I listened.
Stale existence and the monotonous buzzing of air conditioners.
I got up, switched on a few lights.
I didn't know what I expected to find, but I went through the apartment just to make sure I was alone.
I was.
I closed the blinds in the living room, waited and pulled two of them apart to peer between them into the parking lot below.
No sign of an SUV.
The world appeared peaceful, yet my nerves remained frayed, and my mind in a state of existential unease. I called a friend, who immediately heard the fear in my voice. "What happened?" she asked.
Nothing.
Nothing happened.
The uneasy feeling stayed with me for weeks, although as if migrating from my head deep into my guts.
I stayed at home most of this time, dreading every sound in the hallway, every knock on the door, every unexpected whine of the water pipes.
I had almost rid myself of the unease completely when I came upon a news story about the police finding a body—mutilated, dismembered and encased in concrete blocks—within a few kilometres of where I lived. The victim was more-or-less my age and had gone missing the day after my encounter with the grey SUV.
I had nightmares.
Despite trying to follow the police investigation, news of it eventually died away. There were no leads, no updates.
The status remains ongoing.
I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to open my news app and read about how the police are looking for a suspect in his 50s who wore a baseball cap and drove an SUV. At least then I'd have something on which to hang my instinctual certainty.
Two feelings in particular continue to haunt me.
The first is the feeling of escape: of waking up with my head on the guillotine, feeling my heart in my mouth as I push myself up—as the killing blade drops. While this should be a good feeling, it comes at a cost, which is knowing that no one can truly escape fate, and because once I evaded death, it must soon return for me.
The second feeling is guilt.
I feel overwhelmingly responsible for the death of the actual victim.
I was his first prey.
If I had accepted his ride, she would still be alive.
On some nights I have dreams from which I wake sweating and sensing, for a fleeting moment, the weight of concrete on my limbs, the disconnection of my body, and I know that it should have been me under his tools. It should have been my blood on his plastic sheet.
On the surface, nothing happened.
I go about my life.
What I can't express to anyone, what no one understands, is that below,
below: he lingers. |
The world, already awash in chaos, barely had time to react when the first trumpet sounded. It was a deafening, otherworldly note that resonated across continents. Immediately, fire mixed with blood and hail started to rain down, scorching a third of the Earth. Vast stretches of once-verdant forests ignited, cities were engulfed, and panic became the common language.
As humanity grappled with the unfolding devastation, the second trumpet echoed. A colossal, blazing mountain plummeted from the heavens, crashing into the sea. The impact was cataclysmic, obliterating coastal cities and turning a third of the sea into blood. Marine life perished en masse, and once-bustling seaports stood eerily silent.
Before the world could even begin to comprehend, the third trumpet introduced a new disaster. A brilliant star named Wormwood fell from the sky, tainting a third of the world's freshwater sources. The waters turned bitter, and countless died from its poisonous touch.
The fourth trumpet brought a darkness that was palpable. A third of the sun, moon, and stars were smitten, casting the Earth into an eerie semi-darkness. Daylight hours became a dull twilight, and nights were impenetrably dark. Fear of the unknown, of what lurked in the shadows, gripped humanity.
However, the fifth trumpet's sound heralded a horror previously unknown. A star fell to Earth, and with it, a key to the Abyss. Smoke billowed, so dense it blocked out the remnants of sunlight, and from this smoke, locusts emerged. But these were not ordinary locusts. They resembled war horses, with crowns of gold and faces of men. Their teeth were like lions, and they had tails with stingers. Their mandate was clear – torment. For five months, these locusts attacked every human, save for those sealed by God. The pain from their sting was so excruciating that many sought death, but death eluded them.
The sixth trumpet brought forth an army of two hundred million mounted troops, their horses having heads like lions and emitting fire, smoke, and sulfur. A third of humanity was killed by these three plagues.
As the world teetered, people turned on one another. Trust became a rare commodity. Communities barricaded themselves, resources became scarce, and anarchy reigned.
Amidst this chaos, a glimmer of hope arose. Two witnesses, clothed in sackcloth, preached the word of God, performing miracles and calling for repentance. However, after 1,260 days, a beast from the Abyss killed them, their bodies left in the streets. The world rejoiced, exchanging gifts, believing a respite had come. But after three and a half days, they were resurrected and ascended to heaven, leaving the onlookers in terror.
Then, the seventh trumpet. A profound silence enveloped the Earth. Loud voices in heaven proclaimed, "The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Messiah." Great hailstones, each weighing about a hundred pounds, dropped from the sky onto people. But instead of repenting, they cursed God because of the hailstorm.
Through all the tribulations, many refused to acknowledge their transgressions, even as the world crumbled around them. Those who had lived without belief found themselves facing the brunt of prophecy's wrath, a somber testament to the power of divine will and the consequences of choices made. |
A lot of people said they were envious of my job. It was easy to understand why... I played video games for a living. The envy of hordes of teenagers around the globe. I don't mean the monotonous slog of *testing* games in early development either. No. I actually *played* them for a living.
Two years ago I was one of the top competitive BaseKnight players in the world. It was truly an incredible time for gamers. Everybody was playing BaseKnight... and I mean everybody. Sure, before BaseKnight e-sports was a thing, but after it some players became bona-fide celebrities.
It was insane.
Unfortunately for me, I was not, one of those people. Although I had a small following and made a little bit of money from tournaments, I was a nobody. Once the hype died down, the money dried up. This happened to a lot of us.
That's why it was such a big deal when we got the offers.
I thought maybe it was a prank. The email said I had been hand picked to participate in the testing of a new game "Battle Guardian". I had never heard of the developer, but in the e-mail they mentioned how they had secured a sizable amount of funding from various investors who believed in the project.
At first I thought the whole thing sounded kind of... well, *trash*. The developer said that Battle Guardian was the most intricate combat game ever. I was going to delete the email and forget about it, that was, until I saw the compensation.
Thirty thousand; *with opportunities for bonuses.*
My live stream had long since fizzled out, but even when I had been pulling in hundreds of viewers a day I only made a couple thousand. Plus, the winnings from the tournament I won last year were already wearing thin. This was a no brainer.
I signed onto discord and joined one of the servers for high level comp players. Before I could even ask, I had my answer... people were already talking about the mysterious offer. After way too much digital chest pounding and trash talking we found out that around twenty of us had been invited. Of course all of us were high level players but it didn't seem like there was any rhyme or reason to the selection. Some of the rich players who had made it big from BaseKnight weren't interested, but others said they would participate just to see what the game was about.
***
For some reason the developer insisted we had to meet and play the game in person. I was only a couple of hours away from LA, where the office was, but they literally flew people out to test this game. Clearly money wasn't an object and I guess having some of the worlds best players to test your new game was an investment in quality.
The building was kind of inconspicuous and not really what I expected. They didn't even have a logo on the front. I saw a few of the guys I knew from streaming and we talked for a bit, all of us wondering what the deal was with this new game. A man with matted hair and eyes wired greeted us with a smile.
"Hey guys, good to meet you. I'm Zane. Welcome, welcome!" he walked around shaking hands and patting backs. He wore a casual Hawaiian shirt and skate shorts. He looked like a stereotypical game dev, one who had been up for one too many nights running solely off of cappuccinos and energy shots. He showed us to the testing room.
Immediately the group sounded their amazement. The room looked less like and office building and more like a world class lounge. There was even a small cafeteria we were told was complimentary. Large spacious desks with premium equipment were placed around the room. Zane told us his primary focus was to make sure we felt right at home. After we had all settled down Zane directed our focus to a large screen with what was presumably the Battle Guardian menu.
*"This, ladies and gentlemen, is* ***Battle Guardian!***" he proclaimed proudly as the game demo began to play.
If the group was impressed by the room, our astonishment at the game itself was double.
"*What?! Is this the new 'Unreal Engine' it looks like real life!"*
"*The detail in the map is c-razy, this must have taken years..."*
The compliments went on for the next five minutes as the demo played out. Some of the guys thought it was pre-rendered footage but Zane assured us everything we had just seen was 'in-game'. He told us this was the product of years of development and the entire team was really happy they could finally unveil what they had been working on.
We all took places at stations around the room and set up our controllers and peripherals. Zane told us we would start of with something fun and play some competitive multiplayer matches against each other. We decided on a 'battle royale' game mode as that was what most of us were used to coming from BaseKnight. I couldn't believe how realistic the game was, it was like they had thought of everything. I figured they must of have been using AI tech because if there were animations repeating I couldn't tell.
At the end of that first day the group was ecstatic. We had played for hours, all of us competing to be the best. Zane congratulated us and wished us a good night. We would be back early tomorrow.
***
The group excitedly poured into the gaming lounge when the doors opened. A few were trash talking each other, boasting about how well they would do that day.
Zane walked in cheerily "Hey everybody! Easy now, there will be time enough for competition later..." gesturing to those who had been arguing.
'Today each of you will be testing the core feature of the game... generative combat!" a murmur formed around the room evidently wondering what he meant by *generative* combat. He picked up on it and explained that today we would be testing the games single player mode. He said the game was able to generate new levels every time we played. It was clear most of the group was skeptical; we had seen other games with procedurally generated quests.
After Zane was done his spiel I clicked on the single player icon. The game spared no time in getting to the point.
OBJECTIVE: ELIMINATE BELLIGERENTS: USE OF FORCE IS AUTHORIZED
I chuckled at how serious games took themselves nowadays. Although we had seen the multiplayer maps yesterday I stared at the screen in wonder looking over the detailed intricacies of the image on the display. This game was truly photo realistic. Of course there were the typical special effects and filters that made the game 'pop' but after I went into the settings and removed most of the enhancements it really did look lifelike.
Immediately I was impressed, everything seemed so fluid. The game had dropped me in the middle of nowhere. A flashing blip in the distance,'TARGETS' in bold red. It was in first person but everything felt so natural. It seemed like whatever I conceived of doing the game would let me do. I couldn't believe how seamless the parkour animations were when I climbed a tree outside of the village. I scouted the area, there was no one other than a few NPCs around a fire. It didn't seem like they had any pattern at all, I thought it must have been the new AI tools allowing so many animations.
I wasn't really feeling like a 'try hard' at the moment and wanted to see what the game was made of. I decided to forgo the objective and just wander around. When I began to walk towards the hills in the distance the game began to coach me back to the objective.
*LEAVING MISSION AREA, LEAVING MISSION AREA...*
***Lame.***
Eventually my character turned around automatically refacing toward the objective markers. I reluctantly walked towards the men around the fire. I didn't recognize where the game was supposed to be taking place. They wore generic looking middle eastern garb and spoke a language I had never heard. Suddenly the men stood up in shock and pointed to my character. What they were saying was unintelligible to me, but suddenly the game translated into English. I remembered seeing a similar mechanic in some older game.
"*Tie him up! Tie the bastard up!"*
"*He's one of them, I can tell. Look at his eyes!"*
I wondered what the lore of the game was about. For a generative mission the dialogue was kind of interesting.
"*He's the same as the one we saw last month!"*
"*Kill him! Kill him then!"*
The men seemed panicked. I was really impressed by the voice acting. I wondered if this was also generative as I had heard big studios were now using AI to voice characters. Suddenly one of the men picked up a shotgun from behind him and began to blast my character.
**CRITICAL CRITICAL CRITICAL**
I began to laugh at how ridiculous it was. I looked around the room at the other players who all seemed deeply immersed in their missions. I was surprised to see that everyone's level looked completely different. How many assets were in this game? Game-over appeared, only this one was unique. A stern looking woman in a ponytail and glasses scorned me from a secondary window in the corner of the screen.
"*Come on try harder! He got away!"* the second screen faded. I hated when games did this.
I had heard of developers using frustration in the equation when trying to find that perfect addictive game loop formula, but it still peeved me off.
Just then Zane walked over. "Hey buddy. Come on now, were not paying you to make footage for a gag video. I want you to actually *play* the game." he sounded a little passive aggressive.
"DIE DIRTBAG!" I heard one of the guys yell from across the room. Apparently he was enjoying it. I saw another laughing his head off.
"Look at their reactions! I'm 'tea bagging' the mark. Look at him!" he was almost in tears. A few of the other gamers looked over and started laughing.
"Have fun... but play the game." Zane said encouragingly noticing the players on the other side of the room cracking up.
"Yeah... alright Zane" I said sort of annoyed. *Micro management much?*
***
The next day a few of us expected to play multiplayer but Zane said to keep testing the single player mode. Some sighed, but the others were already logged in and loading up, eager to play. I don't know if it was Zane rubbing me the wrong way but after he got on my case the day before I didn't really care for the game. I mean it was incredible but I started to notice it was a little too focused on details and not enough on the fun.
For every few fun missions where I was able to just go in and fight a bunch of enemies there was an equal amount of slow reconnaissance levels where the game would basically force you to play exactly as it wanted. For instance, if there were enemies detected it would not let you even leave cover. It just kept saying something about how '*failure was immanent'*. A few of us complained but Zane said it was all for the sake of realism and we would grow to appreciate it.
After lunch Zane unveiled a leader board and said whoever was on the top it at the end of the day would get a thousand dollar bonus. I was impressed but I basically knew that wasn't ever going to be me. As fun as the game could be, the play style just wasn't really my thing. A few of the competitive players took it really seriously though. It was like they became completely focused on topping the board.
It wasn't just the stealth missions that bothered me. For one, every mission it seemed like the movement and aiming settings changed slightly. It was fine but had the devs never heard of customization? I also started to find the UI and voice 'companion' really annoying. It was like they would reprimand me if I didn't play the game exactly how it wanted. I talked to the others about it but they all seemed to be enjoying it.
What really bothered me though, and I didn't tell them then, but the game felt *too* realistic. I mean I had grown up with tons of violent games but this one was different. Not only were the graphics crazy good, the animation and dialogue were also so realistic.
One mission I was in some small village in Africa or something. I had to shoot through a bunch of soldiers but when I got to the target his dialogue really got to me. I mean, I get being accurate to life but this just felt unnecessary. I was about to complete the mission when the character model spread his arms in the air and said 'WAIT!'. He looked at me dead in the eyes and I swear it was the realest expression I had ever seen... and I don't just mean in a game. He was sobbing and his voice was hoarse, suddenly he said *'I have a son! Please'*. To be honest it freaked me out. I just wanted to be done with the mission.
I stared at the screen for like twenty seconds while the NPC just sat there crying. It was uncanny valley territory. Suddenly he got up to run. I didn't want to hear Zane complain about me 'not playing properly' so I shot him as he was jumping out a window... The thing that really messed me up though was when he started to cry out a name "My boy... *Abimbola*, *ABIMBOLA!"* he was shouting. I recoiled at the screen, did they have to make it this graphic? I would definitely bring this up to Zane.
MISSION PASSED appeared on screen in big bold gold letters with a tally of my score.
A+
I watched as my name moved up the leader board to second place. Hmm.... maybe I could get used to the game?
***
For the next week all of us played with fervor. I adapted to some of the quirks and was actually getting quite good. As I played different weapons were unlocked and I never saw the same mission. I mean of course some of them were very similar but they all were somewhat unique. We played battle royale most of the time but we would complete at least a few solo missions a day.
I rarely saw Zane and when I did he was generally on his phone talking in a hushed voice. I figured he must have been busy as the game was probably nearing release.
*At least all of this is what I had thought... until...*
That day was different. After we finished playing the royale mode I loaded up the single player. The game said it was a harder difficulty level then usual. I had to infiltrate a compound and take out their leader. It didn't seem too difficult; I weaved through the corridors stealthily dragging bodies away from detection.
Finally I reached the objective, some type of boardroom or office. My character slowly opened the door... then something happened I hadn't seen before.
Someone had slipped behind my character and tied me up. I watched as my player was bound to a chair. Then a strict looking woman in a beret walked in to the room gesturing to the door. They slammed it shut. I couldn't believe that what I was seeing was in game and not cinematic. She leaned in to the camera...
"Listen to me closely. Yes, you... you spineless coward. You killed a lot of my men back there. Do they at least pay you well?" she spit on the character with vitriol...
I recalled the oddly realistic mission from a few days ago.
"We've got five minutes. Five!? Do you hear me. We were able to hack into your connection remotely. Apparently they don't trust you enough to run a mission alone. How does that make you feel? Watching your every move. You must be real loyal..."
The dialogue was going on for quite a while. I figured it was a scripted mission but was starting to get confused. I looked around the lounge, the others completely focused, blasting away.
Zane was nowhere to be seen.
"SAY SOMETHING!" She yelled tossing a cabinet over in anger.
I stared stunned at the screen. Was there a dialogue option?
"Boss I don't think they are fitted with two way communication." a second voice said from across the room.
"Hmm... he must be able to do something. Nod if you can hear me!" she said.
I stared at the screen in disbelief. Was I supposed to move the camera around? I did.
"Listen you worm! Why don't you come and see me face to face! Instead of hiding behind these *killing machines*! Do you have no honor? No integrity!"
I was dumbfounded. Was this mission for real? This made no sense... killing machines? We're we playing as some kind of mech or something? My thoughts chugged along struggling to connect. If someone was looking me in the eyes right then they would have heard the old 'dial up tone' as they peered into my blank stare.
It was like a train hit me.
"Is this who you work for?!" she was holding up a picture of Zane.
I knew it then, I couldn't actually understand it conceptually but somehow I knew it. This game... it wasn't a game! These *were* real people... I thought of the man calling out the name of his son. I couldn't breathe, my ears started ringing, I could hardly see through the water pooling in my eyes.
I started to shake the mouse violently up and down.
"It's Zane..." she said bitterly.
"Innocent peoples lives are at stake here! Do you have no remorse!?"
Again I shook the mouse rapidly.
"You have remorse...?" she said in disbelief.
"Okay... so tell us then... *TELL US*? Where is Zane?"
"Is he in Asia?" she said.
I shook the mouse left and right.
"Middle East?"
I continued.
"This isn't gonna work..." she said and suddenly cut *'my'* hand loose.
"I'm going to give you this gun and we're going to leave the room. You are going to spell out for me where you are with bullets. Got it? Try anything and I will find you and gut you."
I nodded, scanning the room around me. Nobody aware of the fact I was a crying wreck in the corner of the lounge.
I looked up the coordinates of where I was online and sprayed them into the wall. Writing like I had done in countless games before, only this time, lives at stake.
***LONGITUDE XX LATITUDE XX***
I closed the program.
Zane entered the room looking directly at me and walked over. "Done for the day?"
"Yeah... I... my hands are acting up" I could barely speak. I felt like the room was closing in.
Suddenly Zane got a call. His brow furrowed as he put his ear the phone.
"EVERYONE WE GOTTA PACK IT UP!" He yelled more ferociously then we had ever heard. "NOW!"
Everyone eventually snapped out of it and made their way out of the building confused.
Zane said we were done for the day and everyone stared at him bewildered. After insisting, they all got into their cars and drove off. I faked walking off and hid behind some bushes across the street.
I watched as Zane and Co loaded everything into black trucks. If I wasn't scared out of my wits I would have said it was impressive. They peeled off in less then five minutes.
I sat there on the side walk coping with everything that had just happened.
From out of nowhere several vehicles skidded into the parking lot. Black clade figures in balaclavas armed with assault rifles rushed the building. They didn't look like any agency I had ever seen but they were gone almost as soon as they had arrived.
Zane was gone.
***
Everyone was pretty shocked when they realized the devs had disappeared. They complained on discord for weeks about how it was the best game they had ever played and that they couldn't wait for the release date.
Some wondered if the company had gone bankrupt, but we all had our checks deposited.
I still haven't spent a dollar of it.
Most of the time I just stare out the window thinking about what I've done. Did any of them realize what we did? We were all cold blooded killers now... they weren't the least bit aware...
Or were they? Their laughs haunting me, remembering as they tormented '*NPC*s', hysterical as they danced on the bodies and worse... I can barely bring myself to remember. They must have known... they must have...
I've tried to sleep but I can't, every night all I can see is the face of the man in the African village crying out the name of his son....
*'Abimbola, Abimbola...'*
I don't play games anymore. |
I think we all know the legend of Bloody Mary, a beautiful yet vain and self obsessed girl, who lived in a small village. But in case you don’t, it is said that she would spend hours upon hours just admiring herself in the mirror each day, until one day, when a tragic accident happened that left Mary disfigured beyond recognition. Unable to bear the sight of her own reflection anymore, and consumed with grief and self-hatred, Mary was but a former shell of herself. Years went by, and Mary became consumed by a new obsession: revenge against the mirror that once held her beauty. So one night, she lit a candle and stood in front of the mirror, chanting. Bloody Mary, she said, referring to herself and looking at the hideous girl who was looking back. Bloody Mary, she chanted again, this time angrier, more desperate. BLOODY MARY, but as the third chant parted from her lips, instead of the brutally scarred woman, what was looking back at her was a twisted, grotesque, vengeful creature. And now, legend goes that if you stand in the mirror, in the dark, holding a candle, you will see Mary, and she will seek to exact her revenge on you.
Now, I am not superstitious, but I don’t go looking for trouble either, so I’ve never really chanted Bloody Mary in the mirror, holding a candle. But what I have done before, and seldom thought twice about, was walk around the house, in the dark, holding a candle. You know, power goes out, you light a candle. Romantic setting, light a candle. Ominous, eerie Halloween party, light a candle. That sort of thing. In my walking around the house shenanigans, it happened, maybe once or twice, that I’d pass a mirror. Never paid much attention to it, although, looking back, I can’t remember whether I’ve ever checked my reflection before, or not.
Except one time, I definitely did.
We had just moved into our new home a few days back, and my husband had to go out of town, so it was just the dog and me. I was upstairs, unpacking boxes, sorting things, you know how it goes when you just move into a new place, the work never ends. As I was going from room to room, from upstairs to downstairs and back, constantly moving heavy stuff from one place to another, I left plenty of lights on around the house, to facilitate my toing and froing. I guess that’s what must have triggered it, because at some point, when I plugged my phone to charge it the power switch went off.
“Damn it”, I said, knowing the switch was all the way in the basement and my phone was at 2%. Luckily, I had some candles lying around in one of the boxes, and just enough juice in my phone to find them. Also, luckily, I had packed the lighters with the candles. Yay for my organizational skills!
I lit one of those long thick Ikea candles, I remember it even now, it was red, burgundy red, like blood, and went down the stairs.
The house had a huge mirror just at the entrance, on the left, covering the whole wall. This mirror would also greet you as you came down the stairs, as the staircase was also positioned at the entrance, but on the right hand side. So as I descended, with my lit bloody red candle, I came face to face with the wall-sized mirror. There was no way to not look at my reflection, save for closing my eyes. Not that that was a concern at that time. As I was coming down the stairs, I noticed something off on my neck, so I stepped up to the mirror for a closer look. Initially, I couldn’t spot anything, but as seconds went by, I felt like my reflection was distorting. I moved about, and sure enough, the reflection did too. But, it was grinning, in a way that I felt my face wasn’t grinning in reality. I puckered my lips, and the reflection puckered it’s lips also, but the grin somehow remained. I realized the weird grin wasn’t coming from my lips, but rather, it was imprinted in the reflection’s eyes. I tried looking away, but I struggled to find will power. All my brain wanted to do was stare at my reflection. And the more I did, the more distorted it was becoming. The eyes, they were becoming larger, and the mouth was now contorted in ways that mine was certainly not. And it was moving closer, even though I was definitely frozen in place. It wasn’t walking, as much as it was zooming in. Zooming in, with crazy eyes, and grinning. And even though it’s lips weren’t moving, it was laughing, at least in my head.
In that moment, I felt like I was experiencing sleep paralysis but fully awake and vertical. The more I looked, the more I did not recognize myself anymore. The person, or rather, the thing staring back at me was disfigured beyond recognition. Was it Mary, I wondered. It’s eyes were bulging out, mouth opened and sucked in. It lifted a hand, and did a come hither motion with the index finger. I felt compelled to step closer. Die, it said, making my heart pump out of my chest. Die, Die, DIE! My heart felt like it was going to explode.
It was then that my dog came running and barking from upstairs, startling me and releasing me from the grip the mirror had previously held on me. The reflection was now my own again, for the brief second I looked. I didn’t dare look for longer. I shut my eyes as I ran towards the basement door. I flipped on the switch and covered the mirror that very night.
The next day, when my husband returned, I asked him to remove it, so he placed it in the attic. I never told him why, just said I didn’t like how it looks. I never figured out if it was that particular mirror, or if this happens when you hold a candle in a mirror, if that was Mary, if I was cursed, if the candle needs to be red. I have so many questions that I never intend to find out answers to. What I know is that I no longer look at my reflection in the dark. Not in a mirror, nor in a glass door. Not even without a candle. |
# I entered the cemetery with flowers. I left having unleashed its most sinister captive...
#x200B;
I pulled into the cemetery parking lot around five o’clock. It was a Tuesday, so the place was empty. I would have rather stayed home as well, but today would have been my parent's thirtieth anniversary, so I felt it was my duty to pay them a visit. It had been three years since they both died in a car accident while driving up to Colombia to visit my sister Melanie at USC. I still came here regularly, but not as frequently as I used to. I grabbed the bouquet of fall flowers from the passenger seat, then locked my car and headed towards the entrance.
#x200B;
It was a dreary day with lead-gray clouds hovering above the treetops, and a foggy mist settling in for the evening across the well-maintained graveyard grounds. Headstones of various styles and ages were spread out under old oaks -- some with fresh flowers, many more with dead and wilted ones. The setting was serene, but creepy at the same time.
#x200B;
I followed a path to the rear of the cemetery where the newer gravesites were located. I reached my parents’ headstone, a beautiful knee-high white marble piece that displayed their names, birthdates, and date of death, along with a QR code in the lower corner. Even though I was the one who had designed the website memorial for my parents, I still scanned the code with my phone. It felt good to see their smiling faces while I was at the site, and it seemed more natural to talk to them that way.
#x200B;
I knelt down on the moist ground and placed the flowers in a plastic holder next to the headstone. Sadness began to creep inside of me, so I focused on their picture on my phone instead. My dad had his arm around my mom, and their heads were close together, both smiling widely. The picture was from their last vacation in Aruba.
#x200B;
As I was sitting there contemplating what to say, it started to sprinkle. Not much, but enough to put a tiny damper on the moment. I decided to keep a positive tone; it was their anniversary, after all.
#x200B;
“Melanie couldn’t make it today. She’s studying for her exams. You would be so proud of her. She’s doing really well,” I said. The lies slipped out with practiced ease.
#x200B;
With a forced smile, I adjusted the flowers. Just then, the light sprinkle turned into a light drizzle. Suddenly, I felt angry. Why was I here at a graveyard right before dusk on a chilly fall day, telling lies to my parents who were long gone and had no idea I was even here?
#x200B;
”Actually, that’s not true,” I said. “ I’m tired of covering for her. She didn’t want to come. Said she was going out with some friends tonight.” I stopped there. Not wanting to tell them the whole truth, even though I knew they couldn’t hear me. I looked up at the sky, then stood up.
#x200B;
“It’s getting dark. I better go, but I’ll be back in four weeks, on Mom’s birthday. Love you guys.” I dabbed at my moist eyes, then started back on the path.
#x200B;
By the time I was nearing the gate, the fog was almost gone thanks to the rain. An earthy musk of wet soil and leaves filled the air—an aroma reminiscent of nature's gentle decay in preparation for winter. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement to my left. I turned and saw the cemetery cat, Morty. An orange cat who lived nearby but liked to hang out here.
#x200B;
Morty trotted under one of the oaks and sat down in a dry spot, gazing at me. I couldn’t help but smile and follow him under the tree. As I bent down to pet him, I noticed an old, plain, overgrown grave marker next to where he was sitting. Curious, I brushed away the weeds and dirt from the plaque. "Curt Owen. Born 1902. Died 1937." There was nothing else, except one tiny detail in the lower corner.
#x200B;
I squinted, trying to make out what it was, but it was too small. I activated my phone's camera and zoomed in on the barely visible mark. The camera focused, and I saw it was a QR code. I followed the prompt on the screen, and after just a few seconds, my phone took me to what I assumed was some kind of website.
#x200B;
Bewildered, I stared at my phone as a man's face appeared. His face was bruised and swollen, with numerous cuts. His eyes were wild and desperate. He was in a dark, tight space, surrounded by walls that looked like they were made of dirt.
#x200B;
"Ya gotta help me, ma'am. I didn't do nothin' to them women. I'm swearin' on my life. I'm innocent, I'm tellin' ya," he pleaded, looking me straight in the eyes.
#x200B;
Confused, I looked around me through the rain across the now near-dark graveyard. Surely this was some kind of prank. It was less than a month left until Halloween, after all.
#x200B;
"Please. You look like a nice gal. I'm beggin' ya to help me out of here. Please," he implored. His pleas sounded genuine, but he was probably an actor playing a part in some elaborate joke.
#x200B;
"Who are you, and why the hell are you on my phone?" I said.
#x200B;
"The name's Curt Owen. I was put here, left to rot in this grave. Them women I supposedly killed, I didn't do it."
#x200B;
I couldn't help but smirk and glanced around the area again, but I still couldn't see anyone lurking about.
#x200B;
"If you're Curt Owen, you've been dead for almost a century. Pretty good trick to show up on my phone like this. Whoever put that QR code on your marker has a sick sense of humor," I said, refusing to be made a fool of. "But, I have to admit, it's pretty cool. In a morbid kind of way."
#x200B;
Anger flushed over Curt. He got close to his camera and glared at me with intense eyes. "This ain't no fuckin' joke, miss! I'm down here, breathin' and sufferin'. You gotta help me."
#x200B;
An icy gust swept across the cemetery, giving me goosebumps. I pulled up the collar of my jacket. "I gotta go, but I give you a thumbs-up for your effort."
#x200B;
"No, no, no, no! Don't ya dare walk away. Listen to me, I'm inno --“ I ignored his plea, turned off my phone, and dropped it into my jacket pocket, then hurried off towards the parking lot.
#x200B;
I jumped into my car just as heavy raindrops began to pelt it. I gazed at the cemetery, marveling at the effort someone had gone through to set up this elaborate prank. Whoever it was sure went through a lot of trouble for a small chance of anyone ever seeing it. I definitely admired the work that went into it.
#x200B;
I went home and ate my two-day-old Greek salad in front of the TV. I had picked a sci-fi movie I'd been eager to see, but I couldn't shake the unsettling experience from the cemetery. How had he done it? He couldn’t be sitting by a computer just hoping someone would scan that code. It was so improbable anyone would even find it -- unless that code existed on multiple markers and headstones.
#x200B;
Deciding to make it an early night, I cleaned up, took a shower, and brushed my teeth. As I turned off the bathroom light, my reflection in the mirror spooked me for a second. I looked distorted and demon-like. Quickly flipping the light back on, I chuckled at my own silliness. That experience with Curt had made me jumpy. I plugged my phone into the bedside charger and climbed into bed.
#x200B;
I woke with a start when my phone rang at 3:14 a.m. Panicking, I thought it must be Melanie. Something must've happened. Seeing an unfamiliar number, dread filled me, memories of the phone call about my parents' accident rushing back. Bracing for the worst, I answered the call.
#x200B;
To my shock, it was Curt, looking even more desperate and urgent. "Amara, you've got to get me out of here," he pleaded.
#x200B;
Furious, I snapped, "How the hell did you get my number? This is not cool."
#x200B;
"I'm begging you. Just set me free," he continued.
#x200B;
"If you don't leave me alone, I'll call the police," I warned him, my stern look emphasizing my frustration with this prank.
#x200B;
"I ain't trying to be funny. This ain't no joke. You're the first person I've been able to reach. Please, help me out," he begged.
#x200B;
This was too absurd to be true. I began suspecting that some guys from the AR/VR development department at NeuraSphere Technologies, where I work, were behind this. "So you want me to go dig up a grave?" I asked.
#x200B;
Curt seemed hopeful. "Would you?"
#x200B;
"No! I'd be arrested," I chuckled, now convinced this was a set-up. "Let me guess, you want me to get filmed digging up a grave so it will go viral on TikTok?"
#x200B;
"I don't know what that is," he replied earnestly. "I've been trapped here for so long. Please, just give me a chance to clear my name."
#x200B;
"I'm not going to the cemetery at night with a shovel," I asserted.
#x200B;
He took a deep breath. "No one will be here if you come now. Please."
#x200B;
I sighed. Persistent little fuckers, I thought, but decided to play along. “Okay,” I said. “But you’re going to owe me a few drinks for this.”
#x200B;
He looked puzzled but hopeful. "If drinks are what you're after, Miss, I'll set you up with as many as you can handle."
#x200B;
Back at the cemetery, I parked my car under the lone light. The moisture in the air left by the rain gave the light a ghostly halo. I got out of my car. The night was eerily silent. I opened the trunk and grabbed a rusty old shovel my dad had used in their garden, along with an LED camping lantern. Then I headed to the entrance.
#x200B;
I walked down the path toward Curt Owen’s grave marker. Even though I knew I was all alone, I still glanced over my shoulder every so often. When I reached his grave, I took out my phone. Without clicking anything, Curt’s face appeared. Impressed by that technical trick, I made a mental note to ask those guys how they pulled that off.
#x200B;
“Okay, I’m here,” I said, holding up the shovel for emphasis. “But if this is a set-up, I swear I’ll beat y’all to death with this shovel. Got that?
#x200B;
Staying in character, Curt looked genuinely hurt. “This ain’t no set-up, miss. You’ll see.”
#x200B;
I pocketed the phone and then looked around the cemetery. Seeing no one lurking, I stabbed the wet ground with the shovel. It seemed so loud in this quiet place I had to stop and take another look around, but I was still alone. I continued to dig and before long there was a big pile of dirt next to the hole. Then, my shovel hit something hard.
#x200B;
I checked my surroundings again, then I peered down into the hole, where I saw what appeared to be a rotted plywood box. After clearing away the dirt, I took out my phone. Curt appeared on the screen, his face hopeful.
#x200B;
I tapped the casket with the shovel. “Can you hear this?”
#x200B;
Thrilled, he answered. “Yes! Yes!”
#x200B;
I only heard him on the phone. There was no sound coming from that rotten casket. “You’re putting me on. You can’t possibly be in there.”
#x200B;
I scanned the cemetery for movements, but again there was nothing. Annoyed and feeling foolish, I shouted into the darkness, "Alright, you can come out now. I admit, you got me." Only silence answered until Curt spoke.
#x200B;
“Just let me out, Amara. You’ll see this ain’t no prank,” he insisted.
#x200B;
Rolling my eyes in exaggeration, I pocketed my phone and wedged the shovel in under the casket’s lid. The rotten wood creaked in protest. Taking a deep breath, I pried the lid open, releasing a fetid smell that made me wince and turn away.
#x200B;
Inside lay a skeleton, its twisted brittle bones twisted and tangled, cobwebs clinging to the eye sockets, its jaw was open as if frozen in a tormented scream. I stared at the corpse in horror. Suddenly I was hit by reality. I had just dug open a grave at a cemetery. I could actually go to prison for this. I glanced around the cemetery. It was all quiet. I stared back into the casket and the hole it was in. I was going to have to cover my tracks well before leaving. Pissed off, I took my phone out of my pocket. Curt’s confused face was right there.
#x200B;
“Asshole.” I snarled. “I knew you were just putting me on. Now I have to cover this up.”
#x200B;
“I don’t understand”. He replied. “I can hear you loud and clear, but I’m still trapped down here.”
#x200B;
Pointing the phone at the corpse, I snapped, “See that? Does that look like you?”
#x200B;
A wave of sadness washed over him, followed by confusion. He looked at me, whispering, “Am I a ghost?”
#x200B;
“I don’t believe in ghosts” I shot back, regretting my words almost instantly. It’s true that I don’t believe in ghosts. I’m a software engineer with an interest in quantum mechanics and theories of consciousness. Yet, even I had to admit, I was pretty confused by now. I had absolutely no idea what was going on.
#x200B;
Curt looked devastated. I was livid. “I’m covering this up, then I’m going home, and you’re never contacting me again,” I declared, about to turn off the phone when I noticed his face. It was a portrait of sadness. I didn’t know who this man was, but I felt a sting in my heart. Whoever he was, he deserved an Oscar. His performance was stellar.
#x200B;
“Now, I'll never get another chance to prove it was Martin Renquist who took those women's lives. My name won't ever be cleared.” He lamented, turning away from me.
#x200B;
My thumb hesitated, hovering over the off button. “What did you just say?” I asked, a brow raised.
#x200B;
He repeated. “I said, no one will ever know it was Martin Renquist who killed those women.”
#x200B;
This piqued my curiosity. I recognized that name. “Martin Renquist?” I asked.
#x200B;
He turned back to me. “Yeah, he’s the real killer.”
#x200B;
“I think I’ve seen that name somewhere.” In fact, I was sure of it. I stalked off into the sea of gravestones searching for that one in particular. I finally found it in the nicer area of the cemetery. It was a big impressive piece in granite. ‘Martin Renquist. Born 1905. Died 1978.’ I aimed my phone at the grave, and Curt’s eyes widened. “Is that him?” I asked.
#x200B;
I could see his excitement grow as he read. “Yes! That’s him! I remember he was three years younger than myself,” He blurted out. Then his face hardened. “I reckon that bastard got to live thirty-eight more years after they buried me. That ain’t right.”
#x200B;
I quickly googled Martin Renquist. Confused, I read the results. “Are you sure it’s him? Says here that he was a prominent politician and loving father to four kids and a husband for forty years.”
#x200B;
“It’s always the ones you least expect.” He spat with contempt.
#x200B;
While I was contemplating my next move, I noticed something on the headstone. Another tiny QR code. I immediately became suspicious. Who the hell was putting these miniature codes on old gravestones?
#x200B;
My phone focused on the code and I clicked the photo button. On the phone’s screen, an old man appeared. Aghast, I stared at my phone. Doing the math in my head, he was seventy-three when he died and this man looked it. Unlike Curt who seemed scared and desperate, Martin Renquist looked like a predator as slick as a silver-skinned shark with black eyes and a sinister grin to match. To my surprise, he also looked to be in a dark tight space.
#x200B;
“Who... are you?” I asked.
#x200B;
Amused, Martin eyed me closely. “Well, well, well, pray tell, what brings such a delicious young lady to my humble -- “ He looked around his tight space. “ -- grave?”
#x200B;
I switched the window on my phone back to Curt and in a hushed voice asked, “What do I say to him? Hurry.”.
#x200B;
I could tell the wheels were spinning in his head and then he said, “Ya gotta get him to confess his crimes.”
#x200B;
I switched back to Martin. Thought of what to say and decided to be assertive. “Did you kill five women between 1932 and 1936?” It was a bit blunt, but that was all I could think of.
#x200B;
Surprised, Martin scoffed, then an amused grin spread across his thin dry lips. “My dear girl, if I happen to furnish you with the accurate answer, might there be a chance I secure a token of victory? Some sort of prize?”
#x200B;
What the hell? Was this ghoul trying to bargain with me? “An award?” I spat. “Why would you need one, you’re already dead?”
#x200B;
Martin looked around his tight space. “I’ve been holed up in this gloomy, stifling cavity for ages. If you could find it in your heart to release me, I promise you, I'll spill every secret you're chasing.”
#x200B;
I was skeptical, to say the least. Was I really standing at a cemetery in the wee hours of the morning talking to two long ago dead people? I was very confused but extremely intrigued at the same time. If this was some elaborate prank, I was truly impressed. If it wasn’t, then what the hell was going on? “Release you?” I asked. “As in opening up your grave?”
#x200B;
There was a hopeful flicker in Martin’s eyes. “Ah, yes. Would you be so kind?”
#x200B;
I hurried back to Curt’s grave. While doing so I switched over to him on the phone.
#x200B;
“What's happenin’? What did he say?” He asked.
#x200B;
I picked up the shovel by the pile of dirt and aimed my phone at it. “He wants me to dig up his grave.”
#x200B;
Curt’s eyes popped wide open. “Are you plannin’ on doin’ it?”
#x200B;
“I’m kind of curious myself now,” I said. I couldn’t believe what was happening and what I was about to do, but I knew I couldn’t just pack up and go home either. I really needed to find out what was going on here. I headed back to Martin’s grave, then switched back to him on the phone, and showed him the shovel.
#x200B;
“Alright, but first, tell me about the murders,” I said.
#x200B;
Darkness spread across Martin’s face. “I shall unfold each bloodstained chapter, every grim and gruesome detail, only after you've bestowed upon me the sweet freedom from this cold tomb.”
#x200B;
I told myself he was not real and therefore no real threat to me. I stood firm. “No. I don’t trust you. You tell me about the first murder and I’ll dig two feet, then you tell me about the second one and I’ll dig again.”
#x200B;
Martin weighed it then gave in. He stared coldly, but amused at me. “Vanessa Barden, barely nineteen, a naive beauty unaware of her potent allure. I performed the act myself, her breath ceasing under the pressure of my own hands. The rush, the exquisite thrill of her life energy flowing into mine, was a sensation unlike any I had ever known.”
#x200B;
I stared at my phone and shivered as an icy chill shot through my spine. I wasn’t sure if this man was real or not, but either way, pure evil oozed out of him. I couldn’t give up now though, so I propped the phone up by his gravestone, raised the shovel and stabbed it into the dirt. When I reached the target depth, I turned to the phone where Martin kept an eye on my progress. I spoke with a firm voice. “Who was the second?”
#x200B;
He answered cooly as if I had asked how his day went. “LouMarie Jones. Merely twenty, still playing coy with her youthful charm. Attempting to echo the allure of my maiden kill, I found her lacking. The taste had dulled, the thrill, faded. It was a razor that offered the novel titillation I craved. With a swift, deliberate cut across her throat, the warm, life-affirming surge against my hands restored the sensation I'd hungered for.”
#x200B;
Astounded and with utter disgust and growing hatred, I stared back at him. “I looked you up online. It said you were a prominent politician with four kids and a wife of almost forty years. Why? Why did you feel the need to kill?”
#x200B;
The fog had returned. It swirled around the headstone like an ominous spirit.
#x200B;
“When a man finds himself perched upon the pinnacle of all his desires, he inevitably gazes toward the unreachable, yearning for that which remains tantalizingly beyond his grasp.” His voice was calm and in control. His eyes fixed on mine.
#x200B;
I jammed the shovel back into the ground and dug another two feet down, then I glared at him. “The third one?”
#x200B;
He brushed the question off as insignificant. “She was an unfortunate miscalculation. A sly attempt at career advancement by flirting her way into my grace. I strangled her with my belt. No pleasure or thrill, I assure you, just a simple necessity.”
#x200B;
His way of speaking about these horrible acts of murders as if they meant nothing made me tremble with anger. “What was her name?” I demanded.
#x200B;
“Irrelevant. Barely a footnote in the grand narrative, not worth the effort to recall.” He said with a smile. He was so slippery and slimy he made my skin crawl. “Now, kindly continue. I can hear you getting closer.” He continued.
#x200B;
As I started to dig again, the fog seemed to come alive. It moved across the graveyard in deliberate swirls. Restless with a breathy hissing in its wake.
#x200B;
I dug for several minutes until there was a clunk when the shovel hit the lid of a casket. I looked at Martin on my phone. His expression was that of delight and eagerness. “So enticingly near.” He said. “Go on, my dear. Don’t stop now.'
#x200B;
I glared at him. If he had been here in person, I would have whacked him with the shovel, but I wanted answers, so I forced myself to play along. “Who was the forth?” I asked.
#x200B;
Martin closed his eyes, drew in a breath of pleasure. “Ah, Julia McKenzie. A soul enthralled by darkness, she yearned to bare her inner self... through my blade.”
#x200B;
It took me a couple of seconds before I realized what he had just said. Repulsed, I almost gagged as I said the words. “You cut her open?”
#x200B;
He shrugged. “She desired it. I simply obliged.”
#x200B;
Appalled and unable to speak, I gaped at him. He glowered back, then yelled. “Now open the fucking casket!”
#x200B;
I stood my ground. If this monster had really done what he said he’d done, I was determined to let the world know. “No. Not until you tell me who the fifth one was.” I yelled back.
#x200B;
“Curt fucking Owen! That’s who. A mere trifle, an impertinent little mouse nosing around my political bastion. Dared to threaten the veil of secrecy around my... diversions. His audacity was his downfall. His fate was sealed by the merciless blows of my crowbar.” It was clear this had hit a nerve. He had lost his cool and let anger take over.
#x200B;
I stared aghast at my phone. “You framed him for the murders?”
#x200B;
Martin’s face changed. He went from angry and smug to surprised. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but then I noticed that his gaze was not directly on me. It seemed he was looking over my shoulder behind me. I felt the tiny hairs on my neck stand out. Was someone behind me? For the first time since this bizarre encounter had started, I was scared. I spun around and to my amazement I watched the translucent shape of Curt walk towards me.
#x200B;
“You did it.” He said. The desperation from earlier was gone and he seemed relaxed and content.
#x200B;
“Curt?” I asked.
#x200B;
He smiled for the first time. “You got him to confess. You cleared my tarnished name.” He looked around the graveyard. “I am finally free.”
#x200B;
In absolute bewilderment, I asked, “What happens now?”
#x200B;
He gazed out into the distance with a hint of hope. “There's a light. It's pulling me towards it. I reckon, that's where I ought to be headin’. He turned towards me. “I knew one day, an angel would appear. From the depths of my heart, I thank you.“ He staggered forward, then faded until he was completely gone.
#x200B;
The fog floated towards me. Swirled around my feet, then smoke-like tendrils felt their way up my legs. Mesmerized, I couldn’t help but watch until Martin’s voice jolted me back to reality.
#x200B;
“Now it’s my turn. My liberation.” He mused with a demanding tinge.
#x200B;
I had absolutely no idea what was going on, but I was sure of one thing. “I’m not setting you free. You’re a murderer.” My words dripping with contempt.
#x200B;
Martin looked at me with wicked eyes. A true monster. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. “
#x200B;
“Of course I do. I’m up here, free. You’re trapped down in a hell hole somewhere. Where you belong.” I said defiantly, then quickly turned off my phone and pocketed it. I grabbed the shovel and began to move the dirt back into the hole.
#x200B;
The fog started to become more turbulent. Leaves rustled in the trees as a breeze whined its way through the cemetery.
#x200B;
I felt a buzzing vibration in my pocket. Someone was calling me. I stopped and took out my phone. On the screen was the face of my mother and the word MOM. My knees threatened to buckle under me as a surge of joy flooded through me, momentarily drowning the logic that screamed this was impossible. I stared at the phone while it continued to ring. I finally hit the answer button along with the speaker button “Hello?
#x200B;
To my horror, it was Martin’s chilling voice that filled the air. “Refuse to open my coffin and I will make you regret it. I may be confined, but my reach is far more extensive than this grave.”
#x200B;
In a panic I punches the end call button, but the phone stayed on. With a trembling hand I hit it again and again, but it refused to end the call.
#x200B;
“Perhaps I should pay a visit to your dear mother. Or even better, your sweet little sister. How old is she now?” His voice was smooth and slippery, like a predator’s well rehearsed lies.
#x200B;
I felt the color drain from my face. Horrified, I stared at my phone. “No! Go away!” I pushed the power off button, but the fucking thing refused to comply.
#x200B;
“Either liberate me from this suffocating tomb, or prepare yourself for relentless nocturnal visits and daytime specters. Consider it your lasting requiem, until your own curtain call.” He threatened with a velvet voice.
#x200B;
“Stop! Leave me alone.” I yelled.
#x200B;
“I assure you, once freed, I shall not linger in your existence. I only seek my own freedom.”
#x200B;
I stared at my phone, weighing it. I just wanted this insanity to stop.
#x200B;
“You have my word.” He said, reassuringly.
#x200B;
I thought about it for a few seconds. “Will you disappear just like Curt if I do?”
#x200B;
“I vow to vanish, leaving no trace in your life.”
#x200B;
I looked down into the grave, then I began to dig again. When his fancy coffin was exposed, I hit the hinges with the shovel and pried the lid ajar. This time, no foul air escaped. It was dead quiet. I popped the lid wide open. It was empty! Horrified and confused, I stared down into the empty casket, then I turned to my phone “It’s empty. Where are you?
#x200B;
I could feel movement behind me. Terrified, I spun around as the dark and translucent shape of Martin rose before me.
#x200B;
“In every shadow, in every whisper of the wind, I exist. Boundless, unchained to wander as I will, to play as I desire. But fear not. You shall remain untouched. The world offers ample distractions.” He chuckled. Low at first, but it soon grew into an evil laughter before he faded away along with the fog.
#x200B;
Almost paralyzed with fear, I willed myself to back off down the path. Slow at first then faster until I turned around and ran as fast as I could towards the entrance and out into the parking lot. I hurried to my car. Fumbled with the key fob before I could get the door open. I jumped inside and stabbed the door lock mechanism, then I started the car and drew a sigh of relief as I drove off.
#x200B;
Driving through the city, I started to relax. I thought back at what had transpired during the night and nothing made any sense at all. I noticed a dark pink hue in the sky and a sense of comfort settled in knowing it soon would be daylight. I knew I would be able to analyze and think critically when my nerves were not rattled by fear.
#x200B;
I turned on the radio. An early morning show wafted out of the speakers and everything started to almost feel normal again. My thoughts went back to those guys in AR and VR development. If they somehow were behind all this, I would have to admit that they were pure geniuses. I would praise them to high heaven. After I beat the shit out of them for scaring me to death of course. I smiled to myself at the thought.
#x200B;
The radio crackled static a few times until, “Just remember Amara, the shadows are my domain. Sleep tight... don't let the nightmares bite.” Martin’s chilling laughter faded away before the morning show was back.
#x200B;
Terror hit me like a freight train. My hands clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, then I screamed! |
There’s something that screams at the bottom of my garden, and it’s Not Foxes! I know it’s not because I’ve seen it.
A month ago I moved into a new house with my wife. We'd been living in another town for a few years as it was closer to my work, but now that I’m working from home we decided to move closer to her parents. They were getting older and she worried about them being alone.
Although it was further away from my family and friends, I agreed as I knew how much it meant to her. We spent some time viewing houses in her home town until we settled on this one. Located at the bottom of a cul-de-sac on a small hill which was just on the border of the countryside, it seemed ideal.
The house itself was beautiful, and as soon as we stepped outside we fell in love with the garden and the views. The garden was a large, open space, covered in grass. At the bottom was a waist-high fence, leading to an overgrown patch of land that looked out across the rolling hills and the town below. There was a small public footpath that led through it, but the current owners assured us that it was quiet, no one used that old path.
The view was just gorgeous. We both imagined waking up to that each morning, the sun rising in the distance. I remember saying to her that I think this could be our forever home.
Without much more thought, we snapped up the house there and then, putting in an offer and making our plans to move in. Then last month we finally got the keys. We were so excited as we turned the key in the lock. Taking the obligatory pictures outside of the house for social media.
After a hard day of moving, we both made our way out into the garden to sit down and watch the sunset. It was beautiful, the sky was filled with yellows, reds and purples as the sun sank below the line of hills on the horizon. We both smiled, pleased at our new home, and the fact that we would be able to see these sunsets every day.
We spent the rest of the evening relaxing as best as we could when most of our possessions were still in boxes, before deciding to call it a night and get some sleep. We’d already unpacked our bedding, knowing it was going to be needed.
Settling down, I was reading a book on my phone, a horror novel about a group of people trapped on a snowy mountain. It was my nightly ritual before getting to sleep. My wife, on the other hand, had no such rituals. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. I smiled to myself, she must have been exhausted from the move.
After what seemed like only a few pages, I could feel my eyelids starting to become heavy as sleep called to me. Turning off my phone and putting it on charge, I got up and made my way over to the window to close the curtains. Taking one last look over the garden, I couldn't believe how beautiful it was. The sun had long since set and had been replaced by a bright full moon, illuminating the whole garden in a pale white glow.
Sliding the curtains shut, careful not to make too much noise to avoid waking my wife, I slid back into bed and pulled the covers over myself, ready for a good rest.
I don’t know how long I’d been lying there with my eyes closed, but out of the darkness I was startled by a sound that set my teeth on edge. A scream. I sat bolt-upright in bed. Then I heard it again. It was loud, terrifyingly loud. It sounded like a woman was screaming at the top of her lungs.
A cold sweat broke out across my forehead as I turned towards the window. The curtains were still shut tight but the sound was still forcing its way through. It came again, a screeching, desperate scream like someone being attacked. I’d not heard anything like it before and I was terrified.
Then another sound came, this time it was lower, more guttural and animalistic. It was still a scream though. That same, ear-piercing screech, but with something more behind it.
I was too scared to look out of the window at whatever it was making the noises. I felt stupid, it was probably just foxes or something like that. I’d seen videos online where they make all sorts of noises you wouldn't expect them to. I bet there was a den of them in that overgrowth somewhere, they were probably calling to each other.
I tried to rationalise it in my head. I’d grown up in quite an urban environment, so this house bordering the country was going to take a bit of getting used to. Undoubtedly I’d hear other animal noises at night as well, I thought.
Still, it was unnerving to hear that screaming, followed by the retort from the more animalistic scream. This went on for several minutes. Lying back down in my bed, I covered my ears to try and block it out, but they were so loud.
Then they just stopped. Abruptly, after the higher-pitched scream, they seemed to stop dead. They were finally done yelling at one another. I tried to shake off the unease that I’d felt, but I was too awake to sleep, too spooked by the sounds.
Looking over at my wife sleeping next to me, I could see her chest gently rising and falling. She was still sound asleep, unperturbed by the horrific screams I’d just heard. A selfish part of me wished they’d woken her up, that way I wouldn't have to sit her alone. I felt quite vulnerable here in the dark in this new house. But I decided to let her sleep. I’d tell her about the noises in the morning, I thought to myself. They’d stopped anyway.
Morning broke and I was awoken from a very short sleep by the bright sunlight pouring into the room as my wife threw back the curtains, revealing the morning sun cascading over the hills and town below. She asked how I’d slept, her face hosting a chipper smile, ready for another day of unpacking in our new home. She’d always been a morning person, it was irritating sometimes but she always looked so happy first thing.
Groggily, I rolled over, meeting her gaze. I must have looked like hell as her face dropped. She gently sat down next to me on the bed, holding her hand in mine as she asked what was wrong.
I proceeded to tell her about the sounds I’d heard last night, about the high-pitched scream, about the guttural one that followed it. She looked at me with concern before explaining that it was most likely foxes. There were loads of them around here, especially in the kind of overgrown areas like the one behind our house.
“If you hear them again just try to ignore them, or if not then just lean out of the window and tell them to pipe down”, she said, that might scare them off. Chucking at the thought of leaning out of the window to shout at a couple of foxes like they were naughty teenagers, I kissed my wife and got out of bed, ready for a day of unpacking.
After another tiring day of moving boxes and putting things in cupboards, my wife and I made our way out into the garden again to watch the sunset. The same glorious view as the day before sprawled out before us, the sun dipping just below the horizon. I couldn't seem to enjoy it, however. Staring into the overgrowth at the end of the garden, my mind was replaying the noises that I’d heard the night before in a loop, I couldn't seem to shake them from my mind.
After a while, we went back into the house and went about our evening before making our way to bed. A nervous energy tingled at the base of my spine as I sat there, reading. What if the screaming came back again tonight? I didn't want to have to sit through that again. Even if it was foxes, it was nerve-wrenching.
After reading for a short while, my wife turned out the light and rolled over to get some sleep, kissing me goodnight before she did so. I stayed up a while longer, sitting there in the darkness, illuminated only by the light of the Kindle app on my phone.
I was being stupid, I thought to myself, it was just foxes. They were just making noises to one another, probably having a dispute over territory or something. There was nothing to be scared of.
I waited a while longer in the silence, ears pricked for any sort of sounds from the outside. There was nothing, maybe the odd hoot of an owl in the distance, but certainly nothing like last night. Finally allowing myself to relax, I slid further under the covers and pulled them up to my chin, rolling over. After a while, I entered a soft, dreamless sleep.
Nothing happened after that night, there were no strange noises, no screams of foxes or anything else like that. I began to let myself forget about the sounds I’d heard on that first night. God knows I had enough stuff to worry about without thinking about those noises constantly. It wasn't until about a month afterwards that the thoughts of them came flooding back.
It was a Saturday afternoon, the sun was beating down, and my wife and I were in the garden. We’d unpacked the majority of our things now and the house was finally looking like a home rather than a storage unit. A couple of our friends had come over to see the new place, they’d even bought their pet Alsatian with them, Thor. He was a beautiful dog, always full of energy and super friendly.
We were in the garden, tossing a ball for him to fetch, when suddenly he stopped dead, his body was rigid and his ears were twitching as though he’d heard something coming from the bottom of the garden. As my friend shouted to Thor to try and snap him out of his trance, he bolted, leaping over the waist-high fence in one bound and disappearing into the overgrowth behind it.
“I’ll go get him” I shouted back to my friend, noting the look of concern on his face. I hopped the fence and followed the path that Thor had trodden through the brambles and weeds. I could hear him off to my left somewhere, crushing his way through the dense foliage. It wasn't until I was a good distance into the overgrowth that I realised exactly how much of it there was. It seemed to stretch on and on. Looking back over my shoulder I could see the house, it looked so far away, obscured by the large brambles.
I needed to get Thor and get back as quickly as I could, I didn't want to spend longer here than I needed to. I pushed on through the overgrowth, forcing brambles and ferns aside as I gained momentum, getting closer and closer to the sounds of Thor.
Bursting through a particularly large fern bush, I found myself standing on the footpath that ran behind the back of the house. Being closer to it now, I noted how strange it was. Considering it hardly saw use it seemed well kept, the rampant overgrowth on either side was culled back, leaving a relatively clear path stretching off to my left and right. The gnarled trees overhead seemed oppressive, knitting their branches together in a tight mesh that distorted the sunlight. The whole atmosphere was oppressive and silent. No wonder people didn't like walking down this path, it was eerie as hell.
A low growl from my left snapped me back into my senses. Thor stood in the middle of the path, staring off into the dense trees further towards the right side. His body was rigid, the fur on his neck and back standing on end. His teeth were bared as he growled again, his eyes fixed on that point deeper in the trees. He looked vicious. Like he was ready to destroy whatever was in that overgrowth if it dared to come near him.
I called him but he ignored me, not even registering my voice. It was unnerving, watching him. A shiver of unease gripped me as I couldn't help but wonder what it was that had spooked him this much. Even following his gaze I couldn't make anything out in the trees.
A sudden sense of vulnerability washed over me as I looked around, realising just how overgrown and dark this path was. The foliage on either side seemed suffocating, and I could only make out the top of my house from here, the garden well and truly hidden. Anything could be watching me from within the overgrowth.
I made my way towards Thor, calling out his name so as not to startle him. He was still fixated on that patch just beyond the path, his low growls rolling in his throat. As I drew level with him, I could better see the patch of foliage he was staring at. It looked like it had been recently disturbed. The ferns and brambles were less dense than the thickets on either side of it, as though they had been frequently pushed back to allow something through. The trees on either side had large gashes in them, as though someone had taken chunks out of them with an axe, but left them before the job itself was finished. They were lined in threes, looking like large scratch marks.
Odd, I thought to myself, making my way over and brushing my hand against the bark. I wonder why they left the trees rather than just finishing the job and cutting them down. Still, something was unsettling about the entire thing. The overgrowth seemed to absorb the light, and I couldn't help but feel like I was being watched from just beyond the bounds of my vision.
“Come, Thor, let's get out of here,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. Thor didn't budge, still staring at the patch of overgrowth just beyond me with malicious intent. I made my way towards him and hooked my fingers under his collar, he gave no resistance, but still, he didn't move.
As I went to stand up and lead him back towards the house, something brushed against my hair. I lept back with a start. I was already uneasy, so this unexpected interaction tipped me over the edge slightly. Thor didn’t react to my startled yell, he was still fixed on the spot, growling at the darkened overgrowth.
Taking a second to regain my composure, I looked up at the object that had caused me such alarm. Hanging from a tree branch was a small object, circular and wooden, it looked as though it had been made from sticks all bound together. It was around the size of a small coaster. Scanning the rest of the trees, my jaw dropped. There were loads of them. I’d not seen them before, the gloomy overgrowth masking them.
They looked like a small totem, something that a child would make. I assumed that they were made by some of the local children who used to play around here, maybe a marker for their den or something. It was odd but that was the only rational thing I could think of, either that or some kind of bird-scaring device. Still, looking at them creeped me out.
“Right, now we’re getting out of here!” I said to Thor, grabbing his collar again and leading him back towards the house. As I pulled, he came willingly. All the while he allowed me to lead him he was looking over his shoulder at that same patch and growling.
When I got back to the house we put Thor inside so that he didn't get out again, but I could still see him, staring out of the patio window at that same spot that he’d been fixated on before. He didn't move for the remainder of the time that our friends were here. He just stood by the back door, staring. It wasn’t until he was in the car as my friends were leaving that he seemed to finally forgo his obsession, although he was staring all the while until the car engine started.
My wife and I went back into the house and went about our nightly routine. All the while I couldn't shake how Thor was acting from my mind. He’d been genuinely spooked, I’d never seen a dog do that before. Had he heard something down there? As if dredged from the recesses of my mind, the memory of those screams from the first night we moved in surfaced. I couldn't help but wonder, could they be related to why Thor was so on edge, had he sensed something down there?
Shaking the thoughts off, my mind trying to make connections where there were none, we decided to go to bed. I was sitting there reading my book as usual, the room illuminated by the pale light of the full moon outside, when I heard that god-awful sound again.
My scalp tightened as I registered what it was. That same screaming that I’d heard on the night that we moved in. It resonated in my ears, bringing back all of the feelings of terror that I’d felt on that first night. Only this time it sounded different somehow. It still sounded like a woman screaming, but the tone and pitch were different.
As silly as it sounds, amidst the chaos of fear in my mind, my wife's words surfaced “Just lean out of the window and tell them to pipe down”. It was stupid, I knew, but I couldn't go through with another night of that terrible screaming.
Fumbling my way through the darkness of our bedroom towards the window, I could see the garden below bathed in that same pale light as last time, the overgrowth also illuminated with the brilliant moonlight. As I scanned it, looking for any sign of the foxes, I saw something that made the blood drain from my face.
There, on the path through the wasteland behind my garden, was a woman. She was bound with what looked like a thick, hempen rope. Her eyes were wide with terror as they darted around, her blonde hair falling across her face as she turned frantically. She was screaming at the top of her lungs.
Carrying her were what looked like a group of tall, darkly dressed strangers. I couldn't make out many of the specifics around them, try as I might. They were dressed in thick black overalls that covered their entire person, leaving no discernable traits visible. Each appeared to be wearing a mask. I couldn't tell what it was supposed to be. It looked like a strange dog, almost like a fox but the proportions were off, and so was the shape.
I ducked down under the window, leaning against the wall. My heart was pounding in my chest. What the hell was this? What was I seeing? Panicked, I went to wake my wife, the overwhelming need for someone else to tell me this wasn't happening racing through my mind. I was inches away from shaking her awake when I heard that woman let out another, ear-piercing scream. Stopping dead, my attention snapped back to the window and a new wave of fear rushed through me. I shakily made my way back over to it, needing to know the fate of this woman and her captors.
I knew I needed to call the police, to call someone who could help, but I was transfixed on the scene below. The sight before me paralysed my limbs, I was frozen with fear as I noticed what the group of masked people were wearing around their necks.
It was a totem, the same round disk made of sticks that I’d seen hanging from the trees on the path when I fetched Thor. They each had one, wearing it like some kind of religious medallion. I dreaded to think about what these people wanted. What they were going to do with that poor woman? I didn't want to look, but I couldn't turn away.
They stopped part of the way down the path, in a place before the tree branches started knitting together. I could see them clearly from my window as they gently lay the woman down. They placed her in the centre of the path, then slowly began to back away.
I had no idea what was happening. Why had they gone to the effort of tying her up and carrying her down here only to leave her? Still transfixed on the scene, I was unable to move a muscle. Watching as the masked group backed away, their gazes set not on the woman in front of them, but on the darkness further down the path behind her. I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease welling up in my stomach.
Then I saw something. From the patch of darkness further along the path, towards where I’d seen the totems and the marked trees, I could just about make out movement through the undergrowth. It seemed to be slowly making its way towards the woman on the floor. The masked group were still backing away as whatever it was approached.
There was an almighty cracking of branches and twigs coming from the direction of the movement, as though something large was making its way through the overgrowth. Images of that disturbed section of the path, the totems and the trees with the claw marks filled my mind. The overgrowth there had been disturbed, as though something had made it’s way through it regularly. I couldn't help but shudder thinking about how close to this thing I could have been.
Mixed in with the sound of a large branch snapping was what sounded like a guttural, rolling growl. The noises seemed to be getting closer. I could see the odd flash of leathery grey, obscured by the thick branches. Occasionally what looked like red too, moved between the interknit trees. There was a clawing at the back of my skull. I didn't want to see what this thing was, I was happier not knowing what lived in that space behind my house.
As it proceeded past the tangled branches and out into the uncovered path I could make it out clearly. What I saw made me question my sanity. The thing was large. Taller than a man. Walking on its hind legs, it must have been at least 8 feet tall, but it looked as though it could quite as easily walk on all fours if it wanted to. Its thick arms, coated in thin sparse red fur, were long and tipped with what looked like razor-sharp claws.
Its chest was thick, covered in the same thin fur that coated its arms and led to a thicker mane that ran down its back. It’s head looked like that of a fox, but warped into some kind of sick mockery of the animal. Its snout was long and scared, lined with large, razor-sharp fangs. Its eyes are wild and yellow, fixed on the now screaming woman with an intense hunger. Saliva appeared to be dripping from its open jaws.
A new jolt of terror coursed through me as I realised that the face of this thing, the warped, grotesque face, looked like the masks that the group were wearing. The masked group had all dropped to one knee when the creature made its way out of the tree line, almost as though they were bowing to it. These people couldn't worship that thing, could they?
Just as my gaze was fixed on the creature, a shrill screech snapped my attention back to the woman lying bound on the ground. In the time that the group of masked figures had moved away, she’d obviously been able to turn over, where she’d seen the grotesque thing standing on the path in front of her. She was frantically thrashing against the rope that bound her now, trying as hard as she could to break free. Her eyes were unmoving, fixed on the terror before her.
As if to mock her, the thing crouched its enormous frame down on its haunches and brought its face close to hers before letting out a shrill screech. It was uncannily similar to the one she had just made, only with a more guttural, animalistic undertone.
The woman rolled onto her front, wriggling away from the thing as best she could. Panic fueled what was the only method of escape she could think of. I felt so helpless, just watching her futile attempts, but there was nothing I could do for her. Even if I were to call the police, what could they do against a creature like that?
She managed to make it a few feet before one of the masked figures got to their feet. They purposefully walked over to the bound woman before rolling her back to where she started her journey, back before the feet of the monster. The way they moved, it was like this whole thing was a ceremony to them.
With a burst of speed so quick I nearly didn't register it, the thing wrapped its clawed hand around her ankle. She let out one last scream before she shot into the undergrowth and out of my sight, dragged deeper into the foliage by that horrific thing. I felt sick as I heard the creature scream again in response, mocking her final plea for help. Then everything went silent.
I stood there, dumbfounded as the masked figures began to file out of the path, each moving quickly as though they didn't want to wait around to determine the fate of that poor woman. As though released from some kind of spectral grip, I could feel myself shaking. Unsteadily I made my way over to my bedside table and grabbed my phone, punching in the number for the police.
In less than an hour I was on my doorstep, telling two uniformed officers exactly what I’d seen. I didn't mention the creature, thinking they’d just write it off as the ravings of a lunatic. But I told them about the masked figures and the bound woman, explaining that they’d taken her further into the woods but come back without her.
The officers exchanged perplexed, slightly disbelieving glances, before saying they would take a walk down the path behind the garden to check it out. As soon as they left I ran upstairs into the bedroom, in my haste waking my wife who looked at me with a mix of both concern and annoyance. I ignored her questions as to why I’d decided to wake her in the middle of the night, I was too concerned with the officers.
I could see them making their way down the path now from my window, their flashlights banishing the oppressive darkness of the path. Watching as they made their way further along, a sense of anxiety washed over me as they disappeared beneath the knitted branches of the overgrown trees. I stood there, staring with bated breath, my heart pounding in my ears.
What felt like hours passed before I saw the beam of the flashlight returning along the path. I breathed a sigh of relief as the two officers emerged from the overgrowth. But seconds later my heart dropped as I noticed they were alone, there was no one woman with them.
Rushing back downstairs, I hastily questioned them as they got to my front door. They explained that their search hadn't turned up anything. No footprints, no marks from giant creatures, no nothing, just the overgrowth and a silent path. I asked them about the totems, to which they replied that they’d seen them but they were something that some of the kids in this area liked to make. Some kind of superstitious thing, one of them said, nothing to worry about.
A wave of despair washed over me, I looked at the officers. They must have picked up on the way I was feeling, as one of the officers put a hand on my shoulder, and with a look of pity on his face, said “It’s probably just foxes mate. You probably had a bad dream, and mixed with the noise those things make, it’s hard not to think of someone screaming. Try not to worry yourself about it”
I appreciated his attempt to calm me, but I knew what I’d seen, it hadn't been a dream. Deeply disturbed by the night's events and disheartened that the police couldn't find anything and were dismissing my account, I bid the officers goodbye and went back inside.
It’s been about another month since then and I don’t know what to do, what if it happens again in a few days, I can't go through it again and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Maybe I should just move? |
Case File: #2023-109
Date: September 25, 2023
This report documents a significant development in our ongoing investigation into \[REDACTED\] in rural areas, previously believed to be unrelated. A recent \[REDACTED\] these cases. Ms. Varn was found in a severely weakened state and is currently receiving medical care.
During an interview conducted on September 24, 2023, \[REDACTED\]. The following is a summary of the pertinent details disclosed during the interview.
\*Officer Smith\*: Good afternoon, Miss. Varn. I'm Officer Smith. I’m here to ask a few questions about what happened during your stay at Victor and Eleanor Hartley’s mansion. Could you please tell me what your relationship to them is?
\*Samantha\*: (quietly) Victor and Eleanor are close friends of my boyfriend, Michael Booth.
\*Officer Smith\*: How long have you and Michael been together?
\*Samantha\*: About a year.
\*Officer Smith\*: Thank you. Now, I understand this might be difficult, but we need to know what happened in that mansion. Can you tell me about the events leading up to your escape?
\*Samantha\*: (pauses, visibly distressed) I... I can't. It's all a blur. I'm sorry.
\*Officer Smith\*: That's okay, Samantha. I understand this must be traumatic. If you can't verbally recount it, would you be willing to write it down for us? It might help us understand what occurred.
\*Samantha\*: (nods) Yes, I'll try.
Part One of Samantha Varn’s written account of the events:
I sat in the passenger seat of Michael’s truck as we barreled down a winding, tree-lined road that seemed to lead to nowhere. We'd been dating for over a year, but this was my first visit to where he’d grown up. Michael barely visited the east coast anymore since his parents passed away years ago, but his best friends Eleanor and Victor still lived in the area.
We came up to a secluded mansion deep in the heart of the woods. Its imposing façade loomed before us, both grand and eerie, its design reminiscent of Gothic Revival. Towering stone turrets reached towards the heavens, their gray stone blocks rising in a mesmerizing pattern. Ivy, lush and green, clung to the aged walls, weaving against the stone.
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Micheal had told me that Eleanor came from old money, and that she and Victor had inherited her family’s home, but I had imagined a more traditional family estate. The sheer opulence of the mansion was beyond my expectations.
As we parked the truck, Michael turned to me with a reassuring smile. "I know it's a bit overwhelming, Sam, but I promise you'll love it here. Eleanor and Victor are like family to me."
At the same time, Eleanor and Victor stepped out to greet us. I'd met them multiple times in the past when they visited Michael. We lived states away, but they visited often. Eleanor, a small and elegant woman with dark hair swept up into a vintage style, stepped forward with a welcoming smile.
"Welcome, Samantha," she extended her arms toward me. "It's a pleasure to finally have you here."
"Thank you for having me," I replied, smiling as she pulled me in for a hug.
Victor nodded in acknowledgment, his blue eyes holding mine with a steady, unwavering gaze. "Yes, welcome, both of you."
Michael gave me an encouraging smile, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I thought it was about time I brought her around.”
“We’re always thrilled when you come home.” Eleanor took her friend's hand, beaming up at him fondly.
Victor stepped towards the truck, “I’ll help you carry everything in, Mike.” He patted my boyfriend on the shoulder.
Once the men gathered the bags, I followed Michael and his childhood friends into the mansion, passing through the massive wooden doors that closed with a heavy thud behind us.
The mansion's interior was a testament to a life of privilege. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a golden glow over the ornate furnishings. Beneath our feet was a polished marble floor, and before us stood a grand staircase with a sweeping banister.
"Your room is this way." Eleanor gestured up the stairs, her voice filled with warmth. At the top, we walked down a long corridor lined with portraits of stern-faced figures who I assumed were Eleanor’s ancestors.
We reached the end of the hall, and Eleanor opened the door to reveal what I could only assume was her childhood bedroom. I was shocked by the normalcy of it. The décor was a stark difference from the grandeur I had seen elsewhere in the mansion, and it was as if I had stepped into a time capsule of her youth.
The space was filled with remnants of girlhood. A well-loved teddy bear sat in one corner, and posters of '90s pop stars adorned the walls. There were stacks of books, some with well-worn spines, and a vintage record player stood proudly on a wooden desk.
Eleanor chuckled at my reaction. "I couldn’t bear to change it," she explained with a hint of nostalgia.
“That’s very sweet.” I smiled, amused as I tried to reconcile the image of the opulent mansion with the room that felt so ordinary and nostalgic.
Michael and Victor arrived with the bags, and as they set them down, Michael chuckled at the room. "Yeah, we've all got our own little time capsules in this place. It's like a journey through our memories every time we visit." He nudged Victor with an elbow, “Remember what happened in 73?”
The two shared a hearty laugh and Victor nudged him with an elbow, “Ah, who could forget. You know, our old rope ladder is still in there ‘till this day.”
Eleanor and Victor told us they’d be waiting for us in the back garden whenever we were finished settling in, and with that, they left the room, giving us some privacy to unpack and freshen up.
While Michael and I carried on our conversation and unpacked our bags, I decided to text my mom to let her know we’d arrived safely. To my surprise, my phone had no reception whatsoever, and I couldn't access my data. Perplexed, I turned to Michael and inquired about the Wi-Fi password.
Michael's expression turned apologetic as he shook his head. "Sorry, Sam. There isn't any Wi-Fi here. We've always enjoyed being disconnected from the outside world when we visit."
I sighed, realizing that I wouldn't be able to communicate with my mom or access the outside world during our stay. I was also confused, wondering why Michael hadn’t mentioned this sooner. It was a strange feeling, being completely disconnected in a world so reliant on technology.
But Michael seemed to sense my concern and rested a hand on my shoulder. "I know it's a bit inconvenient, but trust me, it's also part of the charm of this place. It's like stepping back in time."
I tried to smile, appreciating his attempt to ease my worries. "It's okay, Michael. I can survive a few days without Wi-Fi. It'll be a nice break from the constant notifications and emails."
As the night continued, we all settled into a comfortable rhythm of conversation and laughter. The back garden, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns, was truly enchanting. The fragrance of blooming flowers filled the air as we sipped on wine, and Eleanor regaled us with stories of her childhood adventures in the garden, like hidden treasure hunts and secret picnics.
I was a couple glasses deep when a man dressed in chef’s attire arrived with a silver tray, carrying an assortment of dishes. My eyes widened, and I shared a glance with Michael who simply winked.
Eleanor, her eyes sparkling with delight, revealed the secret. "I thought we could have a special dinner under the stars tonight, just like old times. So, I asked Chef Laurent to prepare something delightful for us."
As the night grew late, we decided to retire to our respective rooms. The enchantment of the evening lingered in the air, but the sense of contentment and warmth dissipated as I prepared for bed.
Michael fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, meanwhile I lay awake, my gaze fixed on the ceiling of the dimly lit room. My stomach churned and ached, the room feeling uncomfortably warm. I peeled off the blankets, leaving only a sheet to cover me.
I accursed myself for overindulging. After such a long day travelling, my stomach was likely protesting the rich meal and wine we had enjoyed.
I tossed and turned for a few more hours, only falling into a fitful sleep when the first rays of dawn began to creep through the curtains.
\~
The next morning, I awoke feeling as though I hadn’t slept at all. Michael’s side of the bed was empty, which told me it must be past 8am, since he always went for a run at 7:30. I groggily rubbed my eyes and pushed myself to sit up.
The morning light bathed the room in a gentle, golden hue, but I couldn't appreciate its beauty. My head throbbed, and my stomach still ached.
Pushing through the pain, I dressed and ventured out of the room, hoping to find Michael or some indication of where he had gone.
I descended a grand staircase, following the path towards the back garden that Michael had shown me last night. As I grew closer, the smell of tea and toast wafted through the air, and I changed course to find my way into the kitchen.
To my surprise, Victor and Eleanor were busy at work, cooking up a morning feast. Victor expertly handled a sizzling pan, while Eleanor moved gracefully around the kitchen, setting a table for breakfast. Michael, newspaper in hand, sat in front of the window, seemingly engrossed in its contents.
"Morning," I mumbled, my voice hoarse from the restless night.
Eleanor turned with a warm smile. "Good morning, Samantha. Sleep well?"
I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to burden them with my restlessness. "Not as well as I'd hoped, but I'm sure a cup of coffee will fix that."
Victor chuckled as he flipped a piece of bacon. "You've come to the right place. Eleanor's a wizard with the French press."
As I reached for the steaming coffee that Eleanor had prepared, I glanced at Michael, who had yet to look up from his newspaper. There was a sense of detachment about him that was unusual. I wondered if he, too, was feeling unsettled.
It was only when my stomach pinched and rumbled that he finally looked up from the newspaper in his hands. Michael laughed, “Why don’t I give you a tour? Help kill some time before we eat?”
I considered it. Perhaps a tour would get my mind off things? I’d always been an anxious person; a bit of a hypochondriac, really. And if I kept fixating on my head and stomach, I might ruin what was meant to be a pleasant morning with friends. I nodded at Michael's suggestion, trying to push aside my unease. "Sure, a tour sounds great. Let's do it."
Together, we left the cozy kitchen and explored the labyrinthine corridors and grand rooms while Michael shared stories of his childhood. I did my best to immerse myself in his voice, but the sprawling mansion's layout felt like a maze with no clear sense of direction. Each hallway and room seemed to blend into the next, and it was easy to get disoriented. I wondered how Michael could remember where he was going.
We were in the library, wandering through the rows of bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and antique manuscripts when I spotted something strange. My gaze had been fixed on Michael as he regaled me with the history of the room. But as I listened to him, my attention momentarily shifted to a section of the wall near the back of the library.
There, nestled among the meticulously arranged books, was some paneling that seemed slightly off-kilter, as if it didn't quite align with the rest of the wall.
I became fixated on this anomaly, Michael’s voice fading into the background. In a house that seemed to prioritize perfection, how could such a blemish remain unaddressed?
"Michael," I began tentatively, my eyes still locked on the irregularity in the wall, "have you ever noticed that section of the paneling over here? It looks a bit... out of place, don't you think?"
He turned to follow my gaze, his expression unchanging as he surveyed the area I was pointing to. "What section are you talking about, Sam? Everything looks perfectly fine to me."
I furrowed my brow, puzzled by his response. It was so glaringly obvious, how could he not see it? I took a step closer and pointed directly at the misaligned paneling. "Right there."
Michael let out an exaggerated sigh and chuckled softly, as though humouring a child. "Sam, you always had an overactive imagination. There's nothing there but books and the wall. Maybe you're just tired."
I turned back to the oddity in the wall and reached out to touch it, my fingers grazing the slightly raised edge of the wood panel.
Michael's laughter ceased abruptly, and his cheerful demeanour vanished. "Sam, I think you should drop it." His eyes bore into mine with a strange intensity.
I withdrew my hand, startled by his sudden change in demeanour. "I don't understand. Are you seriously saying you can't see this?"
He sighed deeply and shook his head, his features a mask of indifference. "Honestly, I have no idea what you're talking about. Now, let's get back to the tour. There's so much more to see."
I opened my mouth to protest, but a voice echoed from the hallway outside the library. It was Eleanor, calling us to breakfast.
Michael and I made our way to the dining room, where the tantalizing aroma of eggs, bacon, and freshly baked pastries greeted us. I forgot about the strange wood panelling as soon as I sat down.
“So where exactly are you from in Oregon, Samantha?” Victor asked as he shovelled hashbrowns onto his fork, “I apologize, I always seem to forget the name.”
I replied with a smile, "I'm from a small town called Ashford in southern Oregon. It's a quiet place, not too far from Crater Lake."
Victor nodded as if he were familiar with the area. "Ah, Ashford. Beautiful country down there, I've heard."
"Yes, it is," I agreed with a nod, "Lots of hiking trails."
"Oh, is that so?” Eleanor swallowed a bite of French toast, “I hadn’t realized you came from such a remote area.”
"Oh yes," I replied with a half smile, "there are definitely some remote areas around Ashford. The forests and national parks can be quite secluded."
Eleanor nodded, taking a sip of orange juice as she shared a conspicuous glance with her husband.
"Tell us, Samantha, do you have a lot of family in Ashford itself or do they live in the outskirts?" Victor continued, reaching for a piece of bacon.
I hesitated, perplexed by the wording of his question. "Um, most of my family lives in town. It's nice, especially since it’s a small place. Everyone knows each other."
Victor leaned forward; his eyes locked onto mine. "And what about friends? Do they live in town as well?”
I furrowed my brow, growing increasingly uncomfortable and confused with the direction of the questions. I couldn’t fathom why they were so interested in the geographical details of my hometown.
"Well, some friends enjoy the outdoors, so they might go camping in the more remote spots from time to time.” I chewed my bottom lip. “Why do you ask?"
Eleanor smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, it's just that we find remote places so fascinating. The sense of solitude, the quiet.”
“We’re always looking for new places we could invest in property.” Victor added quickly.
Michael seemed to sense my unease and came to my rescue, redirecting the conversation away from the unusual line of questioning. I appreciated his support, and the tension in the room seemed to ease as we talked about more mundane topics.
Afterwards, I headed back to Eleanor’s childhood bedroom with Michael when he changed out of his running gear.
"Michael," I began, sitting on the edge of the bed as I watched him, "what was with those questions earlier? What’s so special about the remote areas around Ashford?"
I could have sworn Michael's face darkened slightly, and he hesitated before answering. "I'm sorry about that, Sam. Eleanor and Victor can be a bit intense sometimes. They have their quirks, but they mean well."
Michael's response only confused me further, but I chose not press the matter further. I trusted him, and if he said that Eleanor and Victor could be a bit intense at times, I was willing to take his word for it.
As he finished changing, he joined me on the edge of the bed. “Are you feeling alright?” He asked, scanning my face, “You’re looking a bit pale.”
“Oh it’s nothing.” I shook my head, pushing the anxious thoughts out of my mind. “I had a bit of a stomachache after dinner last night so I couldn’t sleep. But that breakfast was fantastic. I just needed some good food to chase away the cobwebs."
Michael seemed to relax, his worry dissipating as I spoke. "Good to hear. Just let me know if you need anything, okay? We can take it easy today if you're not up for too much exploring."
Agreeing that some fresh air might be good for me, we planned to take a walk through the beautiful gardens and perhaps indulge in some outdoor activities.
Eleanor and Victor had set up a variety of yard games, and we spent hours playing, laughing, and enjoying each other's company. It was a perfect day, and for a while, I managed to forget about my earlier discomfort. But by late afternoon, I could no longer ignore the fever that had taken hold of me. My body ached, and a shiver ran down my spine despite the warmth of the day. Michael noticed my discomfort and immediately suggested that we head back inside.
I awoke late that night, disoriented and drenched in sweat. Around me, the room was shrouded in darkness, the only illumination coming from the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Instinctively, I shifted closer to Michael, seeking comfort in his presence as my anxious gaze darted around the room. In the dim light, the antique furniture's delicate silhouettes swayed with a spectral quality. Despite my rational efforts to dispel the notion, I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that the furniture itself was staring back at me.
I reached for the nightstand with trembling hands, fumbling for my anxiety medication. But of course, this wasn’t my nightstand, and my Ativan wasn’t there.
Desperation forced me to act. I needed relief from the fever that burned through my body and the anxiety that gnawed at my mind. Summoning every ounce of courage within me, I steeled myself to cross the hall and head to the bathroom.
I slipped noiselessly out from under the sheets, and I gently placed my feet on the cool, wooden floor. As I stood, the glint of something red in the corner of the room caught my eye, and I froze in place, puzzled. Clearly, my anxiety was running wild, and my eyes were playing tricks on me.
The corridor that had seemed never-ending during the day was even more daunting in the night's shroud. I swallowed and clutched the edge of my nightgown, my knuckles turning white. The bathroom was down the hall, its door partially ajar, with the faint glow from a nightlight seeping through.
I inched forward, my heart pounding in my chest as moonlight from adjacent corridors cast elongated shadows that seemed to reach out for me like skeletal fingers. The oppressive silence was broken only by the faint rustle of my nightgown and the echo of my own shallow breaths.
As I approached the bathroom door, I caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of my eye. A tall, shadowy figure stood at the far end of the branching hallway, just beyond the pool of feeble light from the windows.
Fear clenched my chest, and my breath caught in my throat. Without a moment's hesitation, I flung myself into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me. It looked like a person, what if-
No, no, no.
This was ridiculous.
I was letting my fever and anxiety play tricks on my mind. Maybe it was a trick of the moonlight, a play of shadows and shapes in the dimly lit mansion.
With shaking hands, I rummaged through my toiletry bag on the counter, searching for my Ativan and some Advil. This was just a fever, a bout of anxiety, and an unfamiliar environment all conspiring to make me feel this way. There was nothing more to it.
Returning to the bedroom, I slid back into bed beside Michael, who was still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of my feverish adventure.
\~
The next morning arrived with the gentle rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains. As I slowly opened my eyes, I realized once again that Michael had already gotten up for the day.
Stretching my limbs and slipping out of bed, I followed the scent of breakfast wafting through the air, arriving once more at the mansion's grand kitchen.
I could hear the low murmur of voices, and just as I reached the doorway, I caught the very end of a hushed conversation between Eleanor and Victor.
Eleanor's voice was tinged with urgency as she said, "…we can't afford any mistakes now.”
“We won’t make any.” Victor replied, “It’s almost time.”
I stepped into the room to see that Victor was already seated, and Eleanor stood in the kitchen, buttering two pieces of toast.
“Good morning.” She said cheerfully.
"Good morning, Eleanor," I replied with a polite smile, taking a seat at the table.
Victor greeted me with a nod, his expression somewhat distant.
"Is Michael out for his morning run?" I asked, trying to sound casual, while inside, my mind was still grappling with the cryptic conversation I had overheard.
Eleanor nodded as she set a loaded breakfast plate before me. "He's been gone for a little while now. He'll be back soon, I'm sure."
We began to eat in silence, the clinking of silverware against plates the only sound in the room.
After a few moments, I decided to break the silence by mentioning my adventure from the previous night. "You know," I began tentatively, "last night, I thought I saw something strange in the hallway when I went to the bathroom. Funny how your mind can play tricks on you."
Eleanor and Victor exchanged a quick, almost imperceptible glance, and for a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence. Then Eleanor forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Perhaps this place is haunted after all."
I didn’t press any further. After all, I was a guest in her home, and I didn't want to overstep. I simply nodded and chuckled politely, “Perhaps it is.”
The sound of a door slamming followed by footsteps permeated the room. I turned my head toward the kitchen entrance, and there was Michael, looking as though he hadn't a care in the world.
"Good morning, everyone!" He greeted, his eyes lighting up when he saw me. He leaned down to give me a quick kiss on the cheek before taking a seat at the table.
"Good morning, Michael," Eleanor replied warmly, her earlier unease seemingly forgotten.
Victor, too, seemed to brighten up at Michael's return, offering a nod of acknowledgment.
“When I was out, I saw a few posters for the fair,” Michael poured himself a glass of orange juice, “It’s only in town this weekend. Maybe we could check it out today?”
"That sounds like a fun idea," I replied with a smile, trying my best to match Michael's enthusiasm. I was feeling much better today, and the prospect of going to a fair sounded like a great way to spend quality time with Victor and Eleanor.
The anticipation lifted my spirits, and after we cleaned up breakfast, the four of us headed back to our bedrooms to get ready for the day. I had just finished getting dressed when a sudden wave of nausea washed over me. I staggered slightly, catching the edge of the dresser for support.
"Are you alright?" Michael asked, his voice filled with concern as he rushed to my side.
I took a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea. "I think I just need a moment. Maybe I ate too quickly."
Michael’s eyebrows knitted together, and he guided me to sit on the bed. “Let me to grab you a Gravol from the bathroom or something.”
After he left the room, I could hear him talking to Eleanor and Victor out in the hallway. Their voices were muffled as they discussed something in hushed tones.
Michael returned with a glass of water and a Gravol tablet, which I took gratefully. Eleanor and Victor came to the door a moment after, concern etched on their faces.Eleanor spoke first, her tone gentle, "Samantha, are you sure you're feeling up to going to the fair? We don't want you to force yourself if you're not well."
"I’m okay.” I assured them with a weak smile. "I think I must have caught some kind of bug on the way here. You know how dirty airports can be. But I don't want you all to miss out because of me."
Eleanor exchanged a glance with Victor, and after a brief, silent conversation conveyed through their eyes, she smiled warmly at me. "That's very kind of you, Samantha… If you're sure you'll be alright here, then we'll go and enjoy the fair. But please, don't hesitate to call if you need anything."
I assured them I would, though I wondered how I could possibly call without cell service, and with that, they headed out to have a day of fun, leaving me alone in the mansion.
Convinced that the Gravol would kick in and with nothing else to do, I decided to explore a bit. I thought it might be a good opportunity to familiarize myself with the layout. I began to wander through the grand corridors and spacious rooms, my footsteps echoing in the quiet emptiness.
Eventually, almost by accident, I found myself standing in front of the library's imposing double doors once again. By now my steps had grown a bit unsteady, and I found myself pausing frequently, clutching my abdomen. The Gravol I’d taken had done nothing – in fact, I was feeling worse and wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed, but the maze-like nature of the hallways and the increasing fog in my mind had made it impossible to retrace my steps, so I simply continued forward.
When I pushed into the library, the memory of the strange wood paneling resurfaced in my mind. I approached the back of the room, and the paneling seemed even more out of place than before. I could hear Michael’s voice in my mind telling me to leave it alone, telling me he had no idea what I was talking about, but I couldn't resist the urge to investigate it. At first it seemed like it may have simply been a misguided repair to a flaw in the woodwork, but the seam running along its edges appeared too deliberate.
With curious fingers, I pressed against the seam, searching for any sign of an explanation. I gasped when the wood yielded slightly, and I realized that there was indeed something more to this than met the eye. It was now unmistakable that Michael had been aware of this secret… why had he been so adamant to keep it from me?
The paneling swung open to unveiling a concealed compartment within the library wall. Before me lay a carefully arranged array of skeleton keys, suspended neatly from hooks. Roman numerals etched beside each key hinted at their intended purpose, designating the doors they were meant to unlock.
Suddenly, the illness that had been steadily worsening surged, making my legs wobble beneath me. Desperately, I reached out and gripped the wall for support, my forehead now glistening with beads of sweat. Simultaneously, the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps echoed in my ears, sending panic coursing through my veins - I was acutely aware that I had stumbled upon something I was not meant to see.
With unsteady hands, I shut the concealed panel and snatched a book from a nearby shelf. I forced myself to appear deeply engrossed in its pages, hoping to deflect any potential suspicion that might arise.
"Ah, there you are," a voice broke through my anxiety, and I looked up to see Michael standing there, a warm smile on his face. "We were wondering where you were. I see you've found your way to the library. Good choice."
I returned the smile, my heart still pounding in my chest. "Yes, I thought I'd do a bit of reading while you all enjoyed the fair… how long have you been gone? I think I’ve lost track of time.” I wiped away the sweat pooling on my upper lip.
Michael nodded, seemingly content with my explanation. “Three or four hours.” He extended a hand, and when I took it, his eyes widened. “You’re burning up.”
I swallowed, my throat dry. “Maybe I should go back to the bedroom and rest.”
Michael's grip tightened slightly. "That's a good idea. Let's get you back to the room. You need to cool down."
Michael led me through the corridors while I tried to make sense of everything that had been going on, but I could tell my unease hadn't gone unnoticed, and Michael’s protective grip on my hand seemed to tighten with every step we took.
We were about halfway back to the bedroom when I doubled over in pain, my stomach clenching suddenly, causing me to gasp.
Michael's concern deepened, and he immediately stopped, supporting me as I struggled to regain my composure. "Are you okay?”
I couldn’t reply. A heavy, oppressive silence seemed to hang in the air, making me acutely aware of my own shallow breaths.
As Michael continued to support me, a strange sense of déjà vu washed over me. I knew this room; I had been here before – I recognized it by the distinctive potted plant sitting in the corner. But it couldn't be possible. The doors had all been locked when I had last checked, and now one of them was open.
My mind raced with possibilities. It was clear that Michael, Eleanor, or Victor must have had the key to this room, but why had they kept it locked, and why was it open now? Perhaps it was an office, or a room where they kept valuables. That was a reasonable explanation.
I took a quick peek inside and noticed that the room was enveloped in darkness, its antique furniture hidden beneath dusty, draped sheets. On the far wall, I discerned what seemed to be posters or portraits, but my fleeting glimpse allowed me to make out only one—a woman's face that stirred a strange sense of familiarity, yet also an eerie unease.
This certainly wasn’t an office. In fact, the room looked as though it hadn’t been touched in years…until now.
Michael's tone turned firm as he urged me to continue towards the bedroom. "Come on. You can rest in bed." His words held an undeniable insistence that worried me, but at this point I was feeling truly terrible, so I allowed him to guide me back to the room.
I settled into mattress, the softness of the sheets offering some comfort amidst all the strange occurrences as Michael went to get me a fresh glass of water.
My mind wandered back to the woman's face. Her poster hadn’t been framed, in fact it seemed somewhat haphazardly fixed to the wall. And there was something hauntingly familiar about her, something I should know, but the fever had taken hold of me again, making my thoughts swim in a foggy sea.
With Michael's return, a fresh glass of water in his hand, my sense of confusion only deepened. I accepted the glass without much thought, raising it to my lips to take a sip. But with each passing moment, I couldn't help but question the bizarre string of events that had led me to this point. Why was I the only one who had fallen ill?
If this were something I had picked up at the airport, as I had initially suspected, then Michael should be feeling ill too. And if it were food poisoning from the mansion, wouldn't everyone here be suffering similar symptoms?
Needless to say, I only pretended to sip water from the glass.
"It's strange," I mumbled after setting the cup down, "that I'm the only one who's feeling like this. Maybe I should see a doctor or something."
Michael settled onto the edge of the bed, his gaze unwaveringly locked onto mine. "It's just exhaustion, you just need some rest," he reassured me.
As Michael's words flowed with an outward calmness, they carried a weight that hung in the air like smoldering embers from a fire, casting an eerie and disquieting glow over our conversation.
The initial spark of suspicion had ignited when he denied seeing the irregular wall panel, a detail that had etched itself into my consciousness, impossible to ignore. Then Michael's nonchalant handling of Eleanor and Victor's peculiar line of questioning during breakfast had only stoked the flames, and now? Now he insisted I was merely exhausted despite the feverish chills wracking my body and the persistent ache in my stomach, as if he were pouring fuel onto the fire.
But why? What was he hiding? The questions swirled endlessly in my mind.
And I hadn’t considered it before, but why in a mansion of this size were Michael and I staying in Eleanor’s childhood bedroom? I knew for a fact, after wandering the place, there were numerous other guest bedrooms. I suppose, in and of itself, this wasn’t too unusual. Maybe it was just Eleanor's way of making us feel welcome, a sentimental gesture. But the more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed.
The pieces of this perplexing puzzle were scattered, and I struggled to fit them together as my eyelids grew heavy. Before long, I succumbed to the fever's embrace, drifting into a fitful sleep filled with disjointed dreams of locked doors and shadowy figures. |
Rochester Heights had always been a hell hole. I know that now, I mean I never doubted that some of the people here were assholes but in the time I’ve had to reflect I realize how either indigent or cruel they were to each other. Maybe when people group together like that with no goal beyond inhabitance unpleasant things arise. I lamented once that to them I was nothing but a sulking shadow only half-remembered. Once my landlord had forgotten I even lived there and sent Tony to get the place ready for a new tenant. Now, I’m not so sure I mind as much, being one of the forgotten ones might’ve saved my life.
I was ready for the horrors of the 2nd-floor hallway, meeting the grasping hands with an overhead axe swing that nearly severed one hand at the wrist. Pulling back I used the butt end to smash away another grasping hand until I could slip past them.
Sarah Palmer was next, swiveling around in her mobility scooter to face me but it was too late. The heel of the axe sunk into flesh soft as putty and as I yanked the axe loose half her face sloughed off. I heard her chuckle as I ran past. Something was burning in me, even if I died here, I had to know the what and how of Rochester’s descent into madness.
Harold’s room door was still ajar and I made sure to bolt the door the moment I ran in, only then did I slowly turn around. I thought it was graphorrhea at first. I had read about it one late night, a disorder most often associated with schizophrenics. The incoherent ramblings written and spoken.
The living room floor and adjacent floor contained countless sharp-edged sigils and glyphs. They looked occultic in their configurations but the actual characters themselves were completely foreign. Dead center was free of the scrawl but stained with brownish-red blood. I knew it was where Tony had found Harold’s body. There was a journal left on the coffee table and flipping through I confirmed that it was his.
In the few minutes I had in that room I didn’t have much time to really understand its contents. And though I still have it and I’ve spent hours since pouring over it, I’ve only been able to come up with a rudimentary understanding of what Harold was on to. I’ll summarize it here the best I can.
Harold moved back in with his mother after an episode that cost him his job a year prior. They lived off her social security checks and he deeply resented her for her advanced age, every day she’d wake up with less of her mind intact. He was also having issues with extreme sexual frustration and began clinging delusionally to Joanne’s politeness as a signal that she wanted him.
The confrontation with her boyfriend Carter was the breaking point. It wasn’t the reason why he did all this, but it was the final straw. But he had reason to resent everyone here and he detailed all his grievances big and small. I learned then the difference between being someone pushed to the wayside but still scrutinized with an eye of assumed threat like Harold and being forgotten altogether, like me. In his pages upon pages of detailed slights never once did my name come up, my existence failed to register to someone who was uncomfortably similar. It made me feel bitter and I don’t know why.
Then there was talk of what he dubbed “The Background World,” I still don’t quite understand what it is and its purpose but that's the thing that ties this all together, I’ll let Harold explain in his own words.
I first saw it in a dream, then a vision. It started with a tusked worm taking a bite out of the thin air, and like a scalloped finger, it peeled back what I thought was real to show me the machinations that ran behind what could be seen. Two places within the same space but never allowed to touch or interact. As above so below and from below to above, everything is mirrored. If it exists here in our layer it exists below, within The Background World.
That was the first rule it told me, the most important for creating an interstice where we can finally meet. The second rule is that for an Autarch to touch the human domain something must be offered to it, a life or part of one. Most often the offering is someone else. The greater the offering the more an Autarch can manipulate the human domain as long as it’s within its sphere of influence. The most powerful offerings are oneself, a year of your life, or the greatest joy you’ll ever feel. The greatest offer one can make to an Autarch is your own life.
There’s more, he mentions that the Autarch he’s in contact with is one that operates within the sphere of agony, pain is its domain and Harold knew pain better than most. The best I can piece together is that somehow he came into contact with this entity. Maybe it preyed on him for being vulnerable or maybe its influence scrambled his thoughts, or maybe what he learned was too much for any mind to bear without consequence.
I say this because I don’t believe that Harold was crazy, ill, and in need of help but there are enough commonalities in the strange runic language and his journaling that it feels as if he was truly uncovering something. He was not a stark raving madman, at least not until he let himself sink deeper into the influence of what had been encircling him.
He spent the week leading up to the fateful night of his death preparing for Rochester’s fall into the background world. 16 fetishes were placed around the apartment to mark the boundary for where the Autarch would lift the veil and let our worlds merge. 6 of them were made from parts of his mother. The rest from strays and pets around the apartment. The last of them was Mrs. Lorent’s dog, in the laundromat. Mirrored above and below, even if they were removed they still created something in the background world that sanctioned this hell.
Harold lamented that he never placed one in the basement below it and that was my chance. Maybe just maybe the building was only partially within the insterstice and if I could make it to the 2nd basement and emerge it would be into the outside I had always known, or maybe I’d step righ into The Background World. Regardless, I had no choice but to try.
I scrounged around the apartment and found that Harold was a heavy drinker with a taste for cheap vodka. I fashioned 5 Molotovs with what he had and started the trek back down to the 1st floor.
Stepping into the hallway I was greeted by them, the conjoined endlessly fucking monstrosity that had started this. I greeted them with a sprinter’s launching bolt and an axe swing. The side of Carter’s and Joanna’s faces took the blow and though the flesh came away in a huge chunk and I heard the clinking of teeth splattering across stone floors they didn’t even flinch.
Carter tried lunging at me, arm outstretched but I flung myself against the wall and was trying to slip behind them. they pivoted around to try to face me but the strange distribution of their weight made them cumbersome and the fear I felt was gone. Another axe swing sunk deep into compromised muscle and bone and cleaved through them far easier than uncorrupted tissues. It was enough to nearly decapitate them and they let out this horrible wheezing gasp. Another lunging grasp was met with an axe blow that sent nearly half his fingers skipping across the ground and one last swing to their neck finished it.
Though their head was on the floor before me they did not die. What remained of their face was opening and closing its mouth and I could see that the destroyed cheek was starting to restructure and regenerate. This truly was hell, willed into existence by a resentful heart. The body didn’t fall and wasn’t still either, jerking and twitching about, it eventually started grasping towards its head.
I had the Molotov lit by the time it took hold of its neck and thrown in the moment it lifted it up. They erupted into a ball of fire and I swore I heard screaming, as if some part of their warped mind registered what had just occurred and I hoped that the fire would be enough to put an end to them. The 2nd Molotov was thrown into the corner where Sarah and the hands tried and failed once more to apprehend me, I was gonna burn this place down if I could. Maybe then I would be able to spare them. The third was thrown atop the lobby desk. The last two were for the laundromat. I didn’t know if the building would actually burn but I wanted to cause some harm, to do anything.
The mad dash to the laundry was the fastest I’ve ever run, I’m sure of it. I was certain that the commotion and the fires would have caused the Autarch and its cultist to emerge from management's office but nothing ever impeded my flight down the stairs into the laundry room.
I landed on soft floors and the lights now were dim and blood red but even then I saw the horror that lay before me. A pulsating mass, a conglomerate of flesh formed at the center of the room, and it stretched out across the floor, walls, and machines. Every inch was living tissue and sinews, nerves, blood vessels, all of it. A dozen limbs raked and reached out at open air weakly and I swore they had some identifying features. A watch that could’ve belonged to Jose from the 7th floor, a sleeve of a distinctive neon green sweater from Kiana a college student.
I didn’t need another reason, the 4th Molotov was thrown on the fleshy floor behind me and the final directly at the tumor. The dark was eclipsed by the burning sun that stood behind me. The threshold of the sub-basement and my hopeful exit was before me now but I hesitated for a moment. The heat licked at my spine and my eyes watered at the rising smoke. If I was wrong I would be fucked, but I’d be fucked fire or not.
I moved forward and the moment my foot touched the first step the world behind me plunged back into darkness as the fire extinguished. In an instant it all ceased, the heat, the smoke, a curtain of silence fell and a wave of dread rose. I knew I shouldn’t have looked back but I couldn’t help myself, with a thundering heart I threw my gaze back and saw it. The Autarch of Agony that had caused all this, goaded and tempted Harold with its promise of pain to all he hated. The center of its eye blossomed before me and grew to encompass all before it in its vision.
Yes, it was a vision that it showed me, screams around me rose to a crescendo as the tumor grew to the size of the apartment itself, a living edifice. And yet it still paled in size compared to the Autarch who looked down on it. The countless tendrils and their instruments of torture reached down to the tower of flesh and it raked and sliced and tore and ate and… it all grew back. It would continue so, for eternity. That was a dark wish of Harold. The thing began to bulge and split apart, a perfect copy of its spherical form, mitosis. This thing could split itself and that’s how it planned to fulfill its promise and continue to operate without being bound to it.
I screamed, or I think I did because when I was able to pry my eyes away from it to look around I saw the shadow of my exit, the descent into the sub-basement. I ran, refusing to look back, I wouldn’t, couldn’t look back. So into the murky depths, I went.
I had been in the subbasement once before, small and damp it had only a few fold-up tables and chairs. There were no entries or exits except a single narrow staircase and a seldom-used door, leftovers from a bygone era. It was barred and locked at all times but the door was old, wooden and I was certain it would only take a good kick to break it down.
But what lay before me was not the basement, no it was some dark plane of reality that could not have been The Background World. I had seen brief glimpses of it just outside my window and this was different. Narrow and claustrophobic but at the same time impossibly expansive. Light did not exist here, even when I tried my lighter the air around me wicked away illuimantion. I reached out to touch concrete walls and found that I was in a tunnel. With no other option, I walked and walked until time ceased to have meaning. I know I must've been there for hours since hunger and exhaustion forced me to rest, but comfort was impossible so after a few minutes I got back up and pushed forward.
When at last I came upon an exit dimly illuminated it hurt my eyes that had been bathed in darkness for so long, a shallow staircase that led down to the sub-basement I had always known. The door was there and with a frenzied kick it fell away and I burst out to the world above with a half-scream of joy and a half-maddened sob. It was midday and Rochester Heights did not exist anymore. I had emerged from a subbasement into an empty, overgrown lot.
A homeless man nearby turned to glare at me momentarily before returning to whatever he was doing. Nothing exists of my ordeal and no one even remembers of Rochester Heights. I’ve done searches on the residents and it’s like they don’t exist. Everything and everyone marked by the Agony Autarch have ceased to exist meaningfully, or have been rewritten out of history. I found Macey’s mother and called to ask about her daughter and she swore to me she never had children. The company that owns the lot told me it’s been unoccupied and on the market for half a year.
I’ve not been the same since my escape from Rochester Heights. There’s so much left in this goddamn journal but every time I look at it I get this sense of overwhelming doom. There's so many questions, if what exists below is reflected above, and vice versa hows the world changed? Now as I speak there’s a tower of flesh that rises high above the world below and it casts its long shadow into the world above and I shudder to think at how it will manifest.
|
Hello, my name is Josh, I don't want to give many details, I just want to tell this story.
When I was 10, me and my brother Alex were playing outside on our swing set, while our mother cooked inside, and our dad was just getting home from work.
My brother decided to go inside and get a drink of water, I stayed out and kept playing, waiting for him.
While I waited I looked out to the woods that surrounded our neighborhood, I saw something stareing back at me, but I couldn't seen any details.
I ran inside and told my parents, but they didnt do anything, just said it was my imagination.
Since it was late and my brother and I are already inside, my parents told us to stay inside and eat dinner, when we were done my brother and I went to bed.
All I could think about was the man I saw, but if my mom thought it was nothing, then it probably was nothing, just my imagination.
I woke up sometime late into the night by a loud bang, I laid there and listened, I heard nothing else and was about to go to sleep before I heard foot steps in the hall.
I thought it was my brother going to lay with our parents, maybe he was scared by the noises and didnt want to be alone.
I heard my doorknob start moving, not opening, but like being shaken.
I got annoyed, still thinking it was my brother, I got up and open the door, nothing was there, I looked around and my brothers door was wide open.
I went to go shut it, but when I got to the door, I saw the man standing over my brother, it turned to look at me, his pure black eyes stared at me, and his mouth shaped into a smile, showing his sharp teeth, he was hunched over holding my brother.
I ran to my parents room and woke them up, my dad, thinking it was nothing, got up and went into my brothers room.
all I heard was a scream and my mother ran to see what happend, she ended up screaming too and ran back to me to make sure I didnt see it.
My dad called the cops and they came, I was taken outside of the house, I kept asking what happend, and where my brother was, no one told me anything.
I was questioned by police, and told then everything.
Afterwards my parents took me to a motel outside of the town we lived in.
When we got up to our room, my parents and I couldn't sleep, I stared out the window, looking around I saw the figure again, stareing at me.
I told my parents, and when they came over they didnt see anything, I kept telling them and pointing to him, but they never saw him and put me to bed.
I still don't know how to deal with that night, its been almost 20 years since this, my parents to this day never told me what they saw, with both of them dead now I won't ever know.
My little girl said she saw someone outside while she was playing, I think its just her imagination. |
With Halloween around the corner, I thought what a better time to share a few personal experiences on here. So here goes...
This incident goes a long way back to the early 90s. I was 16 years old then. Interestingly enough, it occurred in what seemed to be the most unlikely of places... in a church somewhere in Petaling Jaya!
I had attended one of those teen church camps which usually lasted for 3 days or so. There had been a couple of activities arranged leading up to the last day, where we all had different tasks assigned. Me, I was responsible for controlling the light switches, and had a set of cues to follow for the night event.
The catch was this. I was to do it from a small room behind the church which housed the circuitry. Unfortunately, it was only accessible from outside the church. In order to get to it, I had to exit the main church hall to the side and into a long dark alleyway (dark at night that is) flanked by the church and another small building. A short staircase then led up to a small verandah outside the room. The small room had only one door, and the opposite wall had windows looking out into the church stage so one can see what was happening.
Anyway, to make a long story short, things didn't go as planned. You know how it is with generation clashes. Some holier-than-thou prick in his mid-20s decided to take it upon himself to play with the switches in the main hall as he saw fit without informing me (and people wonder why I have problems with authority figures!). Little did they know there was a very, VERY ANGRY person in that room then. ME! And then it happened.
A heavy kind of breathing. It didn't hit me at first. I had attributed it to the speaker on stage having some breathing problems since his speech was pretty much amplified thanks to the amplifiers around the hall. It continued for awhile, and when it didn't go away, I went to the window and pricked my ear to the nearest sound system in the room. Still, I couldn't figure out the source of the breathing. It was puzzling. Since the speech was pretty loud, and I was getting really bothered by the breathing, I decided to exit the room to the small verandah outside. Halfway to the door, I got creeped out.
Anyone knows that anytime you move further away from a noise source, the noise starts to fade out. Not this breathing! It stuck at the same decibel. And what's worse, this time it felt more like as if someone was next to me breathing heavily into my ear, but there was no one visible around. When the realization hit me that something was seriously out of place, I started to shake. I couldn't move. Here was this heavy breathing next to me, and I had a million things bombarding my mind on what to do. By instinct, I mumbled a prayer, and it was only then the heavy breathing stopped. A sense of relief overwhelmed me as I made my final steps to the door and into the verandah, but it was too much. I practically broke down by the stairs.
After what seemed like an eternity, I heard footsteps. I don't know, but I think someone heard me wailing. A couple of my friends came over to the back room, and asked me what happened. I was in a pretty disturbed state then. They accompanied me off the place before I explained what happened. I found out that my supernatural experience was only one of several that other people have reported happened in the church. Explanation-wise, I got the typical "Satanic forces attacking the church". Me, I can only say it was not ordinary or normal, and certainly not a very pleasant experience.
Anyway, years later, I befriended a clairvoyant. One topic led to another, and we started talking about my above past experience. She told me a vision came to her of an old man who was very angry, but for what reason, she had no idea. Me, I just think maybe he wanted to share his anger with, well, another angry person around the corner! Like attracts like, doesn't it? :P |
Hey everyone, my name’s Jamie, and I thought I’d put my story out on here because, I don’t know, I have to tell someone.
I just wanna start by saying I’ve always hated going to church. I was raised catholic, but the whole thing never really made sense to me. It always sorta seemed like a lot of standing up and sitting back down and pretending to understand what the pastor is talking about at any given moment. It always just made me feel a little dumb.
That, and I’ve always been weirded out by all those little statues of Jesus hanging up, dotted all along the walls of the church. I was scared of them as a kid, I always thought that if I did anything wrong they’d see it and tell God or something, I don’t know. Those things always seemed just slightly off, making me feel some weird unsettling vibe.
I’m getting off topic, but all of this is to say, church isn’t for me. No hate to anyone who regularly attends church or anything, its just not for me.
With all that said, anyone who knows me would be surprised to see me wearing my best attempt at “church clothes”, sitting in some unfamiliar church, pretending to know anything about what’s going on. But, I was dating this girl, her name was Ava, for like eight months and she had been insistent that I come with her to one of her church’s regular services. And listen, I really liked Ava so I thought, “Fuck it, I’ll go once”. I pretty much only did it to make her happy.
So I woke up extra early last Sunday morning, and drove down a bunch of twisty ass back roads for about forty-five minutes until I found it nestled in at the edge of a nearby forest. Just a rickety little oak building tucked away with the nearest sign of civilization almost twenty minutes away. But like I said, I really liked Ava, she was kind, and funny, and I could talk about the greatest stuff about her for three pages, but in the grand scheme of things it wouldn’t matter.
I parked in the dirt lot out front of the little wooden building, I saw Ava’s car but I didn’t spot her anywhere so I just assumed she was inside. I awkwardly made my way towards the building, and as I did, I passed a little sign that read “The Divine Ascension Parish”, which I assumed was the name of the place.
When I entered, I saw maybe thirty people scattered among the 10 or so rows of pews. I spotted Ava sitting at the very front, of course it was the front, cause why wouldn’t it be? But I smiled and pretended I wasn’t a little weirded out by the entire situation cause I wanted to make her happy. After about another fifteen minutes of people trickling in, there were about fifty of us lining the pews and we all sat down and waited for the service to start.
The service began and it seemed pretty standard compared to what I remember from childhood, I’m not gonna really act like I paid much attention though. I mostly just sat there, said the right thing when everyone else did, and tried my best to look like I was having a good time for Ava’s sake. I did catch at one point the pastor saying something about a “special ascension ceremony” taking place at the end of today’s service, and that kind of stuck out to me, because from my vague childhood recollection I had no idea what that could have been. I just assumed it was some special celebration and that was why Ava wanted me there so bad.
I zoned out for probably another twenty minutes or so before I felt Ava nudge me with her elbow, signaling me to stand as everyone else did the same. The energy in the room seemed to have shifted, as the pastor who had been so boring and monotone before was yelling, and I mean YELLING, about salvation and ascension and all kinds of stuff. I was actually paying attention at this point, but a lot of it went pretty far over my head to be honest. After the pastor finished his wild speech, he gestured towards the room at large. And with no further indication, the whole room started chanting some Latin phrase in perfect unison, literally everyone but me.
I don’t speak Latin or anything so my best approximation of what they were saying is something that sounded close to “Exsurge, et comede carnem nostram”. They just kept saying it over and over for at least five minutes. After about the fifth time they said it, I looked to Ava for any kind of guidance, confused and a little weirded out. It was like she didn’t even see me though, she just kept staring blankly ahead, reciting that damn phrase over and over and over. I asked her what was happening, desperate for some kind of explanation, and received no response. She just kept up the damn chanting, her focus unbroken.
As the chanting ceaselessly carried on, I noticed that a small hole had begun to open in the floor right where the pastor had been standing during his speech. As they kept chanting that phrase in uncanny unity, the hole kept growing larger, until it had expanded to be probably 20 feet across. Then, as though sensing they were done, everyone fell silent all at once. At this point I was freaking out, I should have ran out of that building and drove away as fast as I could, but I was basically paralyzed by how strange this situation had become.
After a few seconds, something started to rise out of the hole. It started as five writhing fleshy masses, each one undulating rhythmically. Then as it started to rise higher, the five masses all connected to form what I realized to be a massive hand. It kept rising out of the hole higher and higher. As it finished reaching up, the wretched thing was revealed fully, a massive arm bending wildly at two separate joints, with a deep wound on its wrist, gushing blood down onto the floor below. Seeing it seemingly reach up to the heavens, fingers brushing the ceiling, it would have almost been beautiful in a weird biblical sense if it wasn’t the most horrifying thing I had ever seen.
When it had fully extended out, everyone around me dropped to their knees in prayer. Meanwhile, I just stood there frozen in terror, unable to process anything that was going on. I guess I never have responded well in crisis situations.
I was finally shaken out of my daze when suddenly, the monstrous arm extended completely before slamming down with unreal speed on several pews on the other side of the aisle. I don’t know if it was the massive spray of blood coating the whole front of me, or the fact that I watched the writhing flesh of the arm grasp onto and fuse with the flesh of the poor guy it slammed down on, but I regained control over my body and started running.
It was only fifty feet to the door I came in from, but it felt so much longer as I ran towards it. Maybe halfway there I heard a massive crash behind me. I couldn’t even look back before one of the heavy wooden pews slammed into me, sending me flying and pinning me to the side wall. The next few minutes, as I lay trapped between the wall and the pew that had been sent carelessly crashing into me, were a blur as I was fading in and out of consciousness.
I remember seeing that thing grasp onto groups of people dotted throughout the room and start incorporating them into its flesh. You wanna know the most fucked up part about it though? As this thing was liquifying these people's skin, they looked happy, content, even fucking excited, but not a single one of them looked scared. They welcomed it, allowing it to take them into its mass or sweep them into the hole it came from.
Then it slowly reached out to grasp at Ava, who was acting just like everyone else, kneeling and praying silently. Right before it reached her, she turned back to look at me for just a second. Believe me when I tell you, she looked fucking ecstatic, like she had been waiting her whole life for this. As the hand nearly the size of her whole body slowly closed around her, incorporating her body into its own writhing mass, she kept looking at me with that massive smile on her face. And this last part will be burnt into my memory forever, I swear right before her face became fully obscured by the shifting flesh of the hand, I could see her expression change to one of pure terror, as though she suddenly realized she was wrong about whatever this thing truly is. Whenever I close my eyes anymore, I see the face she made at her very last moment, and I wonder how scared she must have felt just then.
Slowly and methodically, the arm absorbed the remaining members of the church, its flesh grasping out at the remaining few. Not a single one of them fought back. Not a single one of them saw this as anything other than something to be welcomed with open arms. The entire time, I was laying trapped against the wall, trying desperately to free myself, to no avail. That wretched thing left me alone, I don’t know why, but it acted like I wasn’t even there. After it had fully taken everyone else, it slowly sunk back into wherever it had come from, the hole closing behind it.
Shortly after that, I think I finally lost consciousness fully, I woke up with some cop standing over me asking questions that I couldn’t really process in the moment. I finally regained enough awareness to answer his questions, and I doubt they believed my story but I really just didn’t care. They eventually cleared me to go home, and I’ve just been trying to process what the hell happened.
I needed to tell someone, and a friend told me you all might believe me. I don’t know what that thing was or what it really wants I guess, but someone needs to know. My best guess is that whatever was on the other end of that hole was some kind of fucked-up minor god or something, I just don’t know. I’ve also been wondering if Ava invited me down there, knowing that was gonna happen, knowing that thing would take her and potentially me. I just wish I knew anything at all about this whole thing.
All I know is that I’m not going to be going back to church anytime soon.
|
Rain pelted the city, creating pools of water that glinted under the neon lights. Every drop felt like a herald, announcing the start of yet another restless night. The patter against the window pane was once a lullaby, but now, it was a sinister hymn.
From my fifth-floor apartment window, I could see the people below hurrying to find shelter, their hurried steps and colliding umbrellas reminiscent of frantic insects escaping an unseen predator. But what was I escaping from?
The events always began with the rain.
That evening, the scent of petrichor and damp asphalt seeped into my apartment. The room darkened by storm clouds pressing against the city's skyline, the only light from the occasional flash of lightning streaking across the gray abyss.
On the street below, an old-fashioned red payphone stood. It was odd for such an anachronism to exist in our modern age. Every time it rained, that payphone would ring. The shrill trill was distant, but loud enough to reach my ears over the storm's roars.
I don't know why I first decided to pick it up months ago. Curiosity? Boredom? A daring venture? Regardless, the voice on the other end was the catalyst for the ordeal I found myself trapped in.
"You can't run forever." A man's voice, deep, and dripping with malice, pierced through the rain's chorus.
Tonight was no exception. The phone rang, echoing into the storm's cacophony. Someone was about to answer it, drawn in by its mysterious allure.
I watched as a man in a tan raincoat, collar pulled up to shield him from the downpour, approached the phone. From my vantage point, I could only see his back as he hesitated for a moment before finally lifting the receiver. The lightning flashed, briefly illuminating his confused expression as he listened. He hung up swiftly, his face pale, and hurried away, casting nervous glances around him.
Each time someone answered that call, they disappeared the next day, leaving behind only a soaked raincoat.
My curiosity had me ensnared. I'd witnessed this cycle countless times. It wasn’t a coincidence. But every attempt to intervene was met with resistance. The police dismissed my concerns, neighbors laughed it off, and friends said it was just my overactive imagination. “Urban legends,” they'd say. But I knew. I had answered the call once.
I decided to venture out. The city looked different in the rain, a mosaic of reflections and silhouettes dancing in watery mirrors. The payphone was my destination, but why? To confront it? To understand it?
Making my way through the rain-slicked streets, I found myself before the blood-red booth. The phone inside looked ordinary, yet it emanated an energy that made the hairs on my arms bristle.
Hesitating, I entered the booth. The smell of cold, stale metal overcame the scent of the rain. The phone was silent, waiting.
I lifted the receiver and placed it against my ear. Silence. Only the sound of rain drumming on the booth's roof. Maybe I was indeed delusional.
Suddenly, the voice, dripping with cruel anticipation, broke through. "Thought you could escape, didn't you?"
I dropped the receiver, my breath erratic. The voice wasn’t coming from the phone anymore. It was all around me, pressing in, like the oppressive storm clouds overhead. The door to the booth wouldn’t budge. Panic gripped me.
"I'm coming for you," it whispered.
Through the glass door, I saw him. A man, drenched in rain, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. His footsteps were slow, deliberate. Each step created ripples in the waterlogged streets. My heart felt like it might burst from my chest, but I had to act.
Using all my strength, I slammed my body against the booth's door. Once, twice, and on the third attempt, the latch gave way. Stumbling out, I began to run, with the steady rhythm of pursuing footsteps echoing behind me. The city was a maze, streets blending and buildings closing in.
Would this be my fate? Disappearing like the rest, leaving behind nothing but a soaked raincoat?
The rain seemed to intensify, each drop feeling like a million pinpricks on my skin. The streets, which were familiar by day, morphed into an alien terrain under the storm's fury. Corner after corner, I twisted and turned, desperately trying to put distance between me and the relentless pursuer.
Alleys blurred past, neon lights smeared by sheets of rain. The city was an unforgiving maze, yet one thing remained constant: the echoing footfalls, a reminder that he was always close. Every alleyway became a potential trap; every shadow, a potential threat.
I had to find shelter.
A dimly lit laundromat loomed ahead. Without a second thought, I darted inside, praying he hadn't seen me. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and the hum of washing machines filled the air. Empty. No one else inside, save for a lone janitor mopping the wet floor, his back turned to me.
Gasping for breath, I ducked behind a row of machines, peering through the gaps to see the entrance. Minutes felt like hours, but the door remained closed.
Had I lost him?
My sigh of relief was short-lived. The door creaked open, and the silhouette of the man in the wide-brimmed hat appeared. Water pooled around his feet as he stood there, scanning the room. The janitor, unaware of the danger, continued to mop.
I weighed my options. Running would give away my position, but staying meant certain doom. I needed a distraction.
A flash of inspiration hit. I reached into my pocket, pulling out a handful of coins, and hurled them across the room. The clinking noise echoed, drawing the man's attention. As he moved in the opposite direction, I began to silently creep towards the exit.
The janitor, curious about the sudden commotion, turned just in time to see the man bearing down on him. Their eyes locked. The janitor's face contorted in terror, but before he could scream, the man lunged, wrapping his fingers around the janitor's throat.
No time to think.
I bolted for the door, bursting out into the rain once again. The streets were now virtually empty, the rain having driven everyone indoors. But this was no relief; without the crowds, there was nowhere to hide.
A distant scream echoed from the laundromat. The janitor's fate sealed. Guilt gnawed at me, but survival took precedence. I couldn't save him, but I could still save myself.
The rain continued its assault as I made my way towards the city's heart. A plan began to form in my mind. If this man, this entity, was bound to the payphone, perhaps if I could destroy it, I could end the nightmare.
Navigating through rain-drenched alleys, I finally found myself back at that cursed phone booth. Through sheets of rain, it stood – silent, menacing, and waiting.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I approached it, determined to put an end to the cycle. Grabbing the phone, I pulled with all my might, but it remained steadfast. Frustration mounting, I scanned the surroundings, looking for something, anything, that could help.
And then I saw it. A construction site nearby with a large bulldozer. If brute force wouldn't do it, maybe raw power would.
Dashing to the site, I managed to start the bulldozer. The roar of the engine was almost drowned by the rain, but it was the sweetest sound I'd heard all night. With grim determination, I drove it straight towards the payphone booth.
The impact was explosive. Glass shattered, metal twisted, and the payphone was reduced to a pile of rubble.
Relief washed over me. It was finally over. But that solace was shattered when a familiar voice echoed from the debris, "You can't escape."
From the wreckage, the man emerged. Unscathed. Unhindered. Unstoppable.
Drenched and shaking, I stood face-to-face with my relentless pursuer. The storm around us intensified, seemingly feeding off the confrontation. Lightning crackled across the sky, momentarily illuminating his face beneath the wide-brimmed hat: blank, emotionless, with an endless void where eyes should be.
Desperation filled me. If the phone's destruction didn't stop him, what would? As if reading my thoughts, he tilted his head slightly, his non-eyes locking onto mine.
"You think you're the first to try?" he asked, his voice a haunting melody of mockery and menace. "This isn't about a phone. It's about you."
Questions flooded my mind. Why me? What did I ever do? And who or what was this being?
But in this torrent of chaos, a memory resurfaced. A day, months ago, before the rain-induced terror began. I had been in an argument with a stranger over a trivial matter. Words were exchanged, and in a fit of rage, I wished the worst upon him. That night, it rained, and the phone calls began.
This wasn't just a random curse. This was my doing.
Gathering what little courage I had left, I faced the entity. "What do you want?"
His laughter, if you could call it that, was like the sound of static – grating, unnatural, and cold. "Want? I'm here because of your desire. Your wish. I am the consequence of your malice."
This was my punishment, a sinister reflection of my own emotions taken form.
"But why the others?" I demanded, thinking of the countless victims. "They had nothing to do with it!"
His hollow gaze focused on me. "Misery loves company. Each time you ran, each time you hid, your fear fed me, and so, I sought more. Like an insatiable hunger."
A plan began to form. If he was a manifestation of my own dark emotions, maybe the opposite could banish him. But how could I find hope or love in such a dire situation?
The rain intensified, thunder rumbling in the distance. He began to advance, each step echoing with finality.
Desperate, I closed my eyes, thinking of better times – laughter with friends, love from family, the joy of simple moments. Memories flooded back: my mother's comforting embrace during a childhood storm, the first time I fell in love under a clear starry night, the undying support from friends in my hardest times.
As these emotions surged within me, I began to shout them out loud, each word a beacon against the storm. "LOVE! HOPE! JOY! UNITY!"
With every declaration, the entity faltered. The once-imposing figure now seemed to dissolve, becoming translucent like the rain around us. His form wavered, the once solid darkness now nothing more than a wavering shadow in the deluge.
"Your time here is over," I whispered, feeling an inner strength I never knew I possessed.
With a final scream of anguish, he disappeared, evaporated into the storm.
The rain began to subside, the once tumultuous storm now a gentle drizzle. The city, which had been a haunting maze just moments ago, began to show signs of life again. The dawn broke on the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink.
Exhausted but alive, I made my way back to my apartment. The ordeal had changed me, reminding me of the power of emotions, both dark and light.
From that day on, the payphone remained a shattered relic, never to ring again. The city moved on, memories of the missing fading with time.
And as for me? I learned the importance of cherishing positive emotions and the dangers of letting negativity consume. The rain still falls, but now, it's just water from the sky, cleansing the city and nourishing the soul. |
#x200B;
The elevator lurched upwards, leaving our fallen companion behind.
Beside me, Karen silently wept.
"I'm … I'm sorry for your loss," I muttered, unsure what else to say.
"Oh, Frank!" she cried and collapsed into my arms, sobbing. "He's dead! Gone! I'll never see him again."
I placed my arm around her for the first time in a year and a half. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine we would ever be this close again, remembering the end of our relationship, when even the slightest touch would have made her shudder. She hugged me tightly while below her lover was being eaten alive—a man who I considered responsible for our breakup. But that wasn't true, was it? I had destroyed our marriage, not Jeffrey. It had been me who had ignored my duties as a husband, me who had been too committed to his research to see that our marriage had been falling apart right before my eyes.
No … Jeffrey wasn't to blame. I was.
"He's dead, Frank," she moaned. "I can't believe it—"
*Cling!* The elevator doors began to drift open. In our misery, we had forgotten that Karen had pressed all the level buttons in our haste to depart.
Still embraced, we turned slowly, dreading what we would find. If we had thought that the turmoil of the last hour would prepare us for what we were about to see, then we were wrong—go directly to jail, do not pass go, kind of wrong.
The opening of those doors is an experience that tested my sanity. It made me question whether everything I had been taught was a lie. Science, was a lie.
I have never believed in the supernatural, or what others may call ghosts and spirits, but whatever was out there on level 4 made downstairs with Timothy and Jeffrey and good old Dr Eckhart, who became the impromptu meal of the day, look like heaven.
You couldn't see it, but you damn sure could feel something, a presence, drift through the doors like a bad smell. Karen could sense it too because she started shivering uncontrollably, recoiling at this unknown entity. It didn't press against your skin or anything physical; it seemed to press against your *soul*.
My colleagues and I had always joked about how level 4 employed acne ridden lab techs. Small fish compared to us whales who worked the floor below. We had always assumed that the research laboratories were ranked according to security risk, and ours, being the deepest underground was the most important and dangerous.
Well, you better believe that as I looked out over level 4, I doubted my theory. For standing behind the glass of the nearby laboratory were six dead scientists, each with their backs turned towards us.
I bet you're asking: how do you know they're dead if they had their backs turned to you and are standing?
It would be a good question—and I would answer I knew this because their heads slowly began to rotate in a 180-degree motion without their bodies moving an inch, which no living creature could do. It was a move right out of The Exorcist playbook—only this time there were six scientists in place of poor little Regan.
Their heads twisted to reveal empty eye sockets, the blood crusted and dried where the eyeballs had been removed. It was the eeriest moment of my life, facing off against these … demons are the best way I can describe them.
Whatever possessed the scientists was aware of our presence. To the naked eye, the laboratory looked no different than on any other day, but the soul inside you could feel the thick smog of levitating evil.
In a synchronized motion, the scientists grinned, as if a puppet master had pulled their strings. My jaw fell open, and to this day, hearing the *cling!* of the elevator doors closing was akin to being pulled out of a frozen lake just before you are about to drown.
Once the doors had closed, I collapsed to my knees.
"Frank?" Karen whispered, no longer sobbing. "*What's going on? What the hell was out there?*"
I turned to find her bulging eyes white with fear. I guessed I probably looked worse. "I don't know," I croaked. My throat was raw like it had been rubbed with sandpaper. "If I was a religious man, I'd say we are in hell."
The next part can only be put down to the special recovery powers of women—a fascinating study to get lost in—for it was Karen who took control of the situation. "Come on," she said, helping me to my feet and dusting me down. "We will not give up that easily."
She lifted my chin. "Hey, we can get through this, right?"
Trembling, I looked up into her fierce eyes. I nodded. "Yes, maybe we—"
It was that moment when the doors on level 3 opened. Out of fear of seeing more demons, we both held our breath … then relaxed as we looked out over an empty laboratory.
No sooner had our fear deflated, however, than a burst of maniacal laughter sounded and out of nowhere appeared a scientist, so caught in laughter that he collapsed onto the nearest bench. There was nothing funny about the situation, and the fear in the man's eyes told me he didn't think so either.
Horrified, I asked. "What the hell is wrong with him?"
Karen did not answer but began to stab the > < button, repeatedly.
The laughing scientist stretched out his hand as if for us to wait, then managed to rise from the desk and stagger towards us. "WAIT," he cried between bursts of hysterics. "HAHAH …. THEY'RE … HAHHA EVIL … WAIT."
He was cut off by the elevator doors.
I placed my hands over my head and fell against the wall. "Fuck. I think I've gone crazy. Is this the elevator to hell?"
"Frank!" Karen hissed, shaking me. "You got to keep yourself together! We can't —"
*Zoooooooooooom*. The power went out in the elevator, plunging us into darkness and causing it to judder to a stop.
I laughed—I had cracked. "Ha!" I said. "That's it. Game's over! No credit left. Defeated before we had to face the big boss upstairs!"
"Frank!" Karen snapped.
"What?"
"Shut up, will you?"
I slumped to the floor, nearly jumping out of my skin when I felt the cold, limp body of the dead soldier beside me in the darkness. I had forgotten all about him.
Karen kicked me. "Where are you?"
"Errrm, where do you think? I'm in the elevator next to my good old friend, Private Fred. Though he's not feeling too well, are you buddy?"
"Shut it, Frank! God, you always were a baby. Where's your phone?"
I slipped my phone out of my pocket and handed it to her. A moment later a burst of light blinded me.
"Get up!" she snapped, holding the flashlight in my face.
Miserably, I accepted it like an angry toddler, then watched with curiosity as she ran her fingers over the doors. "What are you doing?"
"I'm getting us out of here. What does it look like? Make yourself useful and get that soldier's gun."
I rolled my eyes and stooped down over the dead private. He had a large gash on the side of his forehead and a deep wound on his neck. In his hand was a Glock.
I waved my hand over his face, then knocked on his skull. "*Hellloooo, anybody home*?"
No, I guess not.
I lifted his eyelid—this time actually jumping back at the red veins forming in the sclera. The pupil had stared back at me like the man was very much alive.
I stood back up and coughed. "We should get going, Karen."
"Yes, I know," she replied, irritated. "What do you think I'm trying to do?"
I pointed at the soldier. "I think our friend here might come back from the dead."
Karen swiveled around. "What?"
"Yeah. It's not Virus X-93. That much I do know. But God knows what else they've been doing around here …"
The dead soldier's hand twitched.
Karen screamed and pushed me. "Get the gun you idiot!"
Without thinking, I lunged for the soldier's hand, prizing the stiff fingers away from the Glock. In my peripheral vision, I saw one of his eyes open.
"FRANK! HURRY UP, HE'S WAKING UP!"
A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead as I prized away the last finger.
—the dead, *very much alive*, soldier groaned—
I raised the Glock as the dead man lurched towards me, pressing the trigger and hoping the gun was loaded. It was—and a loud bang ricocheted around the elevator.
Ten seconds later, I opened my eyes to see pieces of brains splattered on the metallic walls. Karen was pressed in the corner, staring at the limp body.
"I think he's dead," I said. "Hopefully, anyway … are you okay?"
Karen's eyes flicked towards me. She nodded. "Yes … or maybe not. I don't know." Offering a hand, she helped me to my feet for a second time. Once we stood face to face, I felt a jolt of fear mixed with excitement.
Karen stared back.
*Should I kiss her? Is this the part in the movie where we embrace and confess our love?* If so, that must have been a record speed of getting over someone. The infected were probably still chewing on Jeffrey's privates as we speak.
Karen cleared her throat, and embarrassingly turned away, examining once more the doors with the flashlight. "I think we can get this open. Give me a hand, will you?"
I felt a pang of disappointment that we hadn't kissed and helped her by jamming my fingers into the metal.
"One. Two. Three. Heave!"
With a screech, the entrance gave way to reveal concrete.
"Arrh damn," I began, but Karen shone the torch beam towards the ceiling, and above our heads was an opening—the entrance to level 2. It was just enough room for us to crawl through.
#x200B;
#x200B; |
My husband, Thomas, is a writer of short horror and I'm very proud of him. He crafts these unique little stories about horrific situations and people really seem to like them. He writes a lot and his stories have been read by a lot of different narrators, but recently things have changed.
He's been thinking of narrating his own stories for years, but he just never thought he was up to the task. His voice won't play well with the audience. No one will want to hear someone read their own stories. His stories aren't very good, even though he makes money writing them. He has a thousand and one excuses, but finally, I told him to just try it out and keep his expectations realistic.
He gave it a try, and from the first video, things have been great for him but very strange for me.
You see, when my husband records videos he becomes someone else.
It started with Doctor Winston and the Hospital of Horrors, a series my husband writes. Doctor Winston is a stuttering little guy, someone who's afraid of his own shadow, and when my husband does his voice it doesn't even sound like him anymore. I've never actually seen him do the voice, not really. We have a two-bedroom apartment, so he set up his studio in the bedroom since our son has the other room. He bought one of those green screen curtains from Amazon and some wall foam to cut down on the reverb and he pulls the curtain and sits behind the screen as he works. Sometimes I'll sit in bed and listen, hearing the story unfold, and the first time I heard that whimpery little voice come from behind the screen, I had to get up and peek to make sure it was just him back there.
His voices are spectacular, and soon he had a dozen or more of them.
Lenny Drover, Doctor Winston, Ozark Uncle, Ramon W Sanders, and Doctor Summer, just to name a few, but it's The Terrifyer that I hate to hear.
Tommy Terrifyer is a recurring villain in his stories. Tommy is a creature that hunts children after dark and sometimes leaves them skinned alive beneath trees or on benches or somewhere where people will find them. He's the antagonist of Corbin Banner, Atlanta Detective, and has become a fan favorite. The people just love the voice he does, the deep resonate voice that speaks of horrible acts and terrible deeds. I sometimes put my headphones in when he reads stories about Skinner Park, but I find that the voice of Tommy Terrifyer still bleeds through my AirPods.
"Don't worry, little one, I'll make it quick. You won't feel a thing. I'll snatch your skin so fast that you won't have time to,"
"Stop! Stop! Please no," I shouted one evening, andThomas threw the curtain back and looked at me in alarm.
"What's wrong, are you okay?" he asked, his chair falling over as he stood up.
"I, uh, yeah sorry. I must have dozed off and had a nightmare."
He snorted and gave me a cuddle, going back to work as I turned up the volume and tried to ignore that horrible voice he used.
We went to bed not long after, his audio finished for the evening, but when I woke up sometime later, I saw a light out of the corner of my eye. There was a ghostly glow from behind the curtain and the edges billowed slightly in the breeze from the AC. He had left it set up, the curtain usually covering his workspace, and the chair was lit in the backdrop of his computer screen. I could swear there was something more behind that curtain, but I didn't have my glasses on and couldn't see it clearly. As I watched, the chair seemed to glide as it swiveled around. The curtain rustled ever so slightly at the bottom, and behind that gauzy barrier, I could see someone hunched in the chair. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel his eyes on me. They saw me seeing them, and when he smiled, it was like bugs on my skin.
"Hello, poppet. Fancy a stroll by the old canal?"
I felt my breath hitch, my throat cramping as the terror spread through me.
It was him, it was Tommy Terrifyer.
It was him, and he was just beyond the curtain.
When he stood up suddenly, his height imposing despite his obvious age, my throat opened up and the scream I loosed sounded like a tornado siren. My husband came awake violently, reaching for the bat he kept beside the bed. He believed that there was an intruder, that something had woken me up and scared the hell out of me. He was out of bed and looking for the source of my fear, and when I pointed to the curtain, he seemed confused.
He pushed the curtain aside with the bat and revealed nothing but the chair and the glowing screen of the monitor.
I tried to explain to him what I had seen, but he just kissed my forehead and told me I must have been dreaming.
I didn't sleep the rest of that night.
I found myself watching the curtain, waiting for the creature to return, praying it wouldn't get me if it did.
As the sun came up I finally slipped off, waking up a little later when the smell of lunch being cooked hit my nose.
The bed was empty, except for me, and Thomas had packed up his green screen after last night's scare. I could hear him in the kitchen, whistling as he cooked something on the stove, and I crawled out of bed as I reached for my robe. It was Sunday and our son was likely out at someone's house which would leave the two of us with the day to ourselves. I would have plenty of chances to rest, the night before already just a hazy memory, and as I crept up the hall, I tried to cover my mouth as I got ready to scare him.
My husband, for writing such scary stuff, is kind of easy to startle. He puts on a spooky deep voice for his videos, but he's a big ole scaredy cat in reality. My favorite thing to do is to startle him, something I probably do too often, but as I came into the kitchen, he must have heard me.
He never looked up from what he was cooking, but I heard a terrifyingly familiar voice just before I reached out to grab him.
"Careful now, Poppet. You wouldn't want to startle me at my work."
I don't know if I slipped when my foot came down, but when I hit the floor I was already back peddling. I was scooting away, my fear returning, and when he turned to look at me, I could swear his face had changed. Gone was the beard and the glasses I had grown accustomed to, the thin lips and green eyes I loved. His face was pale and clean-shaven, the skin pockmarked and cratered. His teeth grinned sharklike from his mouth, thin and needlelike, and I screamed and covered my face as he took a step towards me.
I flinched and struck out with my fists as it touched my arms, and when I saw that Thomas was looking down at me with concern I felt confused.
When I saw the trickle of blood coming from his nose the confusion turned to shame.
"Jesus, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd react that badly. I didn't mean to scare you. I heard you creeping up on me and thought I'd startle you a little."
He apologized as he helped me up, but that was only the beginning.
I didn't sit in the bedroom while he recorded anymore, but that wasn't the last time I heard the voice of Tommy Terrifyer. I heard it wafting from under the door, inserting itself into my ears as I tried to block it out on the couch in the living room. More terrifying still, in my husband's voice as he went about his day-to-day. It was little things at first. Tommy Terrifyer had a noticeable British accent, and I began to notice the way my husband said certain words. He never noticed, but there was an inflection on certain words sometimes that made my skin crawl. When I mentioned it to him he just looked at me strangely and said it must be something he wasn't aware of. Our son, Nathaniel, didn't seem to be able to hear it either, though. When I mentioned it to him, often right after it had happened, he would shrug and say that he couldn't hear it. No one but me seemed to be able to hear the odd inflections he put on, and I began to feel like they were messing with me.
The other thing was that he started calling me Poppet. At first, I thought it was something he was doing on purpose, but when he kept looking at me strangely anytime I brought it up, I began to doubt. It was like he didn't realize he was saying it, and my upset confused him. We were having problems at this point, fighting over my perceived treatment, and his lack of understanding honestly made it worse.
The straw that broke the camel's back, however, was the sleep-talking.
Thomas had never talked in his sleep, he barely even snored, but suddenly he was talking in his sleep almost every night. Well, it wasn't really him talking. Tommy Terrifier was talking to someone as Thomas lay sleeping beside me. He always just called them Poppet, the name Tommy gave to the kids in the stories before he killed them, but it was also the name he had been calling me for weeks now. As I lay there listening to him talk about all the grizzly things he meant to do, I realized he might have been talking to me instead of some random child he was dreaming about. Sometimes he would turn his head and look in my direction, and I could feel his eyes behind his lids looking at me. I wanted to wake him up, but by now I realized it wouldn't do any good. He would just think I was having mental problems or something and the fights would continue.
I moved to the couch that night, and when he found me there in the morning, I told him I was having bad dreams and didn't want to wake him up.
Not long after, he told me about a new angle for the show.
"The fans have really been liking the series, especially Tommy Terrifier. I'm thinking of changing the show up so Tommy reads stories sometimes. It might get more audience interaction, kinda shake up my listeners a little."
I tried to be supportive of this, but I was not pleased to hear that Tommy would be making more appearances in his makeshift booth.
After that, every third or fourth story was narrated by Tommy Terrifier.
Then it was every other.
As the voice became a regular part of his show, the night talking got worse. He would say the most depraved things, things I couldn't believe my normally sweet husband would say. He would talk for hours about skinning people alive or pulling out their teeth, and I would lie there in terror as it all just played out around me. I had taken to using sleep meds so I could get to sleep before him, but sometimes that voice would follow me into my dreams, and I would spend my nights in a state of constant terror. Sometimes I couldn't get to sleep before him, but even from the couch, his dark words seemed to find me. I came to realize that this wasn't something he could help, and bringing it up did nothing to curb it.
He was so excited about his channel that I hated to put a damper on his enthusiasm by telling him how it was affecting me. Engagement was way up, he would say. He had more subscribers than ever, he would say. People were commenting how much they loved Tommy Terrifier, he would say. Revenue was up and maybe he could take a break from work and really work on his stories, he would say. On and on and on about how much people liked this terrifying voice of his, and I would nod and agree and tell him how great it was.
Meanwhile, I was a nervous wreck in my own home, waiting for my next encounter with Tommy.
Before long, the show became Tommy Terrifier's Terrifying Tales, and Tommy began to make an appearance in every episode.
That was when I began to notice a physical change in Thomas.
He was spending more and more time in our bedroom, the door closed and that terrible voice creeping from beneath it. It isn't just me hearing it now. Nathan has begun avoiding the back of the house, spending more time in the living room than usual when he has to be home. I asked him why, but he won't tell me. He says he hasn't been sleeping well lately, and I can relate. He's been sleeping on the couch with me lately, and we both shudder when the voice of Tommy Terrifier slips down the hall.
That was a week ago, and now the only time he leaves the house is for evening runs. He says it's when he does his best writing, but I've come to doubt his words. He always comes back sweaty and disheveled, and his stories have taken on a very dark cast. They have become less horror and more horrific. The mutilation and violence have reached a new level and all of it is delivered by Tommy Terrifier. He doesn't even sound like himself when the mic is off now. His normal voice has begun to appear less and less, and I'm afraid that one day that pale creature will come out of our bedroom instead.
It's getting late now, and though he hasn't come back, the police have come asking questions.
They questioned everyone in the neighborhood at the start of the violence, but they had some very probing questions about my husband tonight. Where does he run? When does he run? Had I noticed any strange behavior? Did I notice a change in his personality? Apparently, some of the "stories" he's been writing lately have been a little too similar to the murders in the park and the police want to bring him in as a person of interest.
I told them he was out running and that they could find him in the park.
After they left I put the chain on and waited for him to come back.
He hasn't returned, but I woke up to hear a familiar voice coming from the bedroom.
It seems there's a new story to be told tonight, and the sounds of Tommy Terrifier sound almost gleeful.
I don't know what to do, I'm not even sure how he got back inside.
I want to leave, but I'm frozen in fear as I sit on the couch with my son.
I don't know if I'm more afraid the voice will continue or if it will stop.
If it stops, I'm not sure if I might not become just another one of those tales he reads for his audience every night. |
I see their faces when I go to bed at night. Old, young, desperate. I see the queue of them standing outside my place of work, the Grantham Women’s Health Centre, a brutalist building on the wrong side of Glasgow. In my memory they almost look like figures in a Munch painting; tall, drawn in, grey. I see their eyes when I close mine. I hear their voices, their desperates pleas. This can’t be happening, they’d say, and I’d laugh it off in the staff room with the nurses and the receptionists. *That’s what they all say. I knew better than them.* I had letters after my name and they had needle marks up their arms.
The first girl was young. Eighteen or so. I can’t tell you her real name, so let’s call her Kourtney. She stunk of tobacco and her clothes looked unwashed. There were bags under her eyes and scars from a bad bout of acne. She lay in the bed staring up at the ceiling light. There were no tears as I gave her my conclusion, just quiet determination.
“I can’t be.” She said, resolute. “You don’t understand… I can’t be pregnant.”
I rolled my eyes as I swivelled around to type my report. I could see the track marks on her arms, small half-healed dots and dark yellowing bruises.
“The tests are quite clear. You have options and I can provide you support regardless of what you choose. You are quite early. Termination is an option and at this stage would simply be a few pills. There is also the option to keep the pregnancy and from there you have other choices too, becoming a mother or seeking adoption.” I told her. “Whatever is best for you-”
“You don’t understand. I’m a virgin.” She stood to her feet. “The tests are wrong.”
“I can only tell you what I know to be true. All tests show that you are pregnant. The HCG, the ultrasound, I can see the embryo.” I said as gently as I could muster. She looked as if I were the class clown. “Is it possible that anything happened when you were unaware? Perhaps… intoxicated?”
Her face went red and she stormed out of my room. I did not ponder then, the indignity I had done to her. She came in next week for her termination. Drug addicts were humans too. It’s easy to forget when you sit on a little perch high above them. I found it all too easy to feel superior. If I had looked at them… *truly looked at them,* I might have seen my own reflection in their faces. *We all have our addictions.*
The second girl was older. Let’s call her Kim. She was a regular at the clinic. I had treated her for herpes, gonorrhoea and a rather severe case of genital warts. I had a suspicion that she was a skin peddler. When her hcg test came up positive I was not at all surprised, yet Kim was. Her face scrunched up, as if she were a slug and I’d poured salt all over her.
“I ain’t. You’ve got my test mixed up with someone else's. I can’t have babies.” She said with a casual tone. Her dyed black hair was tied up into a perfect little bun and it struck me, in the cold blue medical light, that she was rather pretty. “Been trying with my man for ten years. He shoots duds. I can’t be pregnant.”
“Perhaps it may have been someone doing the…. Uh… shooting then.” I said and her face went red and she stormed out of my office too.
Kim decided to keep hers. She came back every other month to see the midwives, her belly a little fuller each visit. She didn’t come with her man. I wondered if he’d done a runner because of her apparent infidelity.
The third woman was when I started to think something was amiss. Let’s call her Kris. She was fifty-two and a primigravida. She was already showing when she came into my office and was rather insistent that she had a tumour, not a baby. Her skin was marred with wrinkles and lines and she was determined that she was going through her menopause.
“I can do an ultrasound, just to settle this if it would reassure you?” I said to her, I had one of the ultrasound girls come in.
The room was silent as she scanned. She found the baby with no effort. It was approximately thirty-three weeks in gestation. Kris gazed at it with narrowed, bewildered eyes.
“I’m a widower.” She said, taking a long drink of uncomfortable air. She ran a hand up her arm. She didn’t look like a drug addict, yet I could see them, small little track marks, all that unified these poor, desperate women.
*Then it happened.* The image on the screen shifted, the swirling mass of black and grey, contorted and for the smallest of moments that baby did not look like a baby at all, but something else. It’s arms were long and coiled, like tentacles on an octopus. The eyes… black hollow pits two times as large as they ought to have been. The ultrasound tech jerked and I recoiled. The woman looked terrified.
*An illusion, an odd assemblage of shadow and light. It was easy to dismiss when it was a picture on a screen.*
Kylie was next. She was somewhat of a well-known face around the clinic. She would come in twice a year for an abortion. She’d fill her bag with condoms, yet they never seemed to work. Perhaps her husband didn’t like wearing them, so many men claim the same. She wasn’t at all surprised to be pregnant. She was three months along and asked for an abortion. She was too far along for the pills so she lay back on the bed as I prepared to begin her termination.
It went swimmingly. The foetus looked a little strange, larger than it ought to have been and mottled grey in colour. At this point they aren’t really babies, that it looked so inhuman, was not at all surprising. The octopus-like suckers on it’s frail, silvery flesh, was utterly unnerving however. I felt the hairs on my arm stand alert. I did not let Kylie sense my unease. I slipped it into the medical waste bin and shivered when I heard it writhe around against the clear plastic bin-liner.
*Something was wrong.*
I sent her home and kept it to myself. I had nightmares. Every woman that came through my door, every termination I conducted, I was terrified of finding the same, slippery mass of inhuman flesh. More girls came. One as young as fourteen. I’m not pregnant they’d insist, with their track-marks and their pupils that filled their irises. I’m a virgin, my husband’s infertile, I use condoms, I have the coil… their excuses were endless, and utterly unbelievable.
“There’s something wrong with Kim’s ultrasound Doctor.” The new radiographer said to me in the hallway. She was green and looked utterly terrified. No doubt she was scanning an ovary or a bladder and not the poor woman’s womb.
Kim was laid back on the bed, looking rather uncomfortable. She did not look at all happy to see me, yet she kept her tongue from wagging. I headed over to the ultrasound machine and slowly began to scan her. My heart stopped.
*It wasn’t right.*
Tentacles. Wriggling snakes all coiling around eachother. A giant mass of blubbering flesh. I squinted my eyes and tried to find a baby in the shadows but could not see it. This wasn’t… this couldn’t be. I thought of Kylie and the odd assemblage of particles that had come from her womb… that twisted rotted thing, grey and covered with suckers.
“We… need…. We… need.” I spluttered out, considering for the first time in my professional career admitting defeat. “A second opinion.”
Kim looked terrified and I put a comforting hand on her arms as she rubbed at her bulbuous belly. I found Dr Wright in the staff room and pulled him in. His eyes widened like saucers. A third opinion, he said, and so we found Dr Auld, who did not condemn us to a cycle of shocked and confused doctors.
“We need to call the centre for disease control.” He said. Dr Auld was older than the building and he looked grey with fright. We called them and they agreed to come, we kept Kim in until they arrived. There were men in hazmat suits and men in black suits and bright red tape was pulled across the entryway. They whisked her away on a trolley and into a black van with blue lights.
One of the men in black hijacked a computer from the receptionist, whilst another gathered all the doctors including myself into a room. We were awe-struck, confused, and when a sharp-looking man in a grey tweed suit came in with a stethoscope around his neck we were reassured to see another doctor.
“I’m Professor Sharpe. How many women have presented like this?” He asked, his hand outstretched to meet us.
“Like what?” Dr Wright said, his jaw scraping the floor.
“Pregnant despite proclaiming it impossible, ultrasounds similar to Kim’s, ill-shaped foetus’ and embryos?” He said with his notebook and pen.
“A great many women around here proclaim it impossible for them to be pregnant.” I said with my arms crossed, still refusing to believe what I had seen. I cleaved to the possibility that it could all be reasoned away with science and hard-fought hypotheses' “We have a lot of… drug-users in our practice.”
“Yes. Track marks up their arms. You assumed it was drugs, you did not care to ask them if they partook, you doubted them, judged their clothes, their class, made your assumptions.” Dr Sharpe said. “They came here for compassion, but found none. They found judgement, doubt, they were not believed. We ran a toxicology test on Kim, it might interest you. Clear. She’s not a drug user. There is something far worse haunting these women, It’s happening in small pockets all over the country. Grantham is only the most recent. You will see more like her and you will send them to me. Their irises will be large, there will be track-marks on their arms and they will be pregnant, often beyond reason. I’ve had eighty-year olds.”
“That’s impossible.” Dr Auld let out a breath.
“What exists beyond the limits of our understanding is not impossible, just unknown.” Dr Sharpe said. “The building blocks of life are innumerable and unknowable, there is more to this universe than we, more to life than what is taught in your books and crowded lecture theatres. There is life, bubbling under the surface of reason, glinting out from beneath the stars.”
Shaking their heads, Dr Sharpe and Dr Wright left. Professor Sharpe walked toward me before I could leave and his hand wrapped around my wrist. My eyes flitted shut and open and for the briefest of moments the hardened flesh of his hand was slimy and grey, and little suckers stuck fast to my sweaty skin leaving little dots on my flesh as something sharp pierced me. Track marks. He smiled at me, his irises black and his teeth, parted to smile, yellowed grey. Terror set in my heart and I felt goose pimples spread across me like a rash.
“It’ll be alright. We are everywhere all at once, we wear your faces and sing your songs.” He said. “*It’s only nature*.” |
The comments on my previous post confirmed my suspicions, which terrified me. Vampires? I’d considered it, but it was impossible. They didn’t exist. They *couldn’t* exist. But … that was the only explanation. I could barely sleep, but one awesome commentor helped me relax with some techniques. I couldn't change what happened, so I should ground myself and be calm and hope for the best. Then I can focus on my task so I could finally go home.
But once I was asleep, all bets were off as nightmares ruled, leaving me helpless as Mika, Cassiopeia, and Desmod leaned over me, fangs gleaming.
A voice called my name, startling me awake, and I jerked upright on the bed, the covers clutched tight as my heart rioted.
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you!” Desmod said, leaning back. “How are you feeling?”
“Stay away from me!” I yelled, scooting away until my back hit the wall.
He tilted his head in confusion. “Are you okay?”
“You’re vampires!”
“So?”
I blinked in shock, not expecting that response. “You admit it?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, it was only a matter of time before you figured it out. Especially after what happened yesterday.”
I gulped, my tense breaths rapid. “Are y-you going to drink my blood?”
He wrinkled his nose. “No. Human blood isn’t really that good. We’ve got a much better variety here in our sphere. Soib blood is the best. They're like … bears, I guess. But with scales instead of fur. I guess they qualify as reptiles, but I'm no biologist.”
I ignored his attempt at diverting the topic as I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “So you don’t go to our sphere to feast on humans?”
“No. I mean, personally, I don’t go there at all, I’m not old enough. But those of us that are only go there to recruit.”
“Recruit?”
“Yeah, to turn humans, because we can’t make babies. The only way to get more vampires is to convince humans to join us. Quite a few of us also take jobs in the human police force, gives us more power to persuade.”
“Persuade? You mean like what Cassiopeia does?”
“Not really, only a few vampires have that ability. The rest of us have to use charm and charisma. No force though, we don't want resentful recruits!" He looked at his hands. "I wonder sometimes if I'll develop that persuasive gift when I'm old enough, though I don't think I'll be comfortable using it."
“How old *are* you?”
“Hmm, Let's see." He looked up in thought. "Mika recruited me almost two years ago, when I was sixteen. So, I’ve existed for almost eighteen years, am stuck at sixteen years, but am almost two in vampire years.”
I struggled to take in all this baffling information. “But … isn’t Mika your adoptive dad?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s kind of how it works. The one who turns you becomes your parent. I’m Mika’s only ‘kid’ and he never wants to do it ever again. Mika has a lot of ‘sisters’ and ‘brothers’ though, since Cassiopeia has recruited thousands.”
“How … how do you turn someone?”
“A bite. We don’t suck, though, we inject our DNA.”
I held the covers tighter. “Am I g-going to be turned?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to be?”
I shook my head rapidly, my eyes wide.
He smiled. “Then no. You have a choice, we’re not monsters.”
“That’s not what I saw yesterday.”
His smile vanished. “What, the battle against the Reddige Pack? They’re the most vicious werewolf pack ever! What did you expect?”
I stared at him in shock. "Werewolves?"
"Yup."
"They exist?"
"They do. So do merfolk, sirens, and goblins. There used to be fairies too, but they're extinct now. Wiped out by the werewolves around fifty years ago."
My eyes grew twice their size. “Those are all real?”
He smiled. “Yup!"
"What about witches? Or … or centaurs? Or dragons?"
"Dragons are real, we have many. But they aren't as big as the movies and books make them seem. Centaurs aren't real, and witches are human."
I did a double take. "What?"
He chuckled. "I'm talking real witches, not flying broomstick ones. Witches are human born with the ability to read mother nature and make the most of her resources."
My mouth hung open as I took in all of these unexpected revelations.
"They're amazing at potions and stuff," Desmod continued. "I heard we used to deal with them back then, before the war."
“Why *is* there a war?”
"Okay, so …" He lifted a hip to sit on the desk. “I’m not super into the politics of it all, but I know that before fifty years ago, everyone lived in peace on Zevea until—”
“Zevea?” I asked in confusion.
“Our sphere.”
“So, like our sphere being called Earth?”
He tilted his head left and right a few times, squinting in thought. “Hmmm, no, not exactly. Technically, we’re on Earth too. But we named our sphere because we’re aware of it. We named yours too. It’s called Kabic.”
I grimaced. “Kabic?”
He chuckled and held his hands up. “Hey, I didn’t name it. I honestly don’t know who did. So, as I was saying, everyone lived in peace on Zevea until the folk leaders met up and decided to only allow vampires to cross over to Kabic, so they can recruit to maintain their population if one of them decided to pack it in and pass on.”
“Wait, you guys can do that?” I asked in surprise. "Aren't you immortal?"
He shrugged. “I mean, yeah, we don't age or die naturally, but we can be killed. Once we're sick of existing, we just ask someone to stake us, cut our head off, or burn us.”
I winced. “Oh, right, yeah. Sunlight, silver, garl— … no, wait.” I frowned. “You guys didn’t mind the sun yesterday.”
He let out an airy chuckle. “Yeah, you can thank Cassiopeia's grandfather for those vampire stereotypes. If you'd have called *him* a monster, he'd have been thrilled. He's the reason that sphere-crossing rule was made."
I gulped. "What … what did he do?"
"He loved scaring the shit out of humans and drinking their blood. Sometimes he even befriended them before betraying them. He hated the taste but loved the fear and the stories they'd make warning others about him. He hunted at night because it was easier to scare them. We see perfectly in the dark, humans can't.
"He terrorized humans for centuries and the stories about him got passed down through generations, and they ended up exaggerating his eccentricities like finding silver tacky, garlic gross-smelling, and church bells annoying." He paused in thought. "He *was* staked in the heart by a mob and then burned seventy-five years ago, so, hey, humans got some things right! His death brought his atrocities to Zevea's attention and the leaders decided to make Kabic accessible by appointment only."
"But how? How can they control it?"
"With a hsysh made with fairywork."
"What?"
"Fairywork can only be done by fairies, it's very delicate and technical and magical. At that meeting, one of the fairy leaders offered to build a hsysh that can allow them to close and open the barrier between spheres. The leaders agreed, and soon vampires had to go through them to get approved to cross.
"The vampires hated that extra step, but they understood it. On the other hand, the werewolves hated how vampires were the only ones allowed to cross, so they started complaining that there was too much inbreeding in their packs and they needed fresh blood to remain powerful.
“All the folk leaders got together and agreed to let them cross to recruit too, which would have been okay except that the Reddige Pack went overboard and recruited too many. Other packs started doing the same, and the vampires sensed something was up so they started recruiting a lot too. Now the other folk began getting nervous because there was obviously some sort of battle for dominance over Zevea.
“The leaders tried to set new rules, but the werewolves took over the meeting, killed them all, destroyed the hsysh, and declared war on anyone who dared stop their rise to power. The vampires challenged them, the merfolk challenged them both, the other folk picked sides, and the rest is history.”
“What side did the others pick?” I asked with nervous enthrallment.
“The goblins and fairies joined us, the sirens joined the werewolves, and the merfolk were on their own." He let out a sullen sigh. "Vampires didn't get much time with the fairies, though. The werewolves teamed up and massacred them all within a few days. All because the fairies refused to build a hsysh for them, so the they wiped them out so they wouldn't build it for anyone."
"Oh no," I whispered, covering my mouth as sorrow weighed my heart. "That's horrible. Why did they destroy the first hsysh if they wanted one so bad?"
"I don't know, but I've heard that they saw it a symbol of oppression before they realized *they* could be the oppressors. Although I'm sad fairies are extinct, I respect them for refusing to build it. Or else this war would have ended quickly and we'd all be buried in the werewolves' trophy sites.”
What *are* trophy sites?”
“It’s a bit barbaric, but it’s how war is done here. Each faction has a trophy site where we display the enemies we kill. The werewolves bury theirs and stick a spike through them to mark them, we bury ours each beneath a red wyso stone, the merfolk tether theirs to the ocean floor and tie an air-filled bladder to them so it floats on the water surface, and so on. It’s like a warning, sort of. Our site is pretty big, but the Reddige Pack’s is the biggest. They’re heartless. I’m just glad we didn’t end up buried there yesterday.”
I shuddered, hugging myself. “Me too.”
"Today should be better, we’ll be going into merfolk territory. The trophy site of the Buslle Pod. I hope you don’t get seasick!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a protein bar. “But first, you need to eat. I got you another bar since you didn’t seem to like eggs.
“Where’s this site?” I asked, not reaching for the bar. “Antarctica?”
He chuckled. “No, this one thankfully overlaps the Pacific Ocean. So we can look for Cassiopeia’s brother on your sphere.”
My tension decreased slightly. “Oh, that’s one good thing, at least. I wasn’t looking forward to getting ambushed again.”
He winced. “Me neither. Werewolves are pure rage, but merfolk are clever as well as strong. I actually wish I knew them before the war started, they seem pretty cool. I’m even learning mertongue.” He waved the protein bar in front of me. “You don’t want this?”
I hesitated before I took it from him. “You’re learning what?”
“Mertongue. Their language. They all speak it, but with varying dialects. It’s pretty hard to speak, but I understand it okay. Saying hello/goodbye is the easiest. Just pretend you're a snake clearing its throat. Hsssegh!”
I twisted my mouth in disgust. “That … sounds gross. Do each of you have your own language? Was Mika speaking to you in vamptongue yesterday?”
He laughed. “We don’t call it that, but yes. One of them. Vampires have a few different languages. The werewolves and us speak a lot of human languages too, because of how often we recruit. The sirens also speak a few human languages after they began crossing over with the werewolves. They love messing around with sailors.”
“I’ve heard of them, they have hypnotic singing that makes sailors crash or jump. But … wait." I furrowed my brow in confusion. "How are they different from merfolk?”
“I don’t know how humans messed this up, but sirens are a mash between a lady and a bird, not a fish."
We both turned to the door when Mika showed up. “Good afternoon. Are we ready?”
I blinked in shock. “Afternoon?”
“Yes. Are you ready?”
They both looked at me, and I looked down in anxious resignation. “Do I have a choice?”
“No. Desmod, leave her so she can get dressed. We leave in ten minutes.”
Desmod nodded at me with a smile and walked out, and I sighed when the door clicked shut. I didn’t want to do this, but I was compelled to. That stupid promise Cassiopeia made me give. I got dressed, finished my protein bar, and sat on the bed, pressing on my knuckles as I waited for Desmod to return.
“Ready?” he asked after knocking.
“Yeah,” I called out as I stood up.
He unlocked the door and gestured outside. “After you!”
Sighing, I didn’t resist as my body stepped out and walked beside him as we made our way to the garage.
“Yesterday, when you touched me, you … what did you do?” I asked, turning to him. “Did you make me sleep? Or make time speed up?”
“We can make humans sort of enter a trance. Makes them easier to transport through places we don’t want them to see, or if we’re talking about stuff we don’t want them to hear. I mean, it’s better than using sedatives, isn’t it?”
I cringed in discomfort. “So, I’m just staring into space while you guys carry me around and stuff?”
“Um, well, sort of,” he said awkwardly. “In the car, you just sat there, but when I brought you back here, I had to carry you, yeah.”
“I don’t like that,” I said, frowning at him as I crossed my arms. “I didn’t consent.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But we have to do it. There’s stuff you shouldn’t know about.” He cleared his throat. “Do you give me permission to do that to you today? I promise I don’t do anything weird or disrespectful. We’re not like that.”
I shot him an incredulous glare. “Not like that? Your dad and his thugs kidnapped me, tied me up, and interrogated me!”
He winced. “I know, but in Mika’s defense, he didn’t know who you were. He thought you were in cahoots with the packs or something. Like I said, this is war. But I promise they didn’t do anything to you when you were out. We don’t abuse for fun or out of anger.”
I didn’t drop my frown. “If there’s no other option, fine. But if there’s no reason to do it, I don’t want you to do it.”
“Of course!”
We entered the garage, and I noticed Mika and his team were in regular outfits today, no bulky armor or helmets in sight. I eyed the trunk of the car and wondered if there were weapons in there, just in case.
We entered, with me sandwiched between Desmod and Hawk again. I couldn’t believe I was voluntarily sitting in a car with vampires. Well, not *voluntarily*, thanks to Cassiopeia. Desmod held out his hand, and I sighed as I put mine in it. A blink later, we were at a pier, and Desmod smiled as he opened the door and nodded for me to exit.
Shaking off my lingering tension, I stepped out into the salty, humid night, and I stared in surprise at the black yacht bobbing a few feet away. Mika was already on board, and I winced as Callan grabbed my arm and dragged me up the ramp.
“Hey, she’s cooperating!” Desmod said, running after us.
“We don’t have time,” Mika said.
“There’s no war here! We can take all the time in the world!”
“You may not have serious responsibilities, but I do.”
Desmod scowled but didn’t reply as we boarded the yacht. I sat on one of the cushioned benches on the deck, and a few minutes later, we were off. I didn’t say anything as I watched the shore fade into the distance, the glowmains of dead sea life bobbing on the surface of the inky ocean.
“Where are we, exactly?” I asked, turning to Desmod sitting across from me.
“The Pacific Ocean,” he replied.
“I know, but where?” I pointed. “That there, where we parked. What country is it?”
“Fiji.”
“Fiji?”
He nodded. “Have you ever been?”
“No.”
“One of our newest recruits is from there. She says it’s gorgeous.”
Mika walked over, and he said something to Desmod in their language. Desmod sighed and leaned forward, holding his hand out to me, and I blinked in surprise before I turned and frowned at Mika.
“Seriously? I don’t want to be in a trance right now!”
“We have business to discuss,” Mika said.
“Why can't you leave me up here and go discuss it inside? It's not like I’m going to escape by jumping into freezing water in the middle of the night and swimming a billion miles to shore.”
Desmod chuckled, but Mika didn’t as he said, “If you don’t want Desmod to do it, I can get Callan up here.”
Now I was the one scowling at Mika as I took Desmod’s hand. A blink later, I was in the same place, but now Desmod was sitting beside me and Mika across from me.
“Do you see any glows?” Mika asked.
I turned to face the water, and I squinted as I tried to differentiate between the plethora of floating glowmains.
“I see so many. A lot of fish and stuff, but I can’t make out anything human-shaped. Is this the right location?”
“Yes. It seems they've tethered the bodies at such a depth, you may not be able to pick up their glows.”
“If you knew that, why’d you drag me here?”
Mika nodded to the left, and my mouth fell open as his goons brought over scuba diving gear.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I asked, turning to Mika in disbelief. “I only see glowmains in *air*! Even if I dove down there, it’d be useless!”
“That is why we have this.” Mika nodded at Callan, who held up a hose connected to a tank. “You'll take it with you and spray bubbles over the area as you swim. The glows should appear in the air inside.”
I blinked at him, then I turned to Desmod, hoping one of them would tell me this was all a joke. Mika remained stone-faced, and Desmod shrugged and gave me an apologetic smile.
“Do you realize how long that'll take?” I asked.
“We have ten hours allotted to the search,” Mika replied.
“Ten hours!” I exclaimed. “You seriously want me down there for ten hours spraying bubbles around and attracting sharks and who knows what else? I’m not doing it … alone.”
I grimaced. Damn promise!
“You won’t be alone,” Mika said. “My team will accompany you and protect you.”
“No, I meant this is a crazy idea! There has to be another way! Why can't we use your car? It's a sub, isn't it? Attach the bubble hose to it and I'll look out the window and let you know what I see."
"That's … actually a good idea," Desmod said, turning to Mika. "Why didn't we think of that?"
“Because it—”
Mika didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before an enormous wave crashed down on us. I gasped as the cold water clung to my skin, squeezing not only my lungs but my body as I fell on my back. I shook my head, taking a deep, shuddering breath once I could, and my heart dropped when I realized that wasn’t water squeezing me.
It was tentacles.
I began hyperventilating as I looked up. A creature was standing beside me, face like an angler fish, spiny arms holding a trident, and six tentacles where its legs should be, four of which were wrapped around me. My wide eyes scanned the rest of the yacht, and my heart dropped even further when I saw Mika, Desmod, and every thug held prisoner by their own tentacled creature. Were these the merfolk?
Mika yelled something out in a garbled hiss, and the creature holding him forced him into a kneeling position, pinning his arms back. Mika’s goons struggled and yelled in their language, but Mika didn’t even flinch as he held his head up, his expression stern and devoid of fear. How was he not terrified?
A creature approached him, this one not burdened by a prisoner as it rolled upright on its tentacles, and Mika looked into its round blue eyes and spoke in more garbled hissing.
“H-He’s saying we aren’t armed,” Desmod said in a shaky whisper.
I turned to Desmod bound beside me, distress and awe clashing behind his wide eyes.
The creature spoke, and Desmod translated. “Sh-She’s asking why we’re here.”
Mika replied, and Desmod said, “He’s asking the s-same thing.”
The creature holding me now spoke, and I blanched when the interrogator turned to me.
“Wh-what now?” I whispered to Desmod.
“Th-They know you’re human,” he said, his distress growing as his voice cracked.
The interrogator approached me, and I gulped as I looked into her piercing blue eyes. I’d always hated how angler fish looked, with their large jaws, long, translucent teeth, and strange glowing protrusions, and now a large, spiny one with a torso, arms, and tentacles was staring me down with its emotionless expression.
“You are human,” she hissed.
Fear paralyzed my tongue, my heart rattling between my ribs.
“Do you know you are in the company of vampires?” she asked.
All I could do was nod.
She pointed her trident at me. “So you are a recruit.”
I shook my head in a panic, the tip of the trident inches from my rabid heart, and Mika and Desmod both yelled out something in a garbled hiss. The interrogator paused, ignoring Mika as she turned to Desmod and hissed back. Desmod replied, and I let out a quivering breath when she withdrew her trident and turned back to Mika.
“Th-Thank you,” I whispered to Desmod once I found my voice.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied, watching them talk with anxious eyes.
“Wh-what are they saying now?”
Desmod hesitated before he said, “Sh-She asked Mika if what I said was true, Mika said yes, and … um, she said my mertongue needed work.”
“Wh-What did you tell them?”
“That you can see the dead glow.”
“What!”
The interrogator turned back to me. “Why are you here?”
I looked at Mika in alarm, not sure what to answer, and he calmly nodded. Taking that as a sign to tell the truth, I took a deep breath and replied.
“I … I’m helping them find Cassiopeia’s brother, Perseus.”
“How?”
“I c-can see the hovering, glowing shadows of the dead. Even across spheres.”
“How?”
“I … I don’t know. I w-was born that way.”
“Why are you helping them?”
“Cassiopeia … sh-she wants to give her only brother a proper burial back home.”
I flinched as all the creatures began making popping sounds in their throats.
“Why are *you* helping them?” the interrogator asked.
“Oh. Um, I … I promised.”
The creature turned back to Mika, and I screamed when she whipped the trident towards him.
“No, stop!” I cried, drowned out by the yells of Desmod and Mika’s team.
Mika didn’t flinch, the trident pressed against his chest, but he was looking at me in surprise. So was the interrogator. At least, it seemed like surprise. The merfolks' faces were disconcertingly ridgid.
“No?” she asked.
“He … he saved my life,” I said, feeling uncomfortable as everyone stared at me.
“Because you are needed. He won’t do the same once you’ve depleted your usefulness.”
“I know, I’m not stupid. B-But a life for a life. We’re even.”
“I kill him now, you will be free of your promise.”
“H-He didn’t make me promise, Cassiopeia did. She just w-wants her brother. If you have his body, can … can you please give him to us?”
Those unblinking blue eyes bore straight through me, and I couldn’t help but look away, second guessing every decision I’d made. I only looked back when I heard garbled hissing, the creature and Mika talking once again.
“She’s s-saying you’re a strange human,” Desmod translated. “Mika is asking why they attacked … She’s saying the w-werewolves knew they’d been occupying human waters and have been dumping poison into the oceans … Mika is saying they're both in the wrong since Kabic is for recruitment, not war.”
The creatures made those strange popping sounds again.
“Um, they’re laughing,” Desmod said, uneasy. “That’s not a good sign. Now sh-she’s saying the werewolves have already occupied many human areas and we should do the same if w-we want any chance at winning the war … Mika is thanking her for her advice … and they’re l-laughing again … and now she—”
Desmod gasped, and so did I as the interrogator thudded her trident against the deck and the others released us. I scrambled up to my feet, adjusting my shirt while Desmod slid in front of me, his arms wide in a protective stance. Mika stood up and straightened his suit, his confident posture intimidating despite being dwarfed by the height of his interrogator.
“We don’t have Perseus,” the interrogator said in English, despite her facing Mika. “But we believe the sirens do. Search the trophy site of the Ca’ii Flock.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Mika asked.
“So you can let the poor human go home and live a few years in peace before our war bleeds into Kabic.”
All the creatures made popping sounds as they dove back into the ocean, and all my tension vanished as my legs buckled and I collapsed on deck, shivering. Desmod knelt beside me, his arms coming around for a hug, and I pushed him away, tears streaming down my face.
“Don’t touch me,” I whispered, hugging myself.
“Okay, sure, sorry,” Desmod said, backing away. “Hey, Callan! Get me a blanket!”
Callan threw one at us, and Desmod draped it around my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head, gripping the blanket tight as the creature’s words rattled in my mind. The prospect of a supernatural war on our sphere occupied my every thought …
… until Mika began stripping. I watched in baffled surprise as he took everything off except his underwear, threw his clothes overboard, and turned to his men.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, his stoic expression failing to hide the repulsion in his eyes. “Men, clean up.”
“For a germaphobe, he can sure keep it together long enough,” Desmod said, chuckling as he tried to lighten the mood.
“Will there really be a war here?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“We won’t let it happen.”
“You guys didn’t even know the merfolk and werewolves were here!”
“We did, and we’re here too. I told you many of us are in the police force. What better way to keep an eye on everything?”
“Oh, right …”
“Would you like something to eat?” he asked, handing me a protein bar.
“Do you just carry those around all the time?”
“No, only for you,” he said, smiling. “We don’t eat.”
“I don’t want that. I want …” My stomach growled. “I want a burger. With lettuce, onions, pickles, cheese, and mustard, no tomatoes, so Cassiopeia doesn’t make me eat something I hate. And waffle fries. And an orange soda.”
He chuckled. “That sounds good! We can get you that.” He sat back with a sigh. “Man, I miss the days when I could eat. It’s not the same now, I only have a taste for blood, everything else is gross.”
“Did Mika tell you about the war when he recruited you?”
“No, but even if he did, I’d have accepted."
"Why?"
"Because I was homeless and dying of pneumonia. He offered me a life full of excitement. And I don’t regret it.” His face lit up. “I can’t believe we just got to meet merfolk. And not any, but members of the Buslle Pod! Never thought I’d meet one and come out alive. I told you they’re not as brutal as the packs!”
“They’re still terrifying,” I said, shuddering.
“Yeah, they do look scary if you’re not used to them, but they’re level-headed, and very smart. If I wasn’t betting on us winning, I’d bet on them.”
“Did they say the truth? About where Cassiopeia’s brother is?”
“I hope so.” He frowned. “Unless they’re hoping we battle with the sirens and kill each other off. Sirens are nasty pieces of work, especially the Ca’ii Flock. We’ll have to find a way to check out their trophy site without getting hurt.”
“Can’t we do it from my sphere?”
“I think we can, Mika will know for sure.”
Speaking of the devil, Mika’s voice flowed from inside, and Desmod sighed and held out his hand. I rolled my eyes and took it, and a blink later, I was back in my room. I didn’t even resist when Cassiopeia eased my stress and minimized my trauma, and I ate my burger with famished eagerness before I showered and hopped into bed.
As before, reading my old posts brought back my emotions, and after I called my parents and friends, once again censored by a promise I was "convinced" to make, I typed everything out, the future’s vague fate roiling in my mind.
\-----
|
It was a little after 7 when I arrived back at my Palo Alto home. I had taken the reel of Ed’s death from the video store, hoping that by destroying it I would also destroy the skeleton. I placed it on top of some kindling in my fireplace and set the pile alight.
In the video, Ed’s cries had been replaced by classical music. However, as the Super 8 film burned, bloodcurdling screams filled my house. I was sure that one of my neighbors would call the cops, but no one did. Perhaps I was the only one who could hear Ed’s torturous cries.
As the last of the film burned, his screams were replaced by maniacal laughter—the laughter of the skeleton from *Desert War*. He was mocking me, for I had not defeated him. Perhaps he could not be killed, but I couldn't give up.
I had three leads to follow up on: the URL from the poster, Ed’s old address in Daly City, and the copy of his children’s book in the collections of the San José Museum of Art. I first checked out the URL: rehcamuhcsde.com. As I suspected, the domain had long since expired. However, I was able to find its archived contents on the Wayback Machine. The site had been saved on two dates: March 2, 2002—four days before Ed’s death—and April 1, 2002—three days before Jason disappeared.
The snapshot from April 1 was the site José had described visiting. Underneath an image of a skeleton in a sorcerer’s hat, the visitor was prompted to enter their email for a chance to win a copy of *Desert War*. That one page comprised the entire site.
The March snapshot took me to the typical late-90s/early-2000s homepage. On top of the page, a scrolling marquee read “Welcome to the enchanted world of Ed the Sorcerer.” Below it was an animated gif of a door opening and closing. Underneath the gif, bright red text warned: “Enter at your own peril!!!”
Undeterred, I clicked on the door. A photo of a smiling Ed sitting at a desk, wearing his green sorcerer’s hat, appeared. Below it was a hit counter (0007) and a link to sign the guestbook, which, unsurprisingly, was empty. To the left of Ed's photo was a panel with four hyperlinks: Bio, Pics, Contact, and Events. The first three links took me to pages empty save for yellow-and-black banners that read “Under Construction.” I was expecting the same for Events, however, after clicking it, I was informed that “The Famous Ed the Sorcerer will be speaking at the library of Palo Alto High School on Tuesday, March 5, 2002 at 3pm!!!”
The day before Ed killed himself, Ed spoke at the high school that Jason Statler had attended! I’d call the school tomorrow morning, hoping to get more info on what occurred during Ed’s talk. I’d also visit the art museum that held the copy of Ed’s children’s book when it opened at 11. But I was running out of time. Even though it was well past sunset, I decided to head to Ed’s old Daly City address, hoping I would find a clue to the location of his brother, Frank.
\*\*\*
It was a rundown 3-story building off of Hillside Blvd. The parking lot was empty; however, the exterior lights were on and a middle-aged man was pruning some rose bushes. *An odd time for landscaping work.*
“Excuse me,” I said to him. “I’m a journalist doing a story on Ed Schumacher. Did you know him by chance?”
He nodded. “I’m the super, been working here since ’96. I didn’t just know Ed; I found his body. Or his bones, I should say, that was all there was left of him.”
“Is it OK if I ask you some questions about him?”
“How about I show you his old apartment? This place is going to be demolished in a few weeks to make room for a new mid-rise, the whole building is empty.”
I couldn’t believe my luck. We ascended the stairs to unit 202. As we stepped through the door, the super flicked on the lights. We were in a small kitchenette. Its linoleum tile was yellowed and black mold was growing on the walls.
I followed the super as he made his way past the kitchen and through another door. I immediately recognized the room as the one from the video. The beige walls with flaking paint looked the same as they did over 20 years ago.
A large window overlooked the parking lot. Tacked up on either side of it were several unframed watercolors depicting Bay Area landmarks: the Golden Gate Bridge covered in fog, Hoover Tower at Stanford University, the Painted Ladies by Alamo Square Park, the Marin Headlands, the sea lions of Pier 39, and Chinatown's Dragon Gate. Sticking out amongst the paintings of iconic Bay Area sites was a watercolor of two blonde-haired kids standing underneath the Modesto Arch.
“Are these paintings by Ed?” I asked.
The super nodded. “Yep, after he died no one took them, so they just stayed on the walls. Pretty pieces.”
“Did Ed live alone?”
“He did. Don’t recall him ever having visitors except for one man who came around quite frequently in the days before his death. Think he was his brother, maybe even his twin, they looked nearly identical. Never talked to him.”
That confirmed my suspicions that Frank was involved in Ed’s death. But I still didn’t know why he had convinced his brother to kill himself.
“What was Ed like?” I asked.
“He looked strange, always wore that weird hat, but he didn’t cause any problems like many of the other tenants did. Was always polite, gifted me some paintings of the rose bushes he made. But then he did you know what.”
The super pointed to a spot on the floor. “If you look there, you can see where the acid ate into the wood. I remember some muffled screams coming from his apartment that day, but thought nothing of it, thought that he was just watching a loud horror movie or something. They lasted for about an hour. The next day, there was a complaint about some odor coming from his unit, so I went to check it out. No one answered when I knocked. I entered and in his bedroom I saw what he had done to himself. He had installed some soundproofing in there, but you could still hear his screams from outside. Can’t imagine what they sounded like if you were in there with him.”
I didn’t have to imagine.
“Did you find a note or anything near his body?” I asked.
“No, nothing like that. The cops came and searched the place, but found nothing. A few days later, some junk haulers came and took away all his belongings, there was nothing valuable in his unit. All that remains are his paintings.”
I had hoped that there would be a clue in this apartment that pointed to Frank’s whereabouts, but there didn’t seem to be anything. “Thank you very much for your time,” I said to the super. “Have a good night.”
“No, wait, there is something else you’d like to see. Look at the corner to the right of the window. There’s blood splatter there.”
I looked. There were some dark, rust-colored stains on the beige walls. I wondered why it hadn’t been painted over. Replacing the acid-damaged flooring might be expensive, but a coat of paint would be cheap.
“Is that Ed’s blood?” I asked.
“Nope, that’s mine,” the super said. “I was changing the batteries on the smoke detector a few months after Ed offed himself when I had a heart attack and fell off the ladder. Hit my head on the wall.”
“Oh, wow,” I said. “Glad you’re OK.”
The super started laughing. “Ed’s wasn’t the only death in this room. By the time the paramedics got here, I was dead. They took my body out, but I never left. I had no family of my own, my few friends were all dead. The only things that brought me joy were the rose bushes you saw me pruning, planted them back in ’99. I knew that without my care, they would die. And I couldn’t let that happen.”
Even after my experiences with the skeleton, I initially thought that the super was playing a prank on me. But then I saw blood, fresh blood, run down the walls.
“Oh, I’m not joking,” the grinning super said. “I’m *dead* serious. It’s a lonely life, haunting a condemned apartment building, but recently I’ve been visited by another spirit. Not Ed’s ghost, I don’t know whose it is, but it’s not Ed. This specter sometimes tells me to do stuff, stuff that I don’t want to do, but he is too powerful to resist.”
The super started convulsing, like he was having a seizure, and his mouth was pulled into a horrific grimace. I dashed towards the door, but he rushed over and blocked it, moving impossibly fast for someone his age, or for someone of any age for that matter. From the pocket of his jeans, he produced a pocketknife encrusted with blood.
“Game over,” the super said. His voice had changed, had become hoarser, raspier, like that of someone who had smoked two packs a day for forty years. As I backed up, he started advancing towards me, knife raised. I looked around the room, hoping to find something I could use as a weapon, but the room was empty.
My only escape route was the window. I ran over and tried to open it, but it was stuck. I kept pushing as the super made his way slowly towards me, moving much slower than I knew he was capable of. He was playing with me, like how a cat plays with a captured mouse.
I kept pushing up on the window pane. Finally, it budged. As I jumped through the window, I felt the blade of the super’s knife graze my shoulders.
I landed on one of the rose bushes, its thorns cutting through my clothes. I was bruised and bloody, but I had somehow survived. As I hurried to my car, I heard laughter coming from the window of unit 202.
\*\*\*
I had a handgun stored in a safe on my bedside table. I planned to retrieve it before I went to sleep, hoping that it would be transported back to video game land with me, hoping that it would be effective against the skeleton. However, I didn’t even make it out of my garage before I passed out.
I was back on the same race course as before. Well, nearly the same. The movement of the asteroids seemed slightly choppier than before, the graphics—already poor—were even less detailed. But it was clearly the same track.
I knew I could not win this level by conventional means. But my attempts to ram the skeleton’s rocket were ineffective—there was no collision detection, my rocket just passed right through his.
What I needed to find was a power-up or a shortcut. I had played enough games that I knew what to look for. As I progressed along the course, I looked for an asteroid that looked slightly different, or a line of static on the track that could represent a hidden shortcut, but found nothing. I continued along, hoping I’d see something, but never did. Like the night before, I was about to cross the finish line, when the skeleton materialized in front of me and my rocket exploded.
I was transported to the skeleton’s lair, where I was once again devoured. One of my two remaining hearts faded away.
I woke up on my garage floor. It was 8:04 am. I checked the news to see if there were any updates on the case of Adam Kim. His body was still missing, but his severed head had been found in a trash can at Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, over 50 miles from his home. In addition, a 15-year-old named Ethan Greene had vanished from his home in Marin County. The article said that the police had begun investigating a possible link between the recent disappearances and that of Jason Statler 20 years ago. But I could not rely on them for help.
Time was running short; I had one life left. Today was the day I needed to locate the mastermind behind all of this: Ed’s brother, Frank.
|
My boss is gonna kill me!
I exclaimed in a worried voice as I quickly got dressed
It was a Monday morning, and I was almost an hour late for work. I quickly got dressed and ran out the front door
I immediately got on my bike and started pedaling as hard as I could. My work was 25 minutes away if I stayed on the road, which was curved but only 13 if I went off the road for a more straight path. I went off the road while pedaling as fast as I possibly could, I was gasping for air when all of a sudden
*CLUNK*
I felt myself flying off my bike as it flipped over, and the both of us hit the ground. I passed out for what seemed like an hour. When I woke up, the only thing I could think about was how late to work I'd be
I was so concerned about work that it took me a while to notice how drastically the environment around me changed. Instead of a cool, sunny morning, I only saw dense fog all around me. Instead of sitting on a thin layer of melting snow, I was sitting in a dying meadow. Questions started to fill my head as my heart started to beat faster and faster
Am I... am I dreaming? Am I in a coma?What's going on?
I eventually gathered myself up and started walking...
The more I walked through this place, the more I lost my mind. I almost felt like I was in... another world. I felt the environment changing and shifting as I walked through it, I kept seeing strange things in the distance
Maybe I'm just tired?
I glanced at my watch when I saw its arms moving at an incredible speed
This is all just a dream! That's it, I just have to... stop dreaming.
As I walked through this hell for another hour, two words kept on repeating in my head
Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!
I just couldn't...
I kept on walking when the fog was replaced by heavy rain, the grassland turned into a city, an apocalyptic cesspool of a city.
Ruin surrounded me everywhere I went. The more I walked through this city, the more I felt insane, I started to see creatures zooming past me, watching me from the buildings... or what's left of em. As I kept on walking through the city, the sky began to turn red, the rain turned blood red as the creatures started to stare at me. I felt a sense of dread wash over me as the midnight moon shined through the crimson skies, I ran to the nearest building and hid there, trying as hard as I could to not make a sound, I felt as if... something was trying to kill me. I started to hear screeching and coming from somewhere in the building, I thought of running, but what if all this is a trick made by this place to trick me into going outside? What if I run outside and instantly get split up into cubes?
I decided to stay. I eventually turned around as the noises got louder and louder. You could imagine the look of horror on my face when I turned around to see a hideous demon staring right at me
I felt helpless. Expecting a painful death, I accepted my fate and closed my eyes as tears poured out of them, but instead of being split in half, I heard the rain disappear along with the demon. I opened my eyes to find myself in the grassland again, thick fog surrounded me, so thick that the light of the moon couldn't shine through it
I had no choice but to walk. I kept on walking through the fog as the creatures stared at me from a distance
WHEN WILL THIS ALL END?! WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!!
I yelled out as I collapsed on the floor
I just couldn't walk anymore...
After staying down for what seemed like an hour, I saw a man rapidly approaching me, I wanted to get up, but I couldn't
We've had enough fun, it seems.
He said in a well-mannered voice
WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM M-
He started laughing, his eyes turned crimson red as a wide smile was drawn across his face. I saw him snap his fingers before I passed out...
I woke up to see a concerned man calling someone on his phone
Oh, thank God!
He said when he saw me waking up
I tried to get up, but I collapsed in pain
Call an ambulance!
I told him
That's what I'm doing. The paramedics should be here soon. Rest
Ok... ok, thanks, friend. I would've probably been food for some bear if you hadn't stumbled upon me!
I eventually passed out again, I was woken up as the ambulance arrived
Hey, get up! The paramedics are here.
Ok, thanks again!
I remembered what I experienced as the paramedics put me in the ambulance, I thought it was all a dream until I saw the man staring at me as his eyes turned crimson red and a smile was drawn on his face |
Around September of last year I started taking a new medication to help me sleep. I’ve pretty much always known I was narcoleptic. Narcolepsy is known for making you fall asleep at random times during the day. But narcolepsy doesn’t just affect the day. I take one medication during the day to keep me awake, but I take a different one at night to help me stay asleep. And it’s since starting this new nighttime medication that the dream started.
This dream started in different locations, like most dreams do. Sometimes I was at the mall or sometimes I was in Mr. White’s freshman English classroom with the thematic elements of Lord if the Flies painted out on the walls. It honestly didn’t matter where the dream started, cause the scene always changed to my rental house on Hemlock Street.
I rented a small two bedroom house on the edge of town. I had a little privacy, seeing as the house doesn’t directly sit on the road behind a row of trees.
In my dream, when it changed to my house, it never felt off at first. Whoever was in the previous scene would come with me, but slowly the mood changed. One moment my college roommate and a soap star are sitting in class with me and the next, we are in my house, looking for something. I’ve never figured out what it was. It always started pretty calm. At first we are lifting couch cushions and sifting through my junk drawer but everytime a new location is searched it only becomes more frantic. Books were pulled from my bookshelves and torn apart page by page. Someone always takes a knife to the couch, ripping, shredding the upholstery, then pulling out fistfuls of stuffing. In the last diary entry we made it to punching holes in the plaster walls before I turn and look out the window. I always turn and look out the window and it’s always dusk and I always can just make out a face peering in. Watching.
Then I wake up.
After the second or third time having this dream, I started the journal. I thought I could show it to my doctor. Since I started writing the journal, I noticed it was the only dream I was having. Of course missed some entries, but there were definitely enough of them to notice the pattern.
But two months ago, something different happened. The dream was the same: we started in a bowling alley, using balled up t-shirts to knock over sets of Russian nesting dolls, when the location flipped and we were suddenly back in my house. The searching began. This time as I was throwing my set of bowls across the room I looked over to the window and the man was there. I made out the eyeless smile on his face and even in the half light I knew he saw me looking at him—then I woke up. But I wasn’t in bed. This time I was standing in my kitchen, broken shards of my little blue teapot scattered around my feet.
During the night I had gotten up and walked into my kitchen and dropped my teapot on the floor as if even my body was helping my dream-self search the house.
I didn’t mess around. Instead of going back to sleep I pulled out my laptop and express shipped a small self-install security camera set to my house. My idea at the time was to be able to show my doctor, it was a bata meditation and heavily monitored. I had my boyfriend come over in the following couple of days to help me install the cameras.
Then I started recording. I didn’t wake up with a dream that first night, but I watched the recording anyway.
The house was quiet. I didn’t move a lot in my sleep. It was all pretty normal and I thought maybe I had overreacted, but then at three AM the bathroom window slowly slid open from the outside, and a man stepped in. He wandered about my house. Looking through the fridge, fluffing the pillows on the couch but then he walked to my room, to watch me sleep. He stood there for twenty minutes, just watching me. Then he turned, looking directly into the camera.
I know it’s too hard to believe, but I know I have seen that man before.
The one in my dreams. The one who stares at me from the window. He had the same eye-less smile.
I slammed the laptop shut and called my boyfriend. I slept at his place the next night and had a normal dreamless sleep. My first one in weeks.
I brought the footage to the police the next day and they sent someone out to watch my house. Suggested new locks on my windows, or perhaps moving all together since I am only renting.
I wasn’t sure what to do. The man never showed up in my cameras again and my lease was up in a couple months. So I decided to wait.
Last month, the dream came back and I found shoe prints outside of my bedroom window. I unofficially moved out after that. Staying at my boyfriend’s place while still paying rent. But as luck would have it, a water pipe burst in one for the walls, and the Landlord ended my contract early.
I thought that would be the last I would hear of my little rental house on Hemlock Street. But my boyfriend sent me a news clip this morning. I’ve watched it three times now.
In my old house after the water damage, the floors had to be pulled up, and beneath the floors in a tight crawl space, the contractor found the bodies of three women, and the shards of a blue teapot laid out next to the third.
I am writing an email to my doctor now to change medications, but I don't know if that will be enough. What if the smiling man finds me again? |
A lot of posts here start with something like, “I've never really had any experience with the paranormal… “, not the case here. In fact, I’d venture to say, that the paranormal is bog standard for me.
I’m a dark web streamer, now before you start calling the Fbi, it’s not what you're thinking. I don’t torture people for some cult, I don’t let some abomination hunt folks and take bets, I play games. It just so happens that the games I play usually have a bit of a disturbing backstory, and tend to, from time to time, break the laws of nature.
The first question folks always ask is, “ Isn’t that dangerous?”, the short answer is, yes, but no more so than any number of science or gun channels on the clear web. Which is to say, as long as you have some real training, and aren’t a moron, you’ll be fine.
The long answer is that my family tree has some deep roots. And in addition to spending a couple hundred thousand on essentially paranormal community college, I’m naturally inclined to luck when dealing with the supernatural.
People like hunters, witches, warlocks, they get all the fame when it comes to supernatural nepotism, and with good cause. What they do is flashy, exciting, but there are a lot of folks out there who were just born with a jib cut in the way the things that go bump in the night like. Wouldn’t let me go on a coffee date with the devil, but avoids me becoming the main character in a Lovecraft novel while making serious bank.
Now, I’m going to kill a lot of your buzz here, I’ve never played any of the big names. I mean, I know they are out there, but, a guy’s gotta know his limits. Though you’d be surprised at exactly how many carts, tapes and floppy disks have been haunted, Damned or cursed, in fact, if you are a collector, you likely have one or two in your home right now.
Don’t go starting up a Nes bonfire just yet though. The most common types are targeted, made to ruin a specific person or family’s day, or life. Unless you really go trying to stir up shit, you’ll never see so much as a misplaced pixel.
That’s my job.
I sit in my recording studio, the master bedroom of a small bungalow. I could probably afford to do an upgrade, but, I’m happy with what I’ve got.
I curse as I try for the tenth time to edit out some visual errors that have nothing to do with faulty data, and everything to do with a mass murder trapped in a copy of Oregon Trail. The software I use is designed for the task, but like most things involving the supernatural, it’s more of an art than a science.
“You know what Paul, you’re going to need to add another number to your tally, because you are killing me with this shit. “ I say to the ancient, blocky 486 in one corner of the room.
There are some grinding unnatural noises from deep within the machine.
“Right back at ya. And for the record, if I knew you’d mellowed out over the last 40 years, probably wouldn’t have bought you.
‘I need to talk’ was real spooky, until you started asking how the Tigers were doing. Shit, like always, they’re the fucking Tigers. “ I reply.
Depending on your sense of Humor, you are going to find the following fact either hilarious or depressing as hell. See, most folks that do bad enough things to be used as a supernatural alternator, well, they weren’t doing so of their own free will. Whether simple mental illness, or some kind of more sinister compulsion, once they pass on, they are seeing and thinking clearly. No chemical imbalances as a spirit, and even the worst demonic forces have a hard time keeping their claws in ghosts.
So often, what I get is less ‘trapped psycho wanting to kill again’ and more ‘Bored old person who hasn’t talked to anyone in decades’ or ‘Sad wanker unable to atone. ‘. But, like all Internet personalities, faking a vibe is easy enough. And the Pasta is usually willing to cooperate for the odd favor and some company.
If your not that quick on the uptake, Pasta, is Paranormal gamer slang. Obvious source, refers to all of the various void-touched entertainment we have.
For all of the occult electronics around me, the fact my cell phone startles me when it rings is pretty ironic. The number is blocked, of course.
“Hello” I say tentatively.
The voice on the other end is rough, not panicked, but stern.
“Leave your house, now. “ it says.
I laugh, I’ve had fans, or haters contact me before. And if you think the level of parasocial bullshit on youtube is bad, add in some pseudo religion, and folks who’ve fried their brain on interacting with the void, and it’s not something to screw around with in my line of work.
“Gonna stop you right there. However you found my number, lose it. Whatever deep end you've just jumped off, is going to get you into a world of shit.
If you think I can amass an Olive Garden worth of Pasta, and not know a few people to take care of the cultists and psychos you are really fucking mistaken. “ My threat is somewhat empty. If this were to get to the point where my life was in danger, I’ve got a couple favors but it’s not like I have a werewolf on speed dial for whenever I get spooked.
“I need to talk to you, urgently. And you’re in immediate danger.. “ the voice Isn’t pleading, but demanding.
I chuckle, “You are the second disappointing creep that’s said that to me today.
Listen, if you want a commission or something, just send me an email, my prices are pretty clear. Otherwise find someone else to be your Jodi Foster, okay?”
I hang up the phone, “ You catch that Paul? Next time, go for that kind of thing. Be vague, kinda angry, I don’t get paid, I can’t afford to keep you guys. Let’s work together here. “
The editing goes slow, but eventually I have a useable video. Would have liked to be able to stream it, but I had a feeling Paul might have been a bit of a wet firecracker.
When I first see the tall, bald man wearing an outdated Adidas track suit, I don’t bat an eyelash. I assume it’s some Pasta trying to grab my attention.
“Oh my God, in a minute. “ I say, putting some finishing touches on my outro.
Not that I knew it at the time, but what knocked four teeth out of my face, and splattered my monitor with blood was a lead ball about the size of a chestnut, thrown by the now enraged man.
I try to get my bearings, but I’m dazed, I stand, knocking over my chair, but before I can turn to face this Slavic looking giant, he has me by the throat, pinned against a wall.
Fear courses through my body like a fever. Reeking sweat begins to pour from me, I’m 5 foot five and 145 pounds, and while my house is equipped to keep me safe from every type of pasta I own, I’m not much for mundane self defense.
Three people enter the room behind him.
One, I’m guessing the leader of whatever the hell this is, is about my size, but lean, corded with muscle. He’s wearing a tactical vest, armed to the teeth, and stalking toward me with eyes full of violence.
Behind him is a hefty Asian guy, looks to be in his 40’s, He’s less armed, a pistol is all I can make out, but I recognise some of the other items he is carrying. And get a sinking feeling of dread.
The last member of this crew was an older woman, unlike the psychotic vigor of the tacticool guy, or the nervous fidgeting of the Asian amateur alchemist, she seems almost aloof, immediately starting to sort through my collection of pasta and start putting some into a large duffel.
The small man taps the dead eyed goon on the shoulder, and he drops me to the ground, I struggle to breathe, struggle to keep calm.
He kneels, putting his face inches from mine. His pupils are dilated, I’d call it Dutch courage, but I’m guess the source is likely Bolivian.
“You want me to call you Mateo, or would you rather go by your channel name, Mexican Baseball? I want you to be comfortable here, as much as possible anyway. “ The short man pats the torn, bleeding side of my mouth, the spike of pain almost puts me on the ground, “You can call me Robin, you’ll find out why in a bit. “
I’m too scared to spit out the shards of bone and gum, I swallow them, and almost vomit before speaking.
“Call me Matt. “ I say, unable to look the man in the eye, “ I’ve got lots and lots of money. I get where this is going, but you don’t want a random selection of Pasta, it’s dangerous. And unless your buddy there with the Wish exorcism supplies is a lot more trained than he seems, you guys are doing nothing other than signing your own death certificate. “
Robin grins, and looks up to the giant, “Uri, I just got threatened. “ he says smugly.
Before I can say that wasn’t my intend the large man kicks me in the chest. I hit the ground as if I was thrown.
As I stare at the ceiling trying to get my bearings, Robin sits on my chest, leering down at me.
“No, Eric Isn’t, but that’s where you come in, Matty.
See, you’ve got the wrong impression here. You think this is about money, or maybe some kind of cult horse shit. And of course you’d think that, it’s all people like you know.
But me? I’m not some greedy asshole like you, and I gave up religion long ago.
I’m a social worker. An angry one.
And do you want to know what makes me angry, Matt? What really pisses me off?
The fact the supernatural exists, I know, that’s a little broad, but give me a moment.
I’m not some kind of anti-void skin head or anything, what pisses me off, is that right under society’s nose there is another entire realm of untapped resources.
But like always, with wealth comes disparity. People like yourself, horde this shit.
And what do you do with it? “ I assume Robin’s question is rhetorical.
I’m wrong.
I couldn’t name the small, pointed metal device he hits me with, some cousin of brass knuckles I assume. Robin’s blow splits my forehead open, stinging blood runs into my eyes.
“You don’t know what you do with it Matt? Let me educate you.
Instead of finding some way to harness all of this for the good of the world, you stream. You use a connection to a rule breaking source of power, to make three quarters as much as a family doctor. “ rage, pure and focussed radiates from Robin’s face, “ There are plenty of scum like you, little trinket peddlers, and fame seekers. And in the entirety of recorded history, none of you have done the right thing. “
In a flash Robin stands, before I can try and get my bearings, and run, Uri is picking me up, sitting me in my editing chair.
You have no idea how scary duct tape can sound.
After a few minutes I’m held helpless in the chair, hopelessly affixed with not one, but two full rolls.
“If you don’t know what your doing, these do nothing, or terrible shit. The reason no ones used them to cure cancer or solved world hunger, is, they can’t. “ I plead, trying to skirt the line between direct and rude.
It's only Robin, Uri, and myself in the room. I hear the other two rummaging through other rooms.
“So you say.
But I have no intent on doing a smash and grab and taking my chances. My friends know enough, and you Matt, you can tell us the rest. “ Robin ends this statement with a wicked grin.
“No problem” I say, simply. At this point if these idiots want to play Russian roulette with the paranormal, let them.
“Didn’t think there would be.
But, here’s the part your not going to like.
I don’t want there to be any funny business. And try as I might, I’ve only got one idea as to how to make that happen.
Understand, Matt, tonight isn’t ‘ if you fuck me over I’m going to hurt you’ , no, tonight Matty boy, there is no way you make it out whole. The only question is, how many pieces wind up on the literal cutting room floor? “ I know something terrible is coming as Robin finishes his sentence. The room is silent, only the vague noises of searching from elsewhere in the house.
Seconds stretch out like drops of molten glass.
“Not right this second. “ Robin says, shaking his head and laughing.
His two companions enter the room, a large bag filled with disks, cartridges, c.d.’s and handheld devices in tow. They empty them on the floor, and my immediate reaction is there is no rhyme or reason to them. Like what someone who knew nothing of cars would bring back from auto zone to fix an engine.
Except for one, a deep crimson lcd handheld console. On the back, gauged into the plastic as if my a knife or maybe a claw, are the words Mr. Game.
That, is not good. That, is something I regretted buying about a week after doing so, and have spent about two years trying to find somewhere safe to dispose of it.
“And the first question of the night is, which one of these screws with electricity? “ Robin says.
“Screws with electricity? What are you talking about? “ My reaction is maybe too genuine.
The fact this guy has no idea what he is talking about, means his expectations are going to be unattainable. My heart races as I realise how bad this is for me.
He looks to Eric, “What do you say? “
Eric is unsure of himself, but Robin doesn’t pick up on it, “One of those doesn’t need power. I Just don’t know which one. “
I understand Eric isn’t mistaken, he’s lying. Whatever street cred he convinced his boss of, he doesn’t have. Not to say there isn’t any unpowered pasta, unplugging the system and it keeps going is like trope number one, I just don’t own any.
I’ve heard brutality, both literally and second hand from some of the more talkative pasta. I’ve even seen it, everything from crystal clear moving images no film could hope to reproduce, to haunting 8-bit renditions of real atrocities. But I’ve never experienced it.
That changed.
A sap is a leather pouch filled with lead shot. When used correctly it can generally knock someone out without causing permanent damage.
Uri does not use it correctly.
The black, almost purse looking object strikes my hand and I’m hit with a wave of pain so intense, so pure, I vomit immediately. A moment later I realise that was just the beginning.
“That’s what internal amputation feels like. Two or three fingers I’m guessing.
You know the bad thing about torture? You can’t ask the same question twice, because the second answer is always going to be what you wanted to hear.
Which one can create something? “ Robin’s cool, entertained demeanor shakes me harder than any brush with the other side has.
My hand is starting to swell, pressure building between the tightly wrapped tape and arm of my editing chair. It takes me a few tries before I can speak.
“They don’t, none of what I have does. “ I think of lying, but give the man the truth, trying to get this over as quickly as possible.
He looks to Eric for an answer, Eric, briefly makes eye contact with me.
“He’s right, I think. “ The imitation relic hunter says.
“I think isn’t a really definitive answer. “ Robin replies.
He motions to Uri, the man takes one step toward me before my addled mind makes a connection.
“The golden eye cart, the gold one. First time you turn it on, makes this 2000s, tween smorgasbord, surge, pizza rolls, that kind of crap. “ I breathe slightly easier as Uri stops.
“See, surprising how much help you can be when your motivated.
Uri, take an ear. “ Robin says as the older woman stows the game.
Trauma and pain are very entwined. Sometimes so much so that we forget that pain isn’t always the worst part of injury.
Losing an ear with a sharp blade, isn’t fun, but it’s a very brief burst of sharp pain. Seeing a walking brick of a man dangle this ear in front of your face, is something that breaks you.
I spend the next hour poorly answering questions that make no sense, losing fingernails, patches of skin, and being beaten to the point where I couldn’t feel the individual blows.
I find myself helpless, pathetic, I catch glimpses of my battered body in the reflective ancient monitors and I’m horrified. I don’t know how I’m going to survive.
“Now, for the million dollar question. What this has all been leading up to.
Which one of these things is the most destructive? “ Robin asks the question I’ve been dreading.
“That one. “ I say, my mind broken long past the point of resistance, but still trying to avoid disaster, “ The red one. “ I say, attempting to gesture with my head.
“There are 4 ‘red ones’, which is it? “ Robin’s tone is short.
I make a decision then that fills me with pride. I’d rather let them do their worst than say it out loud. That thing, the supernatural equivalent of a damaged grenade needs someone to say it.
Eric chooses this point to show he has a little knowledge. As everyone knows, that is a very dangerous thing.
“ I think he means the, Mr game. “ The con artist’s blunder is immediately obvious.
Every light in my home shuts off,, even the incessant whirring and beeping of the pasta is silenced. The only illumination coming from the black on red lcd screen.
It displays simple text, taunting salvation, “ Quit game Y/N? “.
Robin seems elated, in an almost religious state of awe. Eric looks out the door, and starts walking backward, his face blanched, “ We need to get out of here. “ he says.
What enters the room is an eyeball straining vaguely human horror. A man shaped mass of shifting pitch black and digital looking red lines. His laugh is digitized chaos, and with a flick of his hand, every screen in the room is filled with the almost dripping looking red and black lines.
I try to tell someone to turn off the game, but my voice is drowned out by the hellish static now screaming from every speaker. The solution is so simple, but nearly impossible at the moment.
Eric starts trying to shout something over the din, the bits I catch sound Hebrew. He gestures toward Mr. Game, dramatic flourishes of his hands. Now I don’t actually know if spells are a thing, but I can tell you, either way, Eric is no wizard.
Mr. Game thrusts a claw like hand at Eric, the man sees death coming and closes his eyes. But the blow never lands. Long seconds pass before the Asian man has the courage to open them again.
Once he does, dozens of clawed hands, pixelated claws snake out of each of the monitors. It isn’t a quick death, each takes a handful or so of flesh before retracting back into their digital hellscape. Turning Eric into a dying, flensed body over the course of about 30 seconds.
I knock my chair over, and try to inch toward the handheld. One foot bare, with all of the toes broken into swollen lumps pushes me inch by agonising inch.
Robin is lunatic calm, Uri is stoic, but even his dead shark’s eyes show a deep fear.
I realise I never caught the woman’s name as she attempts to rush past the entity.
If she’d asked, I’d have been able to tell her, with something like Mr. Game, space, isn’t really an issue. He isn’t just the form in front of us, he is a force that has taken over this area.
She makes it out the editing room door, we hear footsteps on my stairs, then silence.
The noises were horrific. If I were to be nice, I’d just describe them as eating noises, but that wasn’t it. It was more like a garbage disposal that enjoyed it’s job.
For a moment we see a harsh pixelated version of the woman’s face display on the monitors, before fading back into the black and red static.
I’m inches away from the handheld, my already mangled toes twisted into every angle but true. Mr game appears to grow, his static from spreading through the room as he glides toward Uri, Robin and myself.
I slam my torn and skinned forehead into the system, nothing but a blinding burst of pain that threatens to make me pass out. Another misses entirely my abused neck muscles missing the mark. The third though, like a light switch, turns the impromptu horror film off.
Robin is laughing, giddy, energized by this display of supernatural force. I can see the concern on Uri’s face, but either He’s being paid well or scared of the small man.
The little psycho flips my chair up, sending fresh pain through every part of my abused body.
“Didn’t I tell you this guy would be useful Uri? Oh, the shit I am gonna cause with this thing.
Matty boy, this is the kind of thing that will make people listen, this is the kind of thing that will give a voice to the voiceless. We are gonna make fucking history kid!
As soon as I make sure you aren’t going to pull a runner on us. “ Robin slowly pulls a long combat knife from his vest, the tip pieces the skin just behind my knee, my eyes are wild with shock, my brain a mess with fear and trauma.
Then, a voice. Not one I’ve heard much, but familiar none the less. It’s low, harsh, and angry, with just a hint of a speech impediment.
“Which one of you guys is Mateo? “ the owner of the voice enters the room. He looks to be in his late thirties, six foot tall and built like a boxer, he wears dress pants and a short sleeved black dress shirt, a grey suit jacket is draped over one arm.
Robin looks shocked but confident, hand on an oversized pistol in his tactical vest.
“Me! “ I say, having no idea who this guy is, but knowing his plans for me can’t be any worse than Robin’s.
“And, all of the Ghostbusters from Nintendo games horse shit is over? “ The man stalks into the room, as if he isn’t outnumber and out gunned.
“… yes? “ I say confused.
The man grins, revealing a mouth full of shining silver teeth.
“Well Matt, I’m Rick And I’m your new best friend. “Rick says.
From under the grey coat a massive explosion happens, tearing the garment to shreds. Rick throws it aside and is holding a large, black revolver. Bits of steel and plastic spray from Robin’s tactical vest, and he hits the ground screaming.
“That’s gutshot, and considering your stupid ass Didn’t have a plate in that plate carrier, there are parts of all your little army surplus toys in your intestines. “ Rick kicks the downed lunatic as he speaks.
Uri hesitated, but not long enough to get the gun from Rick. The massive pistol gets thrown across the room.
The fight is mere feet from me, and while I can’t say there was any kind of technical grace to it, it was clear both of these men knew what they were doing.
As the blows land I notice one of Rick’s arms is covered in layers of mottled, ugly scars.
Knifes come out, and I find myself craning my neck to avoid backhanded slashes. My heart races knowing the outcome of this fight determines my fate.
Both men are tired, cut in dozens of places. The Russian smiles, pulling on reserves of strength. My heart sinks as Rick waves his hand in submission.
“I’m done, this kid isn’t worth my life, and I’m sure that lunatic that hired you isn’t worth yours. “ Rick says.
“fuck you” Uri says simply.
“How much ‘fuck you’ does 100k get rid of? “ Rick retorts.
“Most, but I don’t take checks little man. “ Uri’s statement creates a thick tension in the air.
Slowly, calmly, Rick reaches into a pants pocket, pulling out a set of keys, tossing them to the bleeding bruiser.
“That cars about 80k, there’s another 40 in the trunk. We square? “ Rick says, sounding like he does things like this daily.
“If I go out there and it’s a Lada, you won’t make it out of the house. “ Uri replies, shoulder checking Rick as he walks by.
I start to ask Rick a question and he holds one finger up, silencing me.
“Wait for it… “ he says, as I wonder what I’m waiting for.
The explosion shook the house, lighting fire to my front porch.
“Oh my christ I needed that. Stupid bastard.
So Matt… “ Rick walks over as he speaks, expertly cutting me free from the chair, “ I’ve got some ghost related problems, and you were the only person I could find for the amount of money I had to spend.
Bit of a dick move to ask you for a favor after helping you out like this, but, that’s where I’m at kid.
If it helps, this place is going to be crawling with Russian mob, and… whoever the fuck that little fella was attached to really quickly. Help me out though, I’ll make sure that isn’t a problem for you. “ Rick’s offer seems like a lifeline, but it could just as easily be a fire to my frying pan.
Twenty minutes later we are getting into a car that is most certainly not worth 80k, as my house is engulfed in some flames that were expertly prodded along by the mysterious man driving me.
I told the guy I’d help him, but to be honest I’ m just as likely to take off the first chance I get.
That being said, I wouldn’t be posting here unless I needed advice. What do you guys think? Do I owe this guy anything, do any of you know who he might be? What I’m getting into? Feel free to let me know in the comments, I’m at a loss. |
It was just after lunch on a weekday and I was cleaning the dishes while my husband was at work and my daughter was upstairs playing. I was just thinking about what to make for dinner when I heard a knock on the front door. I was rather puzzled by this, since we weren’t expecting anyone coming over today, nor were we expecting any deliveries. But nevertheless, I dried off my hands and went to answer the door. But just as I made it to the door, I suddenly felt uneasy, as if something was telling me not to open it. Instead I looked through the peephole. There, standing just outside the door, stood a man with long greasy hair. I say that because that was the first thing I noticed about him, since it covered most of his face. He was wearing sunglasses and a long dark green hoodie with the hood up. I immediately felt the hairs on the back of my neck standing at the sight of him. I knew right away that this man was up to no good. I remained silent as I watched him through the peephole.
I thought that if I kept quiet, he would eventually go away. However, he continued to stand there by the door, moving his head from side to side, as if checking to see if anyone was watching. I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but he didn’t seem like he was moving anytime soon. He knocked once more, this time more aggressively. I didn’t want Bella to hear the noise and come downstairs to see what was happening, so I decided to speak up.
“Hello?” I called out, not opening the door. The man perked his head up, and his body seemed to stiffen.
“Hello ma’am,” he said, in a low tone. “I’m from the repair company. I’m here because your husband called and said that there were some problems with the lights upstairs. Could I please come inside?” I knew right away that was a lie. There was no electrical problem of any sort.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “But I think there’s been a mistake. We don’t have problems with the lights anywhere.” I could see the man getting agitated as he moved from one foot to the other, still looking to each side of the house.
“We got a call from your husband, Thomas, telling us to come in and look around.” His voice was much lower now, getting more aggressive with each word. My heart was racing a million miles an hour now and my breath was starting to get heavy. He knew my husband’s name. That means they must also know that he’s not home. But I steeled my nerves and called back to him.
“I know my husband didn’t call you!” I shouted as I gripped the door knob tightly. “I don’t know who you are or what you're doing here, but you need to leave right now!” The man’s features hardened and was now banging furiously on the door.
“Open the door!” he shouted. But I didn’t back down.
“I’m calling the police!” This seemed to do the trick as the man started backing away and headed towards what I can assume was his car. Feeling a sense of relief, I released my grip on the door and pressed my back against it, thinking that it was all over. But Just as I was trying to calm myself down, my daughter came running downstairs in a panic
“Mommy!” she cried out. Seeing the fear in her eyes, I quickly ran over and gripped her tightly.
“What is it?! What’s wrong!” I asked frantically. Bella wrapped her arms around me and began sobbing.
“There’s a man in the backyard!” she cried. My eyes widened after hearing that. “Max said he heard something so I looked out the window and there was a big scary man out there!” My breathing started to tremble as I was beginning to panic now. There was no way that the man from before could make it to the back yard in the amount of time that he did. There had to be more than one of them.
I held my daughter close as I looked frantically around the house, trying to see if I could spot them. Just then, I heard a tapping on the kitchen widow. I looked to the kitchen and I saw him. Another man, wearing all black with shorter, but just as greasy hair as the first man. His face was all dirty and scabby. He was staring at us with wide, bloodshot eyes. He looked like he was heavy on drugs.
He was looking at us with the most sinister grin I had ever seen. He licked his lips as he stared at my daughter with hungry eyes. Suddenly the front door was banging violently and I knew that it was the first man trying to kick down the door. Quickly, I grabbed my daughter and ran upstairs. But just as I reached halfway, I realized with horror that I forgot my phone in the kitchen. I was about to run back down to grab it when I heard glass breaking from the back door. It was too late to grab it as I Picked up Bella and ran into her bedroom. When Bella was younger, she was always exploring around the house and somehow managed to break both my bedroom and bathroom locks. At least in my daughter’s room, there was a dresser close enough to the door that I could brace against it.
I ran into the room with Bella in my arms and placed her on the bed before quickly shutting the door and shoved the dresser in front of it. After that, I went back to Bella and held her tight as we sat next to her bed at the opposite corner of the room. Bella was sobbing uncontrollably and I placed my hand over her mouth. Though it didn’t really matter in the end, they already knew we were here.
We could hear the men stomping up the stairs and stopped in front of the door. Everything was quiet now. So quiet that I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. It was pounding so hard that I thought that it was going to explode in my chest. Bella managed to calm down her sobbing, but she was shaking violently in my arms.
“We know you’re in there,” said one of the men. “Come on out. We just want to play.” Bella’s sobbing returned and she looked up at me with terrified eyes.
“Mommy?” she whimpered. I held her tighter.
“Shhh. It’s going to be okay, sweetie. Mommy’s here.” I knew it wasn’t though. These men were just outside the door and neither the police nor my husband had any idea what was happening. We were all alone. I held my daughter’s head close to my chest so that she wouldn’t see the tears falling from my eyes.
I heard the door knob turn and the door opened, but stopped once it hit the dresser in front of it. Now knowing that something was blocking it, the men began banging on the door with fury, causing Bella to scream.
“Let us in!” they shouted. “Don’t make this harder on yourselves!” With each bang against the door, the dresser was pushed forward inch by inch.
“Go away!” I screeched. “Leave us alone!” Bella was now screaming in my arms as she was holding on to me for dear life.
“Max!” she cried out to her imaginary friend. With one final push, the dresser fell over and the door was now opened. The two men slowly entered the room and I saw that each one of them was holding a knife.
“Now then,” the man with the sunglasses said with a sickening grin. “Let's play.” I knew this was it. There was nothing left to do. I held my daughter tighter than I ever had before and found myself sobbing relentlessly.
“Please,” I pleaded. The men just laughed at me as they stepped closer. They were just a few feet away and the black hooded man was about to reach for my daughter. This was it. They were going to kill me and take my daughter away and do God knows what to her. I wanted to move, to fight them, but my body refused to move. I was petrified with fear. It felt like that night before Bella was born all over again. But this time the danger was real and there was nothing I could do to stop it. For a moment, I thought about all the times I had with my family. All the smiles and laughs that we shared. All the joy that was felt. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted more time with them. To see my daughter grow up and get married. To have a family of her own. But just like that, it was all going to be over.
Just then, there was a light bang, causing everything to go silent. The two men looked around for whatever made that sound. Then there was another sound. It was tiny, but there was a scratching sound coming from somewhere in the room. The two men turned towards the closet, where the scratches were coming from. I reluctantly took my eyes off them and looked to the closet as well. It almost sounded like there was an animal trapped inside.
“What’s in there?!” the man in the dark green hoodie shouted. “A dog!”
“I don’t know!” I shouted back. I truly didn’t know. Had an animal gotten inside during all the commotion? I had no idea what was happening. The man looked to his buddy.
“Check it out,” he ordered. The second man slowly made his way towards the closet as the scratching continued. But just as he reached the doors, the scratching stopped. The silence was deafening as the man hesitantly placed both hands on each knob. He then quickly opened the folded doors, but only slightly. He jumped back, expecting there to be a dog inside, but there was nothing there. Confused, he looked back at his buddy with a shrug before leaning in further, looking from left to right.
It was at that moment that something grabbed his head and pulled him upward. The force caused the doors to shut behind him as the man was now screaming from inside, along with a terrible growling and hissing.
“What the fuck?!” the green hooded man shouted. “What the fuck is in there?!” I didn’t acknowledge him and kept my eyes glued to the closet doors as they shook violently. The screaming continued for what seemed like an eternity before they finally stopped. A loud thud soon followed, which I could only assume was the body hitting the floor. This caused the closet doors to be pushed open slightly. There was nothing but silence as everyone kept their attention fixed on the closet.
Just then, I saw a dark figure drop from the ceiling. I couldn't see it completely as my daughter’s bed was blocking most of the view. All I could see was a dark hump from within the closet doors. It then started moving, slowly making its way out of the closet. From my peripheral vision, I saw the hooded man pointing his knife at whatever it was.
“Stay back!” he shouted, though all the confidence in his voice was gone, now replaced with terror. I kept my eyes on the dark thing coming out of the closet until, from behind the bed, a long, gray hand appeared, pressing against the floor. A long arm soon followed. I watched in horror as the dark figure from inside the closet fully revealed itself in the middle of the room. It then stood up on its legs, staring down at the man in front of it.
“Max!” Bella shouted happily. I looked down at my daughter in shock before looking back up at the creature. It looked like a man in shape only, but it was anything but. It was taller than any man I had ever seen. Its skin was dark gray in color and its arms and legs were thin and long, as well as its fingers, which had long fingernails, almost like claws.
But its head was what I noticed more. It was much larger and its bottom jaw was twice the size of a normal man’s. But its eyes were the most distinctive feature. They were yellow where the whites would be, but not a sickly yellow. A dark yellow as that of a black cat. And their irises were orange, almost like fire burning within them. It continued to stare at the intruder, baring its teeth at him, which were sharp and jagged. The man seemed to be petrified as he faced down the creature. For a while, neither one seemed to move. I made sure to keep Bella in my arms and remained right where I was, terrified that if we moved, that creature would turn its attention on us.
Finally, something seemed to awaken in the man as he quickly lunged at the creature. He tried stabbing it with his knife, but it simply moved out of the way. He tried stabbing at its head and chest, but it kept dodging his every move. Then, as the man was about to slash at its head, the creature swung its clawed hand at his and knocked the knife from his grasp. It then grabbed hold of the man’s neck and threw him against the opposite corner of the room from Bella and I. The creature let out a loud growl before it pounced on top of him and began to mercilessly attack the man.
I quickly covered Bella’s eyes before turning away myself. All I could hear was both the man’s screaming and the growling from the creature. The sound of pounding and flesh tearing filled my ears. I tried to tune it out, but that was an impossible task. Soon the screaming stopped and everything went quiet. I dared to open my eyes and turn back around to see the creature looking down at the unmoving body lying upon the floor. I stiffened with fear as the creature slowly turned its gaze to us. I thought that it was going to attack us next, but then I saw its eyes. Before, they were full of hate and anger. But as I looked into its eyes, they were now filled with sadness. I was greatly confused, but did not move from my spot.
As we continued to stare at each other, the creature lowered itself, pulling its knees to its chest to make itself into a little ball, just as Bella described. I wasn't sure what it was doing, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. However, before I could stop her, Bella pulled herself from my arms and ran over to the creature.
“Max!” she cried as wrapped her little arms around the creature’s neck.
“Bella!” I called out, but she ignored me. Then, to my astonishment, the creature gently wrapped its arms around Bella. I felt my heart stop when it had my daughter in its arms. What’s going to happen now? The monster had its arms around my daughter. Was it going to attack us now?
But it never made a move of any sorts. It just held my daughter in its arms as Bella remained right where she was. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I felt helpless should this thing decide to rip us apart.
But then it looked up at me with its bright yellow eyes. The look it gave me wasn’t at all what I was expecting. From the moment we locked eyes with one another, it gave me a look of what I can only describe as worry, like it was just as afraid as I was. What did this creature have to be afraid of?
It then looked down at Bella before closing its eyes and letting out a heavy breath. Its face fell to what I recognized to be sadness.
“Bella,” the creature spoke in a slow gurgling voice. It pulled away from Bella’s embrace to look her face to face. “Bella. It. Is. Time.” Bella cocked her head to one side, as she always did when she was confused.
“Huh?” she spoke.
“Max. Must. Go.” Bella didn’t like what he said at all and began to cry.
“No!” Bella cried. “No! I don’t want you to go!” She hugged his neck once more, holding on tightly. The creature looked down at Bella with a sadness that I hadn’t expected from anything other than a human. It embraced Bella in a gentle embrace as it shut its eyes.
“I’m. Sorry,” it said. “I. Can’t. Stay. Any. More”
“But mommy will let you stay!” she continued to plead. “I know she will!” The creature, Max then looked up at me, as if asking me to help. My body still felt weak from everything that had happened. My heart was still pounding a million miles an hour and my hands were trembling terribly. But I somehow managed to stand up and slowly stepped closer to them. I cautiously reached for Bella, still keeping my eyes on the creature in front of me, and gently grabbed her arms.
“Bella, let go,” I said just above a whisper. My throat was dry all of a sudden.
“No!” she cried out again. “He’s my friend! I love him!” I managed to pry Bella’s hands free from its neck and pulled her closer to the bed, holding her tightly in my arms, never looking away from it. The creature looked at me as well before lowering its gaze. For a moment, everything was quiet, save for the little girl crying in my arms. The creature then looked back up at Bella
“Bella,” the creature said. Bella looked back at him, sobbing uncontrollably. The creature gave her a smile before pointing a long finger at her.
“Max loves you,” it said. “Be good girl.” The creature then slowly stood up at full height. It then turned to the body behind it and picked up one of his legs. I covered Bella’s eyes, despite her protest, as it picked up the body and tossed it out the window that I didn’t realize was open. It then did the same thing with the other body in the closet before slowly climbing out the window, but not before turning back to the two of us. Bella was still crying as she turned in my arms to look at the creature. The creature gave Bella one last smile.
“Good bye,” he said slowly. With that, he jumped from the window and into the backyard. Bella and I quickly climbed on the bed to look out the window to see him making his way towards the woods with the two bodies. He tossed them over the fence and climbed over himself. The last thing I saw from him was his long gray hand disappearing behind the fence.
The police soon arrived after that. Turns out, one of the neighbors saw them break into the house from across the street and called the authorities. I didn’t know what to tell them, or even begin to explain what happened. So I just said I managed to fight them off before they fled into the woods as they arrived on the scene. The two officers that were there were a little unsure of my story, but didn’t argue about it. My husband came home not long after and I explained to him the same story I told the police. He kept on asking how I was able to hold them off, but all I said was that everything happened so fast that I couldn’t remember. This seemed to satisfy him, at least for the time being. We cleaned up the house after the police left to search the woods, but they couldn’t find anything. It took a while but we managed to fix all the damages that those men caused.
After that, I went up to the attic for the first time since moving there. What I found was astonishing. There was a large nest of fabrics, sticks, and stuffings, all packed neatly in the far end of the attic. He had been living in our attic all this time, and I had no idea. It was rather unnerving to know that there was something living just above you for years without your notice. But then I thought about how happy he made our daughter, and it made the situation a little less unsettling.
Bella slept in our room for weeks after that day. My husband thought it was because she was afraid to sleep alone, but I knew that wasn’t it. She was sad that her only friend, whom she had spent so much time with, was now gone from her life. I played with her as much as I could to make her feel better. After a couple months, Bella was starting to act like her old self again. I soon thought that she forgot all about it, but I would never forget.
It’s been years since that day, and we had all been living our lives like normal. Bella was now in Highschool making so many new friends. She was the captain of the lacrosse team and a sure win for scholarship. I was so proud of her.
I had continued to be a stay at home mom. But not a day went by that I didn’t think about what happened that day. How that creature, how Max saved both mine and my daughter’s lives. The more I thought about it, the more I thought of him less like a monster, but rather a lonely soul. All that time that he was in my house, he was protecting my daughter, being a friend to her. He even told my daughter to spend more time with me when I was feeling lonely. I realize now that he was never a danger to us. All he wanted was a friend.
I doubt I’d ever see him again, but part of me wished I would, so that I could thank him for everything that he did for us. For what he did for my daughter.
One night as I was about to set the table for dinner, I received a call from my husband, who told me that he was going to be late coming home. I thanked him and continued setting up the table, but with only two plates. Just then, my daughter, who was in the backyard practicing her lacrosse, opened the back door.
“Your father’s going to be home late tonight,” I told her. She nodded but was looking at me nervously.
“Hey, mom?” Bella asked sheepishly. “Since Dad is coming home late, do you mind if I invite a friend over?” I looked over at my daughter with a raised eyebrow.
“It’s a little short notice,” I said. “But sure. Who is it?” Bella smiled before taking a step to the side.
“I think you’ll remember him,” she said. She looked down and motioned her hand forward. “It’s okay.” My eyes widened as I saw a long, gray hand slowly appear from around the corner. I covered my mouth in surprise as I immediately recognized what it was, or rather, who it was. I looked up at my daughter, who was looking back at me nervously. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I slowly removed my hands from my mouth, showing my daughter a wide smile with teary eyes.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll set another plate.” |
As a kid, I grew up hearing multiple versions of the same warning: "stay off the back roads at dusk.", and I had a hard time understanding why. Oh sure, there were stories of bad, bad things happening on those roads, but I always figured it was the old folks, trying to mess with us kids. I didn't understand it, but I obeyed regardless.
From 8 to 10 years old, I'd roam all over the woods and old streets in my area, during the day. my siblings and I were always told to be home before dark, and if we'd be late, NEVER to go into the backroads, not even to shortcut. As soon as I hit 14 and up, I started staying out late, hanging out with friends and the like. Up until one night, I was leaving a friend's house to come home, and it was around 9:30, 10PM. I didn't realize how late the hour had gotten.
Naturally, I began to head home, rapidly once I became aware of how deserted the street was in either direction, how virtually every single window and home was dark. it should be noted, that most of the backroads here are lined with homes that've been abandoned since the 90's, and some of these roads have not a single functioning streetlamp. (In this case, the street I was on had 2 functional lamps. one at the start, and one and the end of the street. the one that was in the middle, had long since burnt out.)
Almost halfway down the street, I had the distinct urge to look behind me. when I did, I almost screamed from surprise and not a small amount of fear. there, under the street lamp at the far end of the road, was.. someone. it was too far to tell male or female. they were swaying back and forth, listlessly. Arms by their side, head down, hair covering any features I might have seen otherwise. the kind of posture you'd see on someone slouched while standing.
It wasn't so much their posture, nor the swaying that bothered me, but how they seemed to notice when I'd spotted them. they stopped swaying. just.. stopped. like a puppet that suddenly lost its strings. To this day, I don't know if it was a trick of the light, or if I really saw it, but I briefly saw what looked like a glint of silver. just barely. but that was all it took to make me speed up again. more so when I looked back and they were gone.
I bolted then, as far and fast as I could from that road. when I got home I was happy to survive. happy to escape what I felt was just a bad place. later that night, I woke to the sounds of screams in the distance, coming from the backroads behind my house. they didn't last long. the next morning, I heard rumors of what had been found on those roads. needless to say... I never went near them, ever again. if it was sundown before I'd get home, I'd simply stay the night with a friend.
Even as I share this, I can't help but shudder, as I imagine what might've happened had I not decided to leave the area when I did...
|
I have always been a bit naïve. I cried at ghost stories, tried to forget superstitions, and always believed in luck and other magical forces, so you’ll have to excuse me if I made any questionable choices, thank you.
It all began when that accursed letter arrived at my doorstep.
The envelope was plain and unremarkable, bearing no return address. Inside, I found a single sheet of aged paper, its edges yellowed with time. The writing was also very odd; I had never seen those characters before, yet I could understand everything.
"David," it began, "You have been chosen to play a dangerous game, one that defies all reason. Your life depends on following these rules:
**-Never look back. Once you start, there is no turning around.**
**-Always trust your instincts. They are your only guide.**
**-Avoid mirrors after sunset. Reflections can be deceiving.**
**-Whisper your deepest fear to the wind at midnight. It may offer protection.**
**-Beware the clock that strikes thirteen. It is not what it seems.**
**-Keep the door to your past locked. Do not let it open.**
**-Embrace the darkness but fear the shadows. They are watching.**
**-Never speak the name of the one who waits in the attic. He listens."**
I stared at the letter, a cold sweat forming on my brow.
I knew immediately it wasn’t a joke, mainly because I don’t know anyone who would do that, or anyone at all on that matter...
I tried to calm down. “Ok, this apartment complex isn’t very big, but there is still a considerable amount of people who live here, surely a serial killer would never try to kill me in front everybody, right?”
I ignored every response my brain had to that statement, and that seemed to relax me a bit.
I immediately took my phone, ready to call the police, but then I suddenly stopped. Wasn’t I overreacting? What if it was just a kid’s prank. Calling the police just for that could even result in ME being arrested if the officer was in a bad mood.
So, I thought to myself “Well, it’s impossible this guy will kill me on the first day! He spent so much time making this look so old and doing some kind of optical illusion with the letters, it would be such a waste to kill me immediately.”
I again ignored every single warning from the voice in my head, except one: there is a camera installed in every hallway. The landlord bought them last year, after someone’s apartment was broken into, and the owner was able to make him pay for all the stolen stuff. I would’ve asked him for the videos after I got home for work, possibly before midnight, when I assume the recordings are deleted.
It was morning and I was already running late for my job, so I quickly drank my coffee and grabbed the keys. I was about to close the door when I remembered about the weird letter; writing the rules down or taking a photo of it was probably a good idea. But as soon as I was about to turn around, chills went down my spine.
Didn’t one of the rules say something about turning around? Was it meant as physically or like metaphorically? Well, it surely couldn’t mean physically, since I turned around a lot of times that morning, mostly without thinking. Maybe it meant that I can't turn around to change what I've already done? As in this case to take back the letter I left there. What an asshole killer, these rules are too vague.
“Snap out of it, David, how did you jump from an old letter to a serial killer watching all your movements in 5 minutes?! This letter is probably from your boss who just found out how far behind you are with work... Now close the door and rush to the car!”
Wasn’t “trusting your guts” one of the rules? Maybe this was the right call after all. With some difficulty I managed to close the door without turning back, then I walked moderately fast (so I didn’t look like a creep) to my secondhand car.
Again, why would this Saw-wannabe target me out of every person in the complex, I don’t understand, but driving helped me cool off a bit.
I got to the office, said hello to my coworkers and got to work right away. I was three weeks behind schedule, I didn’t have time to waste behind this stupid threat. If I lost my job over THAT, the killer should have been afraid of me.
The morning passed quickly, and it was now lunchbreak. I kept working for a part of it, but then hunger won over responsibility. That dumb letter made me forget my lunch, so I just bought one of those disgusting and probably cancerous sandwiches from the vending machine. There was a half-broken clock beside it.
“Huh, it’s almost 13. Only 20 minutes until I can prove this whole thing is fake haha”
I laughed but I wasn’t really amused.
Since I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I just stood there and waited. Until it happened.
An otherworldly chime resonated through the whole room. My heart skipped a beat as I realized it was coming from the clock in front of me.
The clock's hands moved in erratic, unpredictable patterns, and its face bore the number thirteen, standing starkly against the fractured timepiece.
Mesmerized by its surreal presence, I drew closer to the clock. Its ticking was out of sync with reality, a discordant symphony that seemed to distort the fabric of time itself. I reached out, hesitantly, and touched the clock's face, only to find that it was cool to the touch, like a living entity.
As my fingers made contact, the room’s walls began to ripple, the very fabric and vinyl morphing into liquid-like patterns. I was pulled into a whirlpool of time and space, spiraling through a kaleidoscope of memories, dreams, and fragments of forgotten thoughts.
I found himself in a place beyond reason, where the laws of physics surrendered to the surreal. Clocks floated in the air, each striking thirteen in unison, creating a cacophonous symphony of distorted time. I tried to move, but gravity itself had become a capricious force, pulling me in every direction at once.
Amidst this chaotic dreamscape, I encountered faces and figures from my past, people long gone, and perhaps those I had never met. They whispered cryptic messages, half-formed riddles, and secrets lost to the depths of my subconscious. The very concept of past and future blurred into a perplexing present.
I realized that I had stepped into a realm where time itself had unraveled, and the clock that struck thirteen was the guardian of this bewildering reality. It was neither friend nor foe but a sentinel of the surreal, beckoning me to unlock the mysteries hidden in the fractured continuum of existence.
Then the clock signed 13:01, and everything went back to normal.
I stood there, paralyzed in front of the vending machine, not sure if what I experience really happened or if it was just my imagination.
One thing I know for sure, I’m never eating one of those sandwiches ever again.
As I’m writing this, it’s currently 1:30 pm, and I’ve decided this has somewhat a priority over my work, but I promise I'll get back to it as soon as I post this.
I think I forgot a rule, though I don’t feel like I’ve broken one yet, and if my gut says so then I’m probably right.
I've read that Reddit users are very smart, so i wonder if you could help in any way? Comment any tip you think could help me survive, and I’ll try to follow it.
Thank you in advance guys!!
|
It was supposed to bring opportunities for science. Instead, it brought us an unspeakable horror.
Everything started out perfectly normal, with the capsule detaching from the spacecraft exactly on schedule. Tracking its progress as it entered the atmosphere, we watched, through infrared cameras, as it streaked through the sky over the west coast at twenty-seven thousand miles per hour. With its heat shield keeping the payload safe from the heated plasma created by its reentry, the capsule was able to safely descend back to Earth.
After two minutes of falling, the atmosphere managed to slow down the capsule to one thousand seventy-four miles per hour. At that point the capsule deployed its drogue parachute to further reduce its speed. Entering a Special Use Airspace over Utah, we kept track of the capsule and triangulated its position using radar.
Sitting in a helicopter that circled the landing ellipse, I tried my best to scan the skies for any sign of the capsule. To say that I was excited was an understatement. This mission had been years in the making and now, two years, eleven months, and four days after collecting samples from an asteroid, we would see the return of the capsule and its precious payload.
As a member of the recovery team, I would be among the first people to see and touch the capsule after its return to Earth. It was a great honor and although my role was small, I knew I was playing my part in a larger system.
“Main chute deployed.” The Spacecraft Command Team called out on the radio.
Looking out at the window of the helicopter, I began searching for the chute and smiled when I spotted it.
“It’s there, just to our east.” I called out to my team leader.
Descending at eleven miles per hour, the capsule hung under its main parachute as it went through the final moments of its journey. Moving closer towards it, we circled the descending capsule and watched as it made a touchdown.
Once the capsule was firmly on the ground, we then descended and landed a few yards away from it. We were joined on the ground by three other helicopters which contained the Safety Team and the Environmental Sampling Team.
The first person to approach the capsule was a military officer. Since the landing zone was in the middle of a Department of Defense Test and Training Range, there was a small possibility that there were unexploded ordnance on the location. Luckily for us none were detected and we were given the green signal to approach.
Following our carefully rehearsed procedure, the Environmental Team moved towards the capsule and began testing the air around it, as well as marking and taking samples of the ground. Meanwhile, us in the recovery team brought a metal crate and placed it on top of a cargo net that was connected to a nearby helicopter thanks to a long line. The crate will act as a cradle for the capsule during its aerial transport back to the airfield, where our temporary Clean Room. Once in the Clean Room, the capsule will be dusted off, disassembled, and the sample canister removed and placed into a nitrogen glove box for nitrogen purging.
Getting close to the capsule and looking down on it, I couldn’t help but smile. This object had traveled billions of miles in space, saw things humans can only dream of seeing, took samples from an asteroid, and now it was back on Earth. It truly was a marvel and a great accomplishment for space exploration.
However, I didn’t let my awe and admiration distract me from my task. Following procedure, me and Dan, my partner for this part of the recovery, moved to stand next to the capsule, before gently lifting up the hundred pound object. Making sure not to drop it, we took our time carrying it towards the crate.
It was at this point I noticed something strange.
While lifting the capsule, I thought I heard a tapping sound coming from inside it. This surprised me, since I knew that it wasn’t supposed to be making such noise. However, as suddenly as it started, the ticking noise immediately stopped, making me wonder if it really happened or if it was just my imagination.
Seeing that Dan didn’t react to the sound, I decided that it was most likely just my imagination. Keeping quiet about it, so that I won’t embarrass myself, I returned my focus to my job and slowly lowered the capsule to its crate. Once it was secure, we then began tightly wrapping a tarp around the capsule and sealing it with tape. With that done, we secured the cargo net and signaled that the capsule was now ready for transport.
Within a few minutes, the helicopter took off and slowly lifted the capsule into the air. We watched at the capsule and its precious cargo hung under the long line, as the helicopter carried it back to the airfield. With our job done, we began packing our gear and heading back to our chopper, leaving behind the Environmental Team to continue their job of collecting ground samples around the landing zone.
By the time we arrived at the airfield, the capsule was already inside the Clean Room, where technicians will clean and open up the capsule so that the Curation Team can purge it with nitrogen and protect the sample canister from possible contamination.
With nothing more to do, us in the Recovery Team moved to one of the nearby hangars that was temporarily converted to act as our break room. Grabbing food and taking a seat next to Dan, I gave him a quick path on the back and congratulated him for our successful recovery.
“Just like the rehearsals.” I told him with a smile.
“Yea.” He said cheerfully, before suddenly frowning. “There is something bothering me though.”
This piqued my interest, as I raised an eyebrow and stared at him. “What is it?”
“It’s the capsule.” He said. “I’m not sure, but…I thought I heard something from it.”
“Heard something?” I muttered. “Was it a tapping sound?”
Dan’s eyes immediately widened as he nodded. “Yea. You heard it too?”
“I did.” I told him. “But I shrugged it off when it stopped.”
“I ignored it too. At first I thought it may have just been loose samples within the canister shaking as we moved it. But then I heard it again. After we wrapped the capsule and got it secure in the cargo net, I swear I heard the tapping again. I don’t know if you heard that too, you were busy going through the checklist at the time, but I heard it. I don’t know, I’m not sure if it’s anything of concern, but it just seems odd. Maybe I’m just overthinking it, but-”
The rest of what Dan was about to say was cut off, when the sound of sudden commotion occured on the other side of the hangar. Turning around, I saw that one of our team members was being tackled by a man that wore a white bio suit. Seeing the protective equipment on the man, I quickly realized that he was from the Curation Team. But what was he doing here and why was
Getting up and moving towards the scene, I saw our team member frantically attempt to get the other man off of him, but to no avail. The other man seemed to be stronger and kept him pinned.
Reaching the two first, Dan quickly grabbed the man from behind and lifted him off of our team member. As he did so, the other man struggled and flailed his arms, as he gave out a hiss that I never thought a person could ever make. Wrapping his hands around the man, Dan did his best to keep him restrained, as I moved forward to help him. However, I suddenly stopped in my tracks when I saw the man’s face.
The man’s eyes were wrong and were bulging out of his eye sockets. In fact, his eyes looked too big to fit in his eye sockets, as they were stretching them to the point of tearing. Standing there frozen in sudden fear, I looked on with horror as these unnaturally large eyes stared at me.
I was only snapped out of my catatonic state when I heard Dan struggle and call out for help.
“We need to pin him on the ground.” Dan said. “He’s fighting harder than I expected and I don’t know if I can keep this up.”
Returning my attention back to the situation, I nodded my head and moved towards them. By that point other members of the team had arrived, as two of them began helping the man who was attacked. Meanwhile, another one was rushing towards a nearby exit, shouting that they’ll call the security team.
Focusing my attention on the attacker, I took a step forward and prepared to grab the man’s arms, which continued to flail around. However, before I could put my hands on him, I suddenly jerked back when I saw spider-like legs sprout out of his eye sockets. These legs then helped each eye pop out of its sockets, allowing it to crawl on the man’s face.
Letting out a curse, I stared in disbelief as his eyes crawled away, leaving behind a deep empty void where they used to be. However, they did not remain empty for long, as a new pair of eyes crawled out of its depth. This pair soon exited the eye sockets too and crawled down his face as they followed the path the previous two took.
Meanwhile, the initial two pairs crawled down the man and were now moving to Dan’s arms, which were still wrapped around him. At that point the man was still flailing his arms and struggling from Dan’s grip. However, the moment he felt the eyes crawl up one of his exposed arms, he immediately let go.
“What the fuck?” Dan remarked, as he saw the two eyes that managed to get on his arm. As they crawled, I couldn’t help but notice Dan wincing in pain as they moved on his skin.
In an attempt to get them off, he used his free arm to swat away the pair going up. However, this only resulted in him only letting out a hiss of pain, as the eyes remained on his arms. It seemed like their long spider-like legs were stabbing the skin of his arm, making it difficult to get them off.
Seeing him struggle, I moved up to try and help him, but was immediately blocked by the man whose eyes still released these unnatural little horrors. Standing in front of me, and with eyes crawling all over his body and staring at me, I felt frightened and unsure what to do.
Then, without warning, a couple of the eyes leaped from the man and headed straight towards me. I was lucky enough to react quickly to this, resulting in the eyes landing on the concrete floor. However, these little creatures were persistent, and quickly turned their gaze back towards me.
Slowly backing away, I felt that they were only moments away to make another leap. But before they could do so, John, another member of the team, rushed forward and began stomping on the eyes. As he did this though, the remaining eyes that were still crawling on the man leaped on him, landing right on his head.
Moving his hands on his head, he tried his best to pull them off. But their legs had dug into his skin, making it impossible. Screaming in pain, John was helpless as the eyes began crawling down to his face, before settling on his eyes. Burrowing themselves in, they broke through his pupils and planted themselves inside his sockets. It was a terrible sight, which was only made worse by John’s screams.
“They’re in my head! They’re burrowing into my brain!”
This was mixed with Dan’s screams, who I heard calling out for help.
At that point I ran. I feel ashamed for abandoning them, but what could I have done? Those creatures were too deadly and too horrific, I wouldn’t have been able to help. Heading towards the nearest exit, I ran as fast as I could, while praying that the eyes wouldn’t catch up to me. By then most members of the team were running away also, with some having already fled, including the first one who was attacked.
Reaching the door, I allowed myself to make one last glance towards the horrors behind me. I wished I hadn’t.
On the floor were Dan and John, both of whom had their eyes covered by their faces. John was still screaming in pain as a stream of them forced their way into his eye sockets, while Dan was silent and unmoving.
Not wanting to see anymore of it, I turned around and ran again. I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to go, but I followed the other members of the team who were fleeing the scene. Eventually we met up with the military security of the airfield and informed them about the situation.
In response, they quickly dispatched teams to search the various facilities all over the airfield, while ordering us to stay in their security building. As time passed on, more people from around the airfield were gathered into the building. Talking to some technicians who arrived after us, I learnt from them that the Clean Room was a bloody mess. Passing by it on their way to the security building, they saw the large bay doors open and various parts of the capsule, including the sample canister, on the floor.
This brought a chill of fear through me, as I realized that something must have come out of it. I then remembered the tapping sound me and Dan heard. Could that have come from those little creatures?
Once military security were certain they got everyone they could find, they then did a headcount to see who was missing. Among those who weren’t there was Dan, John, the entire Curation Team, as well as five other personnel.
We were then held in the building for a while, as military and NASA personnel from other facilities were discreetly sent into the airfield, so that they wouldn't attract outside attention. As far as everyone in the public knows, the transport aircraft that arrived was part of the team that was tasked with transporting the sample canister to Texas.
One by one, all of us who had been in the airfield were examined by a team of medical professionals. Stipped off our clothes and checked thoroughly, they wanted to make sure that none of us had those parasitic eye creatures on us.
After we were cleared, we were forced to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement. I say forced because we were threatened by government officials to do so. If we didn’t sign or if we revealed anything we encountered that day, they said that they will make sure we will lose our jobs and any credibility we have in society.
I signed it, because I knew they wouldn’t let me out if I didn’t. However, I’m not keeping my silence.
NASA says that the recovery of the capsule was successful and that the samples are secure and safe within their nitrogen filled box. But this is a lie. They’re trying to cover up the truth.
What really happened was a disaster. Out there, there are dozens of individuals walking around, filled with parasites from space. If you see someone with bulging eyes walking towards you, you must run away.
|
The day started alright. The school was okay. The teachers were questionable. With how they teach and how they act. Some were strict which tells me that their household was most likely strict as well. Some teachers were chill which tells me their household was less strict. When lunch was happening I would be at the liberty to read books like Captain Underpants, A Walk of Shadows, IT, 1984, Percy Jackson, The Dark Tower 1: The Gunslinger , and stuff like that. I was feeling sleepy and fell asleep. I dreamed of a shadow person in the distance of the void. It was long, tall, and eating something of flesh. Flesh of an animal? I couldn’t tell you for the life of me.
I stared at it. For god only knows how long. Then suddenly the damn thing charged at me. As fast as a sports car at max speed It got to my face. I woke up feeling my body temperature rise in which sweat started to form on my skin which had a gross smell to it. Not that I didn’t shower, I did a lot and the smell still lingers. It was 1 minute until math class so I booked my ass over there.
Later that day I went to the dump with my dad to drop off cardboard and glass. He would always tell me “You can’t recycle plastic because not all of it can be used again and will be sent to the landfills and oceans where sea animals will eat or get stuck in them and we end up eating them” he would say. And I would take him at his word.
He and I went to get dinner at Subway and had Italian bread with turkey, cheese, bacon, and ham with a pack of cookies, Dr. peppers, and sometimes a monster if I got really good grades. And so I went to bed.
I awake to a shadow person in my room; playing with cards. The shadow person looked odd, not really because it was a shadow but because the shadow wasn’t on the wall. They are on the same playing field as people of this realm. My room has toys scattered around, from Nerf guns to Barbie playhouses filled with army men and Ken dolls doing kung fu. The floor was made of carpet and was stained with apple juice in some areas and some weird brown liquid here or there.
The shadow had eyes sockets with no eyes or it looked like there weren’t any eyes. And then I saw the white in the eyes looking right at me. Don’t hug me I’m scared. Suddenly I was sent into the void where I could feel my brain invert, my eyes going inside out. My stomach inverted feeling the acid flowing out of my being. Every bone, every cell, every organ was inverted, everything backward. I was thrown back into my room. And I died almost the second I was back in there.
And then something odd happened. I started to regenerate? My bones, flesh, and skin came out new but then I realized that I made a new body and the old one was on the carpet. I fucking reponed the fuck. I could feel something new, I could go into the void and so I did. Just to see a Lovecraft-type god just looking at me, not knowing what to do due to them seeing something like this before. It attacked me though.
Another odd thing happened, I shocked them with lighting without thinking about it. They flunk back 20 yards into the void. I could see their organs and so I went for it. They screamed. As I ripped their heart out and inverted it. Killing them. I went back into my room from the void and went to sleep.
The next morning I went outside to touch grass and listened, then I heard it, a voice from beyond the void. A dark voice. A being that controls all, The Tree of Creation. They are evil; they are Destiny. |
It was rather unfair, I thought. The sky didn’t even have clouds. It was an unbroken gray expanse that radiated light in a diffuse haze, like sunlight through fog. I tried to avoid looking at it, for my eye was unwillingly drawn to the horizon each time and I did not want to see what resided just beyond the curve of the earth.
Besides, I had to watch where I was walking. I’d run until the laundry island was out of sight, focusing only on moving straight ahead to put the most distance between me and the flickering man. I ran through mud and standing water alike, trying not to look at it, trying not to think about what the laundry lady had told me. The water was tepid against my skin as it soaked through my shoes and splashed on my bare calves. It was like the world had been drained of all extremes. Nothing was too hot or too cold, too bright or too colorful. It was a drab, dull world, devoid of life.
But it was also a blank canvas.
The thought came to me abruptly, after I’d stopped running forward and was instead trying to pick my path more carefully. Back home, we all thought that the gray world was unique to the campground. Just another strange bit of the inhuman that had wedged itself in among the trees and picnic tables. But between the master of the gray world and the things Kate had found in it - the fact the Lady of Stories was in it before Kate even knew anything about that - makes me believe that the gray world exceeds the campgrounds. *Far* exceeds it.
The laundry lady’s realm was a world unto itself when I first visited, with laundry stretching as far as the eye could see. But it started *somewhere* and that place was apparently here. It returned to the gray world when it was shattered and she was now rebuilding it inside the gray world.
What if… what if this was kind of like the inhuman central station? The intersection between all other realms? Perhaps I could find something that connected to the steam tunnels, since those doors don’t always open up to where you think they will. Or perhaps - there *was* the traveling river. I’m not a strong swimmer and I certainly haven’t been practicing, not after my encounter with the swimmers that one time, but it was better than wandering through the gray world for eternity.
The only problem was I didn’t have anything near me that even remotely resembled a door. Or even a symbolic door or archway. Anything that represented crossing from one point to another.
There was nothing. Nothing except the water.
I stared at it for a long moment, debating hard with myself. The laundry lady had warned me away from it, but perhaps that was because it posed more of a threat to her than it did to me. Maybe each pool reflected a different place and I just had to find the right one. One that led to the steam tunnels or the traveling river or - and the thought made my skin crawl - the black slab of water in the power station basement.
There was plenty of standing water around me. I just had to pick some.
I crouched, ready to jump up and run, and peered down into the water. It was only a few inches deep. I could see the muddy bottom. But there was something else, in the corner of my eye. I tried to focus on it without looking at it directly. If I could make out what it was - if it was a place - then perhaps I could tell if it was safe to use this water as a portal, I guess, to get back home. I admit this was a flimsy theory, but Plan C wasn’t working out so great on account of, oh, *there being no hills*.
The image rippled in the water, eluding my efforts to figure out what it was. I squinted, trying to find a stable point that might anchor the image. Was that a hallway? Did I find the steam tunnels?
It’s funny how our minds betray us. We get a theory in our heads and are so convinced it’s right that for a moment, it becomes our reality.
The ground beside me shifted, almost imperceptibly. There was something near my foot - something long and thin like a worm.
Startled, I shot to my feet and stumbled backwards, away from the water.
Away from the thing that was crawling silently out of it, the thing that had placed its hand right next to my foot.
It had only half a face, one side twisted up in a leering grin with a single eye the size of a raisin. The other half was a swirling mass of clay-like flesh, roughly shaped into the form of a cheek and the hollow of an eye, curling around to form ridges where the ear should go. Like a bowl on a potter’s wheel, I thought, before the potter is done giving it form.
Its body creaked and cracked as it rose from the water. I stumbled backwards in horror, unable to tear my eyes from the sight. Metal cables hung loosely from its shoulders and back, like the feathers of some tropical bird. One arm was longer than the other. For a moment it stood there, knee-deep in water that I could see the bottom of and it was only an inch, it *should* only be an inch. Then it tilted to one side, there was a sharp crack, and it straightened again.
Its arms were now symmetrical and its veins bulged, splitting the wet skin and pushing to the surface with a metallic shine. It took a step toward me.
I think I yelled ‘shit’ at the top of my lungs and then I took off running. I didn’t have any destination in mind because there was nothing to run to in this featureless wasteland. I was frantically trying to get away from it. If only I had some kind of weapon, I thought desperately. I hadn’t brought the charm bundle because I felt it was best to leave it with Cassie, to keep our dorm room safe while I was gone. Besides, it probably wouldn’t work - not if this creature was something *new*. But if I had a shotgun like what the folks back home carried when pursuing something inhuman… then maybe I could slow it down.
“This was a terrible idea!” I shrieked to an uncaring sky as I ran.
Okay so the master of the gray world is a horrifying creation beyond any inhuman. It’s mere presence threatens to wipe away my very sense of self, rendering me as insignificant as a single speck of dust. However, when faced between encountering *that* again and being torn apart by… a construction site’s dumpster trash… I knew which I’d pick.
There was no hill. But perhaps the hill was merely an artifact of the campground. I was still on campus, enough that the rain was present here, so perhaps I had to find something symbolically important on campus. The administration building? Not only was it important, but it was also one of the taller buildings on campus.
No. Screw that. The administration is part of the problem. I didn’t really care to see what kind of a realm they had in the gray world, if they had one at all.
Then where else? Where else is significant enough on campus to exist both here and there? The library.
Of course. The devil had shown it to me and I thought it was for one purpose, but this is the devil in his trickster role, and there are meanings upon meanings.
The cemetery. The *tree*.
So I began walking as quickly as I dared, no longer trying to carefully pick my way through the mud and between the gray, leafless trees. The creature was pursuing me, but it wasn’t following me very fast. It was dragging its steps through the earth, buried up to its ankles in mud.
Like the ground was trying to swallow it up again.
There are no monsters protecting the gray world. Kate’s uncle had spoken of a creature that stalked him and the wayward campers but it wasn’t a singular entity prowling around, watching for intruders. It was these things, the half-formed remnants of our nightmares and our stories, crawling their way out of the morass as they catch the scent of something human.
Is killing one of us how they become real? Or are they driven by impulse, like a muscle that will twitch when attached to a live wire?
I’m going to keep a close eye on the campus discord next year. See if anyone says anything about spotting a creature with metal cables buried in its arms in place of veins.
I walked until I felt like I would collapse, my legs burning with exertion. I knew that I had to keep going, though. I didn’t bother to look back. Either I’d outdistance the creature or I wouldn’t. And even if I did, even if it got sucked back down into the morass, there was always a risk of something else coming crawling out. I had to focus on my goal and keep going, because if this world recognized intention, then I would *make* it take me to my exit.
I might be scared all the time and have the world’s worst panic reaction, but you can’t say I’m not determined. I escaped my hometown, I went to college, I turned my grades around with a little help from the devil. I’ve done more than anyone else has to figure out these creatures on campus and do something about them, when most people just put their heads down and try to quietly finish their four years so they can move on and pretend it was all just a bad dream.
I had a will and I would use it to compel the gray world to take me where I wanted to go.
Ahead of me I saw a tree rising out of the ground, larger than all the others around it. Its bare branches were sharp against the gray sky, blending one into the other so that the entire thing looked like a paper cutout. And I stopped worrying about the monsters and the water and everything else, because the master of the gray world was there, staring down from the tree’s massive branches.
I don’t remember much about approaching the tree. It’s like I saw the master of the gray world and then I was there, standing amongst the tangled roots of stone and wood, braided together like rope. Creatures ran among them, scuttling about on thousands of legs, but I ignored those too, and they paid me no heed. Perhaps they didn’t exist in the gray world at all, but some other place where the tree was but was also here and also in my world. It didn’t matter. I was here for an audience with their master.
It spoke to me. It said that it would make no offer or bargain, for it could tell my intent already. Even if I knew my death, I would not stay, and so it would not burden me with such knowledge. It only made such an offer to those that would choose one way or the other. I had already decided.
I think I may have said something in response. I’m not sure. I’m not sure if I spoke or if it heard the words as they vibrated in my lungs, unable to escape underneath the crushing weight of its presence. And this was it being polite. This was it diminishing itself, simply so I could stand before it and not fade away into nothingness underneath the gaze of the entire world staring down at me.
It sent me back. There was a sensation like being carried, like being swept up in palms or wings, so massive that I was a mere insect but it held me so carefully, and then I was placed back in my world. Back in the cemetery, and it was gracious enough to place me away from the tree so that the groundskeeper wouldn’t come for me as soon as I was back in my world.
Finally, all the adrenaline that had kept me going for however long I was in there started to seep out of my blood. I was left shaking and weepy, but it was okay, I was done. I just had to leave and go back to my dorm and I’d worry about who won the laundry lady vs. flickering man battle tomorrow.
I did not need to wait until the morning to find out.
The flickering man met me at the gate.
He… did not look great. His shirt was torn in a few places and the skin was blackened and blistered, as if with a chemical burn. One arm hung limply by his side, his fingers curled inwards and fused together.
“Looks like the laundry lady threw some detergent on you,” I giggled.
It just kind of slipped out. I was lightheaded. Nearly delirious. The flickering man’s scowl deepened.
“I’m done with this shit,” he said. “You know way too much. I’ll make my apologies to them later.”
I faltered, standing in the open gates of the cemetery. This was it. He was breaking the rules. I wasn’t soaked through with rain, he had no right to touch me. The laundry lady had said that would be enough to force the administration to act. I held my breath.
A raindrop hit my cheek. I wanted to shrivel underneath it, curl up and sob right there on the sidewalk. Of course it was starting to rain. Of course. My determination had gotten me out of the gray world, but this was my reality now, and reality isn’t so accommodating. Just because I wanted to graduate, to *live*, didn’t mean it would change a damn thing around me. It was just me, the rain, and the flickering man who was now able to follow me wherever I might run.
Then he paused. The rain had struck him, but his corporeal body remained exactly where it was. He didn’t vanish into the raindrops.
“W-what?” he stammered. “I don’t understand.”
He stared up at the sky and I felt like he wasn’t just talking out loud. He was speaking to it. To the rain.
“But I’m only trying to help!” he shouted, his eyes desperately searching the sky. “That’s what I’ve always done.”
He flinched as rain struck his damaged hand. Hissed in pain. I stared at him, watching incredulously.
I was the one that assumed the flickering man worked for the administration. I’d given it that name and the laundry lady had just gone along with it because that is the right of humans, to name things.
But it was the rain. It was the rain all along.
“I was doing this to help you!” he shrieked, jerking away as if he were burned when another raindrop struck him. “You don’t know that this will work!”
He jumped from raindrop to raindrop because *the rain* allowed him to. Now it had not only taken away that gift, but it was also rebuking him. He fell to his knees, raising his arms to protect his face, my presence entirely forgotten as he pleaded with the rain falling all around us.
“You… you just had to do what you’ve always done,” he sobbed. “Please. Let’s just… keep things the way they are. There’s still time. We’ll find another.”
He crumpled, falling sideways to lay on the ground, panting heavily.
“I don’t want you to leave us,” he whispered.
I didn’t know what would happen if I walked away. Perhaps the rain would consider this warning sufficient and let him live and then this would all start over next year. I took a step towards him, not even sure what I was thinking of doing anymore. The flickering man’s gaze tracked my movement, staring up at me weakly, his entire body trembling as the rain continued to fall.
“You can’t do anything without running for help, can you?” he rasped. “I don’t know why they picked you. I don’t know what *anyone* sees in you.”
He might be dying at my feet, but it seemed he still wanted to make me hate myself. And something in me cracked. I was tired of it. I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime, I think.
“Okay, I’m sick of this!” I shrieked, my voice breaking. “You’ve been insulting me since the moment we met. I might just be a weak little human but I know - I *KNOW* \- that we humans are what *created* you! I don’t think you hate me - I think you *resent* me because I-”
I took a deep breath.
“I can change,” I said quietly. “And you can’t.”
No more hesitation. I was afraid, yes, but I couldn’t keep letting that fear stop me from protecting myself, from protecting the people I cared about. I glanced up and down the sidewalk. No one was around. It was so early in the morning that there would be almost no one still awake.
Good. I sucked in a careful breath and then… I stopped thinking. Stopped thinking about anything. I felt my body moving, felt myself dropping to one knee beside the flickering man.
And I grabbed his hair. I pulled his head up. Then I slammed it down, into the pavement upon which he lay. He made a strange, gasping noise, but I wasn’t listening, I wasn’t even *looking*, I just pulled him forward and slammed his head down again until there was a crack. Until water like raindrops spread in a puddle beneath him.
Until he was dead.
And I left him there and the rain washed him away.
I threw up when I returned to the dorm. I just went straight to the bathroom and threw up. Then I went back to my dorm room and found Cassie was still awake, waiting for me. She asked if our plan worked and I said that yes, it had. It worked.
I told her that I’d killed the flickering man with my own hands. Then I took off my socks and shoes, still wet with the water from the gray world, and crawled into bed.
There’s not much more I need to say. I finished up my finals, had one last dinner together with Maria and Cassie. I saw Grayson and while we didn’t talk about anything important, we did promise each other to keep in touch over the summer. He had to stay here to keep an eye on his dad and I was going to be busy with my summer job - yes it’s exactly what you think it is. Taking sweaty boob money from campers that forgot to bring limes for their gin and tonics.
Maybe I was imagining it, but Grayson seemed more cheerful than he had been when I talked to him. I didn’t tell him I used him to trick the flickering man into angering the rain. I feel guilty for keeping that from him. I think Cassie is right - we’ll need to work through our secrets at some point if we want this relationship to work out.
Next semester. When we’re not long-distance. This is the kind of thing you do in person.
There is one more thing I need to tell you. I didn’t unpack for a few days after I got home from the dorms. When I finally got around to it, one of my younger sisters helped. She was unpacking the box that contained mostly my cheap dorm decorations and maybe some electronics - charger cables, mostly - when she held up something and asked why I had a funny rock among my things. I had a number of funny rocks now, on account of being a geology major and all, so I turned to see which one it was and maybe throw in an impromptu lesson on how to identify a sedimentary rock, I dunno.
It was a piece of petrified wood. One that looks like a heart if you squint a little and apply enough imagination.
The piece of the petrified tree that belonged to my geology professor. The one stolen out of his locked office.
|
A lot has happened since my last post but i’d like to thank you all for your suggestions. Especially the bathtub suggestion. Salt is ineffective against whatever is happening here and I’ve learned my lesson about trying to static noise.
I haven’t slept since and Joanna and Carter are still prowling the hallway, fucking with me. I can only guess that whatever warped their bodies also twisted their minds. I thought I was screwed but then I was reminded of the bathtub. I went to it with my pack filled with a few bottles of water and my laptop.
The landlord and management have known about it for 6 months now. Water had seeped into the walls and started to rot away the floor, so much so that the bathtub’s far end was noticeably sunk in. When I showered I hugged the drain end, fearful that my weight would cause it to fall through the floor. Now I went to that end and stepped in. It sagged and groaned with my weight but held so I started jumping on it, landing with as much force as I could muster until on the 3rd try the floor gave way and I went with it.
I landed badly, cracking my side across the outer rim of the tub, and had the wind knocked out of me but I had done it. My tub and some of the floor were in my downstairs neighbor's bathroom. Picking off bits of debris I struggled to my feet and stepped out into the living room. A single mother named Naomi lived here with two toddlers, I had never talked to her but had a brief interaction with her son who asked me my name of all things. I knew they often spent the night at her baby daddy's house (once again Eleana’s and Macey’s gossip keying me in) and it held true tonight. The living room and bedroom were empty and I was grateful.
I tried to hurry as my fall down a floor wasn’t exactly silent and if anything else was out there it surely heard. I rushed down the hallway in long strides, trying not to look but there were details you could not but notice.
A section of brick wall had discolored monochrome, black and white, and back to faded red. I didn’t stop to observe, I had to keep moving. Only once I came upon several blood-stained doors did my pace slow but I didn’t stop. I tried to not think about the people who lived there or what had happened to them but by now the apartment should’ve been full of the sounds of life instead of the bleak oppressive silence I was drowning in.
I made it to the stairs and practically lept down an entire flight of stairs to the second floor. Blood pumping and confidence high I was running now. This hallway was warped like the one on the 4th floor but in much more extreme ways. The walls had not only narrowed but they were slanted, warping and turning at an angle with every foot until the hallway was nearly spiraled. I had to slow to a stop to get my bearings as it was all so dizzying. The floor beneath my feet ceased to be shitty faux wood laminate and was isntead a smooth stone that felt almost slippery.
The brick walls had melted away to some mottled and stringy maroon cloth thrown over what looked to be grating made of the same smooth stone. It looked almost organic but at the same time, it could've been fabric. The thick dangling strands made me think of sea anemone tendrils and I shuddered at the thought of touching them.
So I forced myself to run once more, past an open door to a room that had a body perfectly bisected and sprawled out on the floor. The pile of intestines between the two halves writhing and rising into the air. It freaked me out enough that I ran past the next open door with my eyes shut tight. It was Harold’s room and I feared seeing what had become of him. I thought mercy was on my side as the hallway eventually straightened out and the next half dozen doors were shut. But as I came up to the last doors that lined the hallway the one to my left flung open with incredible force.
Flayed hands from a black void reached out to grab at me and I pivoted out of the way just before they made contact. But I couldn’t stop my momentum and went stumbling onto the cold slippery floor. I tried scrambling back up as the door to my right opened and from it, Sarah Palmer emerged.
I knew it was her despite her corrupted form, flayed and covered in sinewy tumor-like growths. The severely obese woman had merged into her mobility scooter and she used it to move forward. Sloughed flesh made it difficult as it had wrapped around the wheels but still, it inched forward. The center of her abdomen had split open into a gaping hole and with a quiver and a moan, it erupted with some vile bile-like fluid as it vomited a small figure out onto the floor before me.
The newly birthed child got up at the same time I did and followed me in my panicked rush down the rest of the hallway and onto the stairway. The toddler-sized thing made of diseased and partially digested sinew was fast shrieked like a joyous child as it closed the gap between us with a leap. It was my turn to shriek as I tried shaking it off. As it scaled up my back towards my shoulder I took hold of the thing with my hands and pried it off. The flesh was gelatinous and my fingers suck into it in ways that made my stomach churn.
“Tag you’re it!” the thing said in a voice I thought was vaguely familiar.
Disgust drove me to fling it at the wall with all the force I could muster and its body crunched and splattered on impact with the wall that had reverted back to normal. It let out a small pained groan as it slid off the wall into the floor. As I ran by it spoke in an agonized whisper that I could not rend from my mind no matter how much I try
“Chris, why? I just wanted to play,” it said and I had to stifle a heaving gasp as I cleared the flight of stairs into the first-floor lobby.
The only child who knew my name here was Naomi’s son, they weren’t supposed to be here, not tonight. They had always left on weeknights to their father's house. Had Naomi called off the attempts of reconciliation tonight of all nights? Or had this begun earlier than I had thought? I didn’t know and wouldn’t ponder it until I was out of this nightmare.
The lobby was normal by all means except for the lack of lights, but now the darkness did nothing to deter me. The exit was right there and I ran towards it. The double glass doors froze me in place, not because they were bolted but because of what lay beyond. Pitch dark world where nothing could be seen, except for the momentary brilliance brought out by flashes of lightning ripped across the sky like whips made of TV static. In those moments I saw them, a line of things just waiting for me to step out.
One was a smooth-skinned pale humanoid with a hole right through its chest that leaked inky black fluid, it had no face. Another was a tangle of violet tendrils that appeared to be made of smaller writhing strands. Then there was one that was a massive looming serpentine thing doted with eyes the size of human heads, each iris alien in shape, and one end that I assumed to be it’s head was tusked with mandibles that must've been six feet in length. There were dozens of others but their forms were too varied, too abstract to ever accurately describe.
What drew my attention the most was the many puddles and stains of crimson at their feet and scraps of clothing, one of them obviously being Macey’s distinctive denim Jacket. One work boot lay on its side, one I thought might’ve belonged to a maintenance worker. I would not be leaving… not here. I tried to comfort myself by telling myself that whatever was keeping me here wasn’t letting them in but it wasn’t reassuring in any measure.
I ended up crawling underneath the shitty lobby desk and curling up into a ball for what felt like hours. It could’ve been longer for all I know but nothing mattered in that moment, I was fucked. Only when I heard the sound of a procession shuffling by did I stir. Peaking out from my hiding place I saw them, the robed figures, 6 of them now. Upon their shoulders, they bore the weight of a marble slab, and upon it, a huddled figure. I watched them, backs to me, shuffle down the room and into the hallway that led to the manager's office.
I tried sulking out as silently as possible to bear witness to the ritual that was about to unfold. The bearers lowered themselves and the slab and as light gleamed across it I realized who it was. The body was bent back into itself until it formed a circle. The belly was pointed out to the world the back and spine contorted and twisted, the eyes empty. But goddamn the mouth, Harold was grinning ear to ear in an expression of pure ecstasy.
The chanting began then, as the flung back and twisted glare of Harold’s body lay upon me. Strange throaty vocalizations, deep and reverberating and inhuman. The sound of a mountain splitting apart or two worlds coming together. The vibrational forces of the universe melting away a border that kept the background machinations of a reality unseen. Somehow I knew this, that we had been pulled into this nightmare, but by what or who I still didn’t know.
They continued the hum chants until the space in front of them began to ripple like water and when they ceased so did the distortion. Half a heartbeat passed before it shattered, like glass, and beyond it a massive eye. I flinched, hoping it didn’t see me but if it did, it must've not cared since it retreated back into the darkness before it hauled itself out. A spindly arachnid leg, covered in jagged angles and spines stepped out followed by another and another. Until a towering pinwheeled monstrosity of legs and appendages emerging from a central core stood before the cultists. An eye with concentric pupils was at its center and the rest of it radiated out like a sea urchin.
Every aspect of it told of the agonies it could inflict, it looked like pain incarnate with the sheer amount of sharp corners and serrated spines. Every inch of its being was meant to cause harm, and the longer I looked at it the more detail came to me. Hooks and sythed ends, tendrils laden with hungry gnashing mouths. The thing that stood out the most was the way it distorted the space around it. Though it was within a confined space as I gazed upon it seemed to expand the air around it so that some hidden aspect of itself could be felt. This was a part of a much larger whole and I got the impression that some massive hands on a cosmic scale held this thing out before us and yet they were one and the same.
I looked away, not wanting to gaze upon this abomination, this emanation of pain, any longer. It spoke in an alien language then, a sound so vile like a rusty nail being dragged along my eardrums and corneas. But I understood it, unmistakable gratitude.
I slunk back into my hiding spot and waited for it to be over, waited for them to leave and they did, moving through the hallway, past the stairs into the basement laundromat and into the community room. It’s been hours since and they’ve still not emerged. I took the time to try to silently rummage around and in the manager's office. Next to a pile of fine pulp of flesh that had still Mr.Roderick’s weeping face, our landlord, an axe. I picked up, knowing it would be of no use to me should I face those cultists or the pain entity.
|
My auntie and her partner where house hunting. They called my mum to ask if she'd like to visit an "open for inspection", where they walk around the house and meet the agent. Since the house they were visiting was close to our house, she was invited.
So, I stayed at home with my dad, and my mum left the house, and went with her sister and her partner while they inspected the property. It was an old, Victorian house, with small, cramped rooms, full of old furniture.
The air was kinda thick, and the rooms felt cramped. So, naturally, mum moved outside, to the courtyard. It was also full of shrubbery, but outside was fresh air. So she stayed outside.
She then entered the laundry room, originally it was probably the shed.
"And this is where he prepared the bodies"
She heard in a man's voice, although it was coming from no particular place in the room, it was like she heard it from inside her head, although she wasn't the one who said it.
She quickly ran out of the house, smiling at the agent as she did. She was in denial, thinking it was probably her over active imagination.
Afterwards, everyone got in the car. My auntie was slightly on edge.
"that was so weird, when I was outside in the shed out the back, I thought I heard someone say in my ear – this is where he prepared the bodies"
My mum, in shock, told her she heard the same thing. Her partner was confused as to why he hadn't heard it, but more confusing is how they both heard it and in the same room.
After my dad heard about it, he naturally became intrigued. He looked up the house on the real estate website, and scrolled through photos of the interior, thinking about how strange this story is.
He found a photo of the lounge. Looking at the picture, he saw something strange, a weird shape, under the light fitting. He looked closely. He immediately became alarmed.
A man, standing under the light fitting, formally dressed, with a large coat. Standing, in the centre of the room, staring. He appeared to be around his 50s, or 60s. He seemed transparent.
Dad looked away and looked back a couple times.
He was still there.
Dad says he felt like someone had entered his house.
He told my mum, and mum got freaked out.
They closed the tab, and the entire computer off.
At a later date, they looked at the picture again, he wasn't there. |
So as a bit of background info none on my neighbours own cats and I’ve never encountered a cat before or after this event also my toilet is right next to the clear sliding door that leads to the backyard
So I woke up at around midnight cause I needed to pee. so I walked to the toilet and as I turned the corner I saw an abnormally long cat this cat wasn’t just “long” it was longer than a long sausage dog and as it stopped it looked at me with its golden eyes it felt like it was looking through my soul. That cat ran away and I’ve never seen it again
I am convinced this wasn’t a normal cat |
For context- I (f18) and my boyfriend (m18) were at home all day with his dad until my boyfriend had to go to work. Let’s call his dad Alex.
My boyfriend was working an evening shift and had left around 7pm. Alex works late night shifts so I assumed he was getting some rest until he had to leave too. Me, not wanting to disturb him, stayed in my boyfriend’s room for about 2 hours scrolling pointlessly on my phone making at little noise as possible in case he was asleep.
Having ADHD, sitting still is very challenging when in the middle of a hyperactive episode, so I decided to get up and clean my boyfriend’s room as quietly as I could, tiptoeing everywhere I stepped.
Time had come where I physically could not stay in that room any longer, so I crept to the bottom floor (it’s a 3 story house), to put the rubbish I collected into the bin.
I had to walk from the third floor down past the second, where my boyfriend’s parent’s room is, presuming Alex was sleeping there.
However, the door was wide open and the room was dark. FYI, their door is never open if they are in there.
Not the weirdest thing, right?
Went downstairs and threw the rubbish away. The shower comes on. Ah, that explains it. Alex is in the shower next door to his bedroom, hence their door being open.
Made myself a tea in the kitchen and heard the shower turn off, heard him walking back to his room, opening the closet door to get his clothes and shutting the closet again. I was, and still am, certain that I heard the closet opening, as it has a door that rolls to the side, unlike a normal closet door, and makes a distinct ‘creek’ when opened far enough.
I stayed in the kitchen for quite a long time, as I didn’t want to go back upstairs and walk through the middle floor to accidentally walk into Alex getting changed or in his underwear.
Since I was in the kitchen, I made myself some instant noodles. It was now around 10pm, and about 20 minutes had passed since the wardrobe closed. Alex is always out of the shower right before he has to leave- I’m guessing he wants to maximise the time he has in bed before a shift.
But he hadn’t come downstairs yet.
Ate my noodles slowly, and still no Alex, so decided to just go back upstairs. This time when passing the middle floor, their bedroom door was only slightly ajar, with the light still off. Ok, he is definitely still here.
It didn’t occur to me until I got back upstairs that there was no way he could’ve been home- all the lights were off on the middle floor and no movement anywhere in the house. I certainly didn’t pass him on my way upstairs, as there was only one staircase up and I would’ve seen him come down.
Just to be sure, I looked out of the window to see if his car is still in the driveway. Of course, cliché, no car.
At that time I FaceTimed my sister, about to have a panic attack, when I heard the shower come on again. She told me she’s hearing it too, which rules out me being crazy. She told me that I should just call out his name to see if he replies- as expected, no answer both times.
Spoke to Alex the next morning. Turns out he left the house the same time as my boyfriend, 7pm, to charge the electric car before work.
I have so many questions. The most frustrating part is that neither my boyfriend nor his mum believed me, as they don’t believe in anything paranormal, so I guess I just want to be heard. ALSO, I was silent throughout my whole hyperactive episode for no reason!! Painful.
Just to clarify, their house is brand new (built in 2019), and from what I can find on the internet, wasn’t built on any significant ground, only an ordinary patch of land.
However, I have always had a creepy feeling from the bottom floor- their bottom bathroom is very small, and has 2 mirrors directly facing each other. The living room has a very eerie silence when you walk into it, almost hurts your ears.
Edit: grammar |
Getting chills and goosebumps as I recall this event from last year.
First off, I’m a grown man who believes there’s a rational answer for all things. I generally don’t believe in ghosts, paranormal stuff, but I’m not so close-minded that I dismiss it.
So this happened last year. My wife and I went to bed around 10:15pm. At the time, our bed was positioned next to the bedroom door.
Around midnight, I stir awake by a small sound and when I open my eyes I see the figure of a man next to my bed. I couldn’t make out his features because it was dark, but he was sort of hunched over as if creeping inside the room, trying not to be heard. He was a bit smaller than me (I’m 6’1 190 pounds). I scream in a way that I’ve never heard myself scream and I JUMP out of bed. It was a truly terrifying moment, being peacefully asleep one second and seeing a stranger next to your bed the next, I can’t stress the terror that produces.
So I’m out of bed screaming my ass off, and then my wife starts screaming too. I look to her, then look back to the man and he’s not there. I’m like what the fuck just happened, I swear to God I saw someone. I look in the closet and see nothing. I look outside the bedroom door, where our German Shepard dog sleeps to protect us. The dog is acting totally normal, if there had been someone, she would’ve barked. I check the hallway. Nothing. I check the bathroom. Nothing. I swear I saw someone but now I’m starting to calm down. Maybe it was sleep paralysis. Maybe I was in between sleep and wake and saw something, even though something like that has NEVER happened to me, I don’t have a history of anything like that. Nevertheless, I start to breathe easy and I walk back to the bedroom. I start to convince myself that it was all my head. There’s always a rational explanation right?
So I go back in the bedroom, and I apologize to my wife for screaming, and in turn, making her scream.
I look to her and say “Sorry, that was really weird. I woke up and thought I saw a man standing next to the bed.”
But then she says this: “Yeah. I saw him too. That’s why I was screaming.”
We were both terrified. How could we BOTH have seen the same man next to the bed. One sleep paralysis, okay, but two of the same vision??
We eventually fell back asleep, but when we woke up the next day and talked about what happened over coffee, we realized just how strange and unique the event really was. We both described a man of about the same build. No features because it was too dark, just the build. The more we talked about it, the more scary it became.
This is the ONLY paranormal event in my life that I cannot explain. It still scares the shit out of me. I’m sitting here writing this in the same bedroom where it happened. |
null |
Before I get into my story, please note that I do not, have not, and will not get into drugs or narcotics. And that what I am saying is the absolute truth, as fake as it may sound, please listen.
I, (16/F), was taking a course that required me to be there in person. The course took place at a school that was a 40 to 45 minute walk depending on your pace, for the most part though, my dreadful coordination has led me to getting lifts from my mother each morning to the school. From school, however, I'd have to walk home, as she finishes at a later hour. I still remember feeling nervous about walking home alone. I'd never done it before, as I'm a dependent person relying heavily on other people to help guide me through life, it's something I'm working on, and knew this would be a step in the right direction even if it wasn't by choice.
The first few times were smooth sailing, it's a fairly simple path despite being a long walk. By my standards, at least. I don't get out much. But I felt comfortable with the process, nonetheless. Until this one particular day after the class ended. I of course started the walk home once the classes concluded, alone, and start feeling odd? I'm not sure how one would describe the feeling of being watched other than... Creeped out? Like, not just a simple glance over, it felt like someone was actively observing every step I take- but that's when my focus drifting back to the person walking ahead of me. They weren't directly in front me, I'm not good with estimates, so if I had to guess I'd say 14 meters away? Enough for me to make out their features. I didn't notice this before as I tend to shy away from looking at people, but I realised that this person has all-to familiar features. Their hair, clothing, bag, hell- even their odd gait matched my own! And.... And their pinky finger. In a previous year, I punched a brick wall which left my pinky finger deformed, that girl had the exact same thing on the exact same hand. It's not a coincidence! I didn't know what to do other than to act like nothing was wrong, but at the same time couldn't look away from her! I was freaking out on the inside. I watched her, trying to see if perhaps I could catch a glimpse of her face and get the confirmation I wanted! That this really is just a coincidence and I'm overthinking this whole thing!
I couldn't tell if she started catching on that someone was watching her, but she would not stop walking down the same roads! Going the direction of my home! Looking exactly like me! She just walked around the freaking corner and POOF! Gone. I felt even more freaked out!
I don't know what to think! Am I going crazy? Did I imagine the whole experience? I don't want to walk home again! I need help. |
This is a story that I’ve told on another subreddit before, but I got too scared and deleted it thinking he would somehow see it. It’s been a couple of years now, and I’m no longer a child anymore, which is why I feel a bit safer and confident to tell this story. Of course the account I’m writing this on is a throwaway. All the names in this are changed.
When I was in middle school, I had a science teacher who I will just call Mr. Farley. He taught environmental science, and was very tall with greying hair, and always wore the standard working school clothes which was a collared shirt with high waisted slacks. He had a strange sense of humor that fitted well with kids, which at first made us all think he was quite funny. He had this strange charm about him that just made you feel comfortable, but deeply, to me, also felt a bit forced. As the year went on taking his class, me and my fellow classmates started feeling a disliking towards him since his behavior started changing, becoming more aggressive and strict. My school was small, and my whole seventh grade class only consisted of about 12-16 people, so once one of us started disliking a teacher, word would get around quick.
It wasn’t until towards the end of the year where things in his class would get weird. He would start ranting about a bunch of random things no 12 year old child would really care about, and started getting more and more aggressive each week. Other teachers became aware of this, but because of his popularity with most of the faculty due to his charm, our complaints were only met with being bratty little kids.
One day, during our time in study hall, Mr. Farley came into to our classroom as our usual teacher who would supervise us had went to go use the bathroom. While he was there, the kid next to me needed help on the science homework Mr. Farley had assigned a class period before. I was wearing a pair of overalls that were way too big on me, and kept slipping down which made me have to constantly pull them up all day. While doing my math homework in a focused spell, I decided to let my straps fall loose and fall down my arms, exposing a bit of the sides of my waist. Mr. Farley paused and looked up at me, and told me that the straps to my overalls had fell, but when I turned to look at him, he was starring at me with this gross wide smirk on his face, which made me feel wildly uncomfortable, and a bit frightened. I remember saying “oh, thanks” before pulling them back up and wanting to die right then and there, not being able to focus during the rest of the period, even long after he had left.
It became a problem as more and more girls in my class had started making complaints about him being a little bit too touchy at times, and making weird comments such as another classmate being creeped out after he had met their mother and said to her, “oh so that’s where you get your good looks from…”
On the day of our final exams, Mr. Farley was no where to be seen, along with his son Jason who was also in our class. We didn’t know anything about him or his son’s whereabouts, until the day right before our school’s graduation when the principle sent a frantic email detailing that Mr. Farley was arrested on accounts of inappropriately touching a minor.
After the accusations, people at my school didn’t really have much time to process due to graduation coming around, and everyone going away for summer break. Most of the kids in my class felt bad for Jason, since he was completely unaware of his dad’s actions. Jason still remained at the school for another two years, and actually became a good friends of mines. His relationship with his father has always been complicated, but I never was able to talk more on his father’s case since I felt it was an uncomfortable topic for him.
Years later after I moved quite far and had to move schools, I came back to visit my grandparents and had a sleepover with Jason at my grandparent’s home. When we dropped him off at his home after, Mr. Farley was there with an ankle monitoring bracelet, doing yard work. He looked different and worn out, but still smiled with his same fake charm. Since I was out of the car to help Jason with his bags, Mr. Farley asked me to give him a hug. Even though I really did not want to, I did in order to make the encounter less awkward. That was the last time I saw him.
As I was writing this, I found out that he plead guilty to all charges, and was taken away his teaching license along with now being a registered sex offender. Jason lives with his mom since she and Mr. Farley are going through a divorce.
It didn’t take me until four years to look him up again, about 6 years since the incidents first took place. I’m now about to go into college, but the way he impacted my life would always have an affect on me. Mr. Farley was not a good person, and my gut instinct always made sure of that. It’s people like him that terrify me. |
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