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The fierce Southern sun beats mercilessly on the stupid flimsy umbrella. The sound of the crashing waves is making me slight nauseous, or may all that rich food we are being force-fed every two hours. This is supposed to be a fancy resort, and I can't believe I let Mattie talk me into this. I have never felt so miserable in my life. I miss our horses, particularly Spice and Char so bad it hurts, and I never knew it was possible to physically hurt from missing something. Spice is so beautiful- that glossy golden-brown coat, and so spirited. We have customers who drive hundreds of miles just for the pleasure of riding her for a couple of hours. I hope Elias is brushing her properly but I don't think so. Elias is a lazy slob, coming from a line of lazy slobs, as my poor departed dad used to say. He hated Elias and his family, and would have never let them within an inch of his stables, let alone entrusting them to their hands for a whole week while he went on a stupid resort. I don't think my dad had had a day off in his life, as I told Mattie repeatedly. She had yelled at me. "Those damn horses!" "They're our bread and butter Mattie!" I had shouted back. "And besides, you love them too" She had replied in a softer voice "Yes, of course I do. But I need a break. And Elias is perfectly capable who knows our horses. He will take good care of them while we are gone." She drew close to me and looped her arms around my neck "And maybe you and I... can find a little time for each other..." she smiled, and for a moment she looked like the girl I had married. I should have known then and there. Nobody in their right mind could call Elias capable. But Mattie sure seemed to think so. And here we were. I frowned and my stomach churned. None of that sweet-talking led to anything anyway. Mattie is always running around half-naked on the beach- if my poor dad could see her he would turn in his grave. I closed my eyes. All this free time, at home we work dawn to dusk tending the horses, and now I had a moment to think. Things were starting to fall in place. I hate Mattie. I hate Elias. Mattie comes up to me, glistening wet. She's a big strong girl, working on farms and around horses all her life. Her exposed skin makes me uncomfortable. For a minute I see Char's black shining backside and wish I could rub my hands on the thick soft fur. "C'mon you old badger!" cries Mattie. "Get in the water with me- it's amazing! There are these rocks- we can jump off them- it's incredible!" There's no way I am getting in that sea, and not with her. She's a swimmer, she could easily hold me under water. Certainly I am not going to be jumping off any rocks with her. I haven't worked hard all my life on my family farm, to leave it to Mattie and fucking Elias. "I'm going back to our room for a nap Mattie- I don't feel so good" I mumble, dragging myself up from the stripey beach chair. "Rest up- remember we're going on a cliffside walk to watch the sunset in a couple hours!" she cries as I walk away. Mattie and Elias. "Elias can take care of the horses!" "Let Elias help you with Spice!" "Elias can take Char for her morning gallop!" Elias and my horses. I lie back in the chilled hotel bed. One of us is going down that cliffside.
The Wanderer Lily and Gabbe were wandering in the forest, they were heading to the city of Wellerman which would take 1 week. They hade just sold a lot of materials in one of the nearby towns and earned quite a buck. Half way back to there home they noticed that they didn’t bring enought food for the journey! They fought about conserving but noticed that they would not make it since it was so little left. Then Lily asked Gabbe: \-What should we do? \-We will just have to continue and eat some berries along the way, responds Gabbe. Lily nodes in a sad way and they continue. 1 Day before reaching home, they were very exhausted and hungry and they even started fighting for berries. But then they meet a wanderer or savior in there eyes. He said he hade food and they got very happy, but then he showed some seeds which made them losse all hope. The Wanderer notice there disappointment and quickly clearified that they were magical and could feed you for 3 days. Lily and Gabbe immediatly asked for the bean but it was not for free, the Wanderer said each bean is 5 gold and a small amount of blood. Lily and Gabbe were suprised how expensive they were but without a choice they accepted and gave the payment. 1 day later… Lily and Gabbe reached the town feeling well and energetic. They walked to a guild and payed for there licenses before going home. They ate dinner, showered, counted the left over money and went to sleep. A Happy ending right? In the middle of the night Lily heard sounds in the kiitchen and went to see that it was. She went to Gabbe’s room to wake him up and tell him about the noice bu the wasn’t there. She fought he was down there and went to ask what he was doing up this late at night. She went into the kitchen asking what he was doing but got horrified to see her best friend as a monster and before she could do anything it saw here leeting out a horrorfing scream. Then a girls scream echode through out the night. The next day… A party who hade just returned from a mission got back home but were suprised to see it destroyed. They ran to find survivors and find out what happened and then they see it… A horrorfying army of monsters that killed and ate people, then the monsters noticed them and ran towards them… Countrys heard about what happened and blew up the entire town or what was left of it. And thats the end of the story of the traggic accident of Wellerman city. #x200B; This story was made personally by me!
I had a nightmare one night that I was eating soup, and one of my front teeth fell right out of my mouth and into the bowl of soup. I immediately woke up and felt my mouth to make sure I still had all my teeth. I did, but the same one that fell out felt a little loose. Later that same day, I was in a Zoom meeting with my boss when he pointed out my mouth was bleeding. The same tooth from my dream was now hanging by a thread as well. I immediately called my dentist, and they were fortunately able to see me the same day. "Everything looks great. Your gums are in excellent health. No cavities. Did you experience any blunt trauma? Get hit in the mouth?" "No, sir." "Did you ever have braces or aligners? If those are not done properly, it can cause what we call short roots." "No, I never have." "Huh, well, let me know if you think of anything unusual that you're leaving out. Teeth don't just fall out on their own. You didn't piss off the tooth fairy, did you? Anyway, in the meantime, let's schedule an appointment for a prosthetic to fix that smile." I wish that were the end of the story, but a week before I was to go back for that appointment, I had another dream in which I was sitting in my office chair at work wiggling both of the center-most bottom teeth. I was wiggling them nonchalantly as though I were just twiddling my thumbs. All of a sudden, one snapped right out, and I screamed in horror. I woke up unsure if I actually screamed in my sleep. Next, I felt my teeth, and they were fine. I told myself that because of the issue with the tooth I lost earlier, it was normal to have more dreams about this. How could it not be in the back of my mind, right? With those reassurances, I fell back asleep. I awoke with my hand in my mouth and a snapping sensation. Blood was flowing out of my mouth. The pain was incredible. I was freaking the fuck out. I called off work. I never had a panic attack before, but I think that might be what I felt in that moment. The following night, I put a bag over my hands and zip-tied them together. I wasn't looking forward to awkwardly explaining all this to my dentist or the cost of dentures. Being in my mid-thirties and around mid-life crisis age, that also made me feel insecure. Still, at least I could stave off further damage. This approach worked well for a few weeks until one night I had a dream that I was breaking my teeth on marbles. I woke up with two marbles in my mouth. I hope to God you never dream as I do. I also know a tired mind is susceptible to suggestion. So, if you are reading this before bed, I recommend watching a funny tv show or reading a book so this isn't the last thing you think of before you fall asleep.
Last night I heard wild screams from the neighbors above. It seemed that they were killing each other... It was very scary and strange. This has never happened before. I'm going to ask relatives if they've heard this.
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In a frozen wilderness, whispers spoke of Malgorn, The Frostbound Wendigo, born from a shaman's greed for power. Lost hunters feared his chilling presence, icy blue eyes, and an icy labyrinth where he lurked. Among the villagers lived a simple soul, Aiden, burdened by the loss of his brother to Malgorn's curse. Ignorant of the Wendigo's weakness, Aiden's despair grew, festering in the isolation of his grief. Driven by sorrow, Aiden entered the icy labyrinth alone. The whispers swirled around him, offering false comforts and leading him astray. Malgorn's illusions deepened his agony, tearing away his sanity as the cold clawed at his heart. Desperation turned to madness as Aiden's mind unraveled. He met Malgorn face to face, his humanity vanishing in a haze of terror. The Wendigo's power overcame him, consuming his soul, and his form twisted to match the Wendigo's own. The village mourned the loss of Aiden, forever trapped in the curse that consumed him. Malgorn's power grew, his icy grasp extending further, his legend echoing through the icy wilderness. And so, the tragic tale of Aiden and Malgorn serves as a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurks within the human heart and the relentless grasp of the Frostbound Wendigo.
This all started one day when I was going to the gas station to buy some delta 8 gas station weed and a pack of backwoods. While I was walking there I seen a strange looking figure staring at me out of the corner of my eye I seen him walking towards me I was so scared. as soon as I seen him walking towards me I started running like a Nikos next bot and didn't even look back as I make it to the gas station I see it I don't know how but he was just there its almost as if it just teleported. As soon as I seen him I knew what it was it was a human sized backwoods' I was scared to death I tried running away nut he just kept catching up to me so I just decided to stop running and try to talk to it but it had no mouth or eyes so my next move was to fight it. I punched it but it had had no reactions and then I found out its true intentions it wanted to touch my family Jules and then I realized I greened out and was hallucinating it all and was still at the gas station looking at the hot Cheetos.
This story is not as scared as really creepy. Once my dad were with his friend in abandoned house in the village. Roof of it was partly broken and on one side of it you can see a big field with old farms ruins. It all happened at deep night. My dad was on the upper at looked at the field. And he randomly looked at the left and saw a big dark shadow. It might was not creepy, because it could be an animal. Bit the weirdest was that it at first walked on all fours and then it ot up on the back daps and went. It walked across all the field and disappeared in the nearest forest. My dad told me that this situation was very creepy and scary. There was no way he could decided who it was.
I had just turned 10, and all I had ever wished for, for my birthday, was a golden retriever puppy. My parents would have to listen to me complain and ask over and over for a dog day by day, second by second, they never gave in. Yet I never stopped trying. But when my birthday came around, I was sure I would get the dog I had dreamt of my entire life. I went to bed the night before giggling and shaking in excitement for the next day, knowing I had a great chance at getting a new dog. I say new because I already have one dog, an old chihuahua named rosc, he was older than I was at the time. I wasn’t able to sleep that night knowing that I could be getting a dog, so, I quietly got up out of bed, tip toed into my kitchen to get a snack, as I reached out for the fridge door, i couldn’t help but over hear my parents talking about taking me out to eat, I got exited, but then..my mom said, “we can’t afford to get him that dog this year with us already having rosc” I got angry. That stupid old dog got in the way of my chances. I ran back to my room shaking and crying in anger. But then I had the “ best “ idea 10 year old me had ever thought of. When my mom made food I didn’t like, I fed it to the dog, so since I didn’t like my dog what if I fed it to myself? I was sure that was the most genius idea in the world. Now I regret it more than anything. I took my dads hammer out of my garage and grabbed my dog, I skipped out to the yard, went to the shed out back, and got to work. It tried running. it yelped in horror and pain but I never stopped. I cut his stomach open to see what was lingering inside of it. Suddenly filled with a raging hunger feeling, I began to feast. My parents had heard the dog whine and yelp so they had come outside to check out what it was about. They yelled my name, I opened the shed door. Smiling. Big and wide. With blood all over me. My mom screamed in horror. My dad threw up. I was sent to an institution from then on until now, I’m better now, much much better, but I’m still haunted by the memory of what I had done back then.
The reek of urine and musk of earth assaulted the senses of Father MacIsaac and Father Antony as they entered the bedroom. A young boy lay sprawled across bed, the sheets soiled brown, his clothes torn, his hands and feet lashed to the frame. His yellow eyes flickered as they approached, a growl rumbled from him. They watched a large bulge swell at the base of his throat. Sitting up, he choked and gagged as his neck distended, each heave pushing the swelling upward. He lurched forward, impossibly distending his jaw to vomit out a dead hairless pup. The priests laid out leather-bound tomes of sacred literature and a crucifix. Father MacIsaac began reciting the exorcist liturgy. He approached the bed, holding rosaries out towards the boy. The boy’s eyes fixed on rosaries. Snapping forward, he bit the small crucifix off the dangling beads, crunching down on the metal cross and spitting out broken bits. Outside in the hallway Father MacIsaac rubbed the broken rosaries through his fingers deep in thought. Father Antony paced. “That can’t happen. Demons can’t willing touch consecrated objects”, said Father Antony. “Are you familiar with animalistic demons?” asked Father MacIsaac. “No.” “They’re their own class of spirit. They are to most demons what wild animals are to us.” Father MacIsaac turned away and quickly descended the stairs. “Where are you going? “St.Sebastian’s of Mercy, we need an expert.” “But that’s Father Watterson’s parish. He’s not an expert on the occult.” “Not him. We’re getting Father Mittens. Are you coming?” An hour later, Father Antony reopened the door to the boy’s room, stepping aside to let Father MacIsaac enter carrying Father Mittens, a tabby cat with white paws dressed in a cat-sized black robe and white collar. Placing Father Mittens on the floor, Father MacIsaac took out two books, handing one to Father Anthony. “Father Anthony read aloud with me, and don’t stop until I tell you.” Both men began reciting Latin verses and Father Mittens jumped onto the foot of the bed. The boy snapped forward to attack, pulling fiercely against his bonds, the bed frame creaked but the restrains held. Father Mitten’s ears pulled back as he hissed at the boy. The boy bared his teeth and let out the roar of a horrible beast. For a moment they stayed motionless, glaring at each other. With a savage yowl Father Mittens leapt forward digging his claws into the boy’s ripped pyjamas. The boy thrashed about, but couldn’t pull away. The boy roared as Father Mittens snarled and howled in his face. A swilling dark mist poured upwards from the boy’s mouth and nose. Father Mittens’ watched it until it dissipated and the boy slumped back onto the bed. When Father MacIsaac told Father Antony to stop reading aloud, Father Mitten lay on the boy’s chest loudly purring. Father MacIsaac walked over and scratched Father Mitten’s chin joined quickly by Father Antony.
In 1998, I really wanted to become a specialist in demonic history. My university had a religious studies department and one professor was an expert on cults and witchcraft in particular. Yet, she never seemed to be in her office or run any classes.  I won't give you her name because she wouldn't want it shared, but she saved my life, and maybe more.  So while I'm obviously forever grateful to her now, before I finally met her, I was not a fan. In fact, her unavailability frustrated me to no end. I was only an undergrad in third year, but I wanted to do what she did. Namely, I wanted to study everything dark about religions throughout the world and history.  But she wasn't around to speak with and her book I found terribly confusing - my own poor reading comprehension was the culprit behind that difficulty.  So I sought out other texts and met with other professors. All were interesting but didn't possess the specific knowledge I craved, which I started to doubt even existed. A little desperate, I sought help from the Divinity College on campus. The receptionist couldn't understand exactly what I wanted and I was vague on purpose. It's not easy to tell people you want to learn about demons, especially in a religious setting. The Divinity School is Baptist and not affiliated at all with the religious studies program I was enrolled in. They approached the content as believers in God. We were just students with an academic interest and were often, in my experience, atheists. A pastor eventually agreed to a brief meeting in his office. I won't give you his real name either because he's a nice guy. Let's call him Noah because it's biblical and he'll get the joke if he reads this. "You want what?"  He looked concerned.  "This is not a topic to be treated lightly. There are real forces of darkness…"  He took off his glasses, and leaned forward on his desk. I think I must have made a face or rolled my eyes maybe. "Look, you might not believe in them but-" "They believe in me?"  God, I was a little shit.  He sighed. "Something like that."  "So," I said, "Can you help me? Is there a text you'd recommend?"  The pastor chuckled, probably at the entitlement of youth. "Okay, listen, let's make a deal. I'll try to give you some direction, on the condition that you check in with me regularly." "I… uh, why?"  I honestly didn't understand why he couldn't just give me his knowledge on the spot.  "Because you're not the first to have a disrespectful interest in evil." Noah grinned but the expression soon turned to regret. "Malachi Martin wrote about it." "Malachi Martin?"  It sounded like a name one might find in a Marvel comic.  "He's not a Baptist." "Oh."  Why did that matter? Noah's gaze became distant, like he wasn't in the room at all. "Uh, father?" He blinked a few times and finally seemed to recall the kid in his office asking about demons. "I'm not a priest. That's Catholics." "Sorry?" "I'm not Father Noah. I'm just Noah." "Oh. Okay. So you were saying something about Malachi Martin?" "I need to think about it." "Oh, for real?" "I suggest you do the same," he said. "Come back after the weekend, and we'll talk some more, okay?"  I was disappointed. "Okay." But it was better than outright rejection or a prof that skipped her office hours. Noah came around his desk when I stood up, and gave the impression he was going for a hug. He stopped short and extended a hand awkwardly. I shook it but it got weirder because he held on too long. "Be careful. If you can wait, that would be best." He looked seriously concerned, which I thought was kind of funny. Like oooooo the forces of evil are gonna get me.  He was nice though, so I humored him. "I'll be careful." Noah walked behind me to the foyer of the Divinity College and stood in the doorway as I walked across the field to my dorm building. As I fished for my keycard in my backpack, I noticed, in the distance, he was still lingering, watching.  Maybe it'd been a mistake to go there. The pastor was starting to freak me out a little. I acknowledged later that maybe that's what I wanted: To be frightened. I hadn't grown up rich but neither had my family been poor, and my parents worked incredibly hard to keep their children sheltered and protected. Was I just looking for a way to feel vulnerable on my own terms? Like a kid that reads a scary story for an excuse to hide under a blanket?  Pretty sure I shrugged off this train of thought. I wanted what I wanted, and could quit anytime, so I figured my next move was the library. The weekend had arrived. Fridays were usually quiet around the school and neighborhood because most kids made the trek home. My parents were a bit too far for weekly visits, so I stayed on campus to catch up on work and read unless it was a holiday or birthday or something.  I'd been through the library several times, combing it for books and journal articles of interest. The internet was still being figured out in '98. I didn't quite understand what it was yet, and I suspect neither did a lot of people. As a result, the transition from paper to digital was clumsy and made things difficult to find. Often, it was easier to just look on the shelf and hope you found something relevant you could use. The top floor, the sixth, was dedicated to philosophy and religious studies. Students often took naps in the aisles because it was usually deserted and quiet. On a Friday, however, absolutely nobody but me and a skeleton crew of shelvers, giving reminders about the library closing in less than an hour, roamed the huge building.  It felt like I had the books all to myself, and that I owned the library. I took the stairs instead of the elevator because they were made of stone and the railings were carved wood and from when the university had been built a few hundred years ago. Ascending the winding square steps reminded me of a wizard going to his keep. Yes, I am a nerd. In keeping with the medieval-fantasy theme, I skipped the dusty desktop humming away in the dark corner, and searched for anything by Malachi Martin. I didn't change that name. I figure he wouldn't mind because he died the next July in '99.  While he'd written and published a ton of books on the demonic and the Catholic Church, they were mostly from the 70s and not being reprinted. I managed to find a battered copy of Hostage to the Devil, one of his bestsellers, a book William Peter Blatty called an attempt to cash in on the success of The Exorcist movie, which it probably was. From what I eventually learned about Martin, he sounded like a conman.  However, that doesn't mean his books didn't have real impacts and negative consequences, especially on believers and those, like me, athiests pursuing a thrill. I went to my napping spot by the large window overlooking the parking lot and the campus bar, which didn't bother opening on Fridays because there were so few students around. The barren tarmac held in portrait a distant figure deep in his hoodie, bearing the wind with hands in his pockets and his face hidden. I watched them briefly and wondered if they were watching me back. I sat against the wall and stretched out my legs, and started reading. The plan was to read a few pages of Martin's book and see if it was worth borrowing. In less than ten minutes the library would officially be closed. A shelver would then begin the tedious process of ensuring everyone had left. So really I probably had more like thirty minutes before being discovered and asked to leave. It's a big library.  The book was interesting and I found I didn't want to stop reading, not even to go and borrow it. The shelver would be mad if I asked to borrow it after closing, so I got up and then they were there: The figure I'd seen in the parking lot. Their face and hands were still hidden and beneath the humming inconsistency of bluish track light, I found their sudden presence disturbing. "Excuse me," I said, deepening my voice in an attempt to sound stern. They moved aside to let me pass and I went quickly, noting  the liberal amount of an unfamiliar, cloying cologne raiding my nostrils. It made my eyes water.  "Malachi Martin," they said. It was like dealing with a ringwraith out of Tolkien. No, I don't mean their voice was raspy; they spoke from within their hood, being careful, it seemed, to keep their face hidden.  "Yes," I concurred, continuing to move towards the elevator. Big mistake. I should have taken the stairs because now the ringwraith had an excuse to follow me and wait.  "You want his other books? His unpublished papers?"   I stepped away because they were too close and the scent overpowering. His last question, nevertheless, caught my attention.  "Unpublished papers?" The wraith guy chuckled softly. I don't know why I didn't run. "Yes, he wrote a lot. Would you be interested?" "Yes," I admitted. It was the kind of conversation you couldn't be certain had occurred after the fact.  He finally removed his hood and I felt my knees wobble and my face tremble. What I saw wasn't possible: A face of stitched together pieces, skin of dozens, maybe hundreds of people.  Before I could scream, he removed his mask, which really was made from human skin. He placed it carefully inside a plastic, foam lined case. The guy underneath the mask was a student of a rare type: A double major in science and art.  He extended his hand, which I reasonably ignored. "I'm Rory Sallow." Yes, that is his name; apparently, his surname is endangered. Less than twenty people in Canada possessed it at the time of our first introduction. Maybe fewer now.  Sallow is the word people - old people probably- sometimes use to describe an unhealthy complexion. Rory told me, on our ride down the elevator, how his last name had created his fascination with skin. He wanted to eventually become a dermatologist, but also an artist whose primary medium was epidermis.  "It took me almost ten years to create my mask," he said proudly. We stepped off the elevator, and a shelver confronted us immediately. "The library is closed." Neither of us responded, and walked right by to the exit. Outside the library, in the open plaza, he lit up a cigarette and offered me one, which I declined.  "I can get a lot of stuff off the internet," he said. "Like books?" He nodded and exhaled a plume of smoke into the cold night air. "People don't know it yet, but the internet is going to change everything. It already has. The only thing left is to increase the speed and ease of its use for common folk." The way he referred to people as "common" was just my kind of arrogance. We, the academics, were not common. Rory was weird, but all great people were regarded as such until everyone recognized their brilliance. It's ironic when "geniuses" want the admiration of the "common folk" they resent.  "So you said-" "Right, you want books by Malachi?" "Malachi Martin," I gently corrected.  "Right. I can get it. But… there is a price…"  He grinned and drummed his fingers on the plastic case containing his mask.  I tried to keep an open mind. "What exactly are you asking for?" "Isn't it obvious?"  He dropped his butt and stepped on it. "Explain it anyway." I could feel the urge to end the discussion growing. There was danger here but I told myself I wanted to run back to my sheltered life and that, if I kept retreating from the unknown, I would never achieve anything of note. Also, I really wanted the writing he said he could get.  "It's not as gruesome as most imagine." He rolled his eyes as if the following procedure could not be simpler. He would use a biopsy tool to remove a tiny section of skin. "About the size of a pencil eraser." "Sounds fun."  He laughed and I smiled. I was starting to like this weird guy. "It's painless. I'll numb the area with an anesthetic and patch it up after." Rory became more animated as he described what he'd do with the skin. "I flatten it out and glue it to leather of a similar colour. Then I use a sealant to keep it preserved, let it dry and then add it to my mask."  'It's not really all a skin mask then? It's mostly leather?" "Sadly, yes. Nobody seems to like the idea of giving up that much skin." He winked like a goof and I laughed. "So what do you say? Wanna contribute to an art project destined to be famous?" He held out his hand for me to shake, and this time, I took it.  As we firmly shook hands, I thought of geniuses in history that you'd never think were friends: Tesla and Twain. I'm not sure which one I was, or why I'd thought of them specifically. The moment felt important and, unbelievably, I consented. What I didn't understand was that the operation would occur on the spot. Rory had a kit in the satchel on his waist. We sat on the wide plaza stairs while he set up. I rolled up my sleeve and flinched when he brought out the first needle. "Don’t worry," he said. "This is anesthetic. My tools are clean and the needles are never reused. You won't feel anything other than some minor soreness in the fleshy part of your arm." Before I could think about this stupid rash decision, Rory held down my forearm and jabbed me, which hurt. The needle had entered my upper arm, near the left tricep muscle.  "Sorry," he said, "probably should have mentioned the needle might feel like a pinch." He smiled apologetically. "That’s for real the only discomfort. Thanks for doing this." Next, he took out a tool, a small punch, he explained.  "That’s why you said it'd be the size of a pencil eraser," I said. "Exactly. Same shape too." He waited another moment to ensure the anesthetic had taken effect and then applied the tool. Despite the cold air and the wind gusts, I began to sweat. I hoped nobody was watching us for some reason. Maybe because allowing a stranger to perform minor surgery on you is a dumb idea. "Done." He cleaned the area and put a bandaid on it. Then he gave me a small bottle of ibuprofen. "Thanks." He repacked his kit and lit up another cigarette. "I'll have the books and stuff in a week."  "Okay. Do you have a number-" He shook his head and rummaged in his satchel, producing a pad of paper and a pen. With his cigarette clenched between his teeth, he wrote down his Hotmail and had me give him mine. "I can send all the documents if I get them early but I'll also print them up for you, if you want." At the time, I couldn't imagine reading anything on a computer for long periods. Paper was king. "Paper would be preferred but it'd also be a good backup if you emailed them as well."  He nodded. "Okay, see you next Friday. Same spot on the sixth floor, cool?" We shook hands again and he started walking toward the corridor leading around the library, back to the parking lot where I'm sure he was the figure I'd seen from the window. I forgot to ask if he'd seen me too. But he must have. What other explanation could there be for him to come up to my hidey spot? I went back to my dorm room and finally realized I'd borrowed Hostage to the Devil without checking it out. It didn't set off the sensors at the library exit; maybe nobody cared if it got stolen. I read it more until I noticed the ache in my arm and took out Rory's ibuprofen. The bottle ended up being expired, so I thought twice about using the pills inside. Instead, I went down to the campus pharmacy, which was thankfully 24-7.  The student centre contained a cafeteria and a Tim Hortons but everything was closed up and dark. Only the neon pharmacy light offered scant illumination. Even inside the store the track lights were dull and clinical. I didn't see a cashier.  I found the painkillers and glanced toward the cafeteria where a figure appeared to be standing amidst the tables and put-up chairs. It was too dark to see them clearly and, at first, I assumed, my eyes were misinterpreting an object as a person. Like maybe a coat had been left on a mop in a bucket. But then I thought I saw it move slightly, a body shifting weight from one foot to the other. "What the hell?" I said to myself quietly. Hiding seemed like a wise choice because a person standing in the dark could only have bad intentions. But I didn't want to look away either and lose track of them.  "Hello?" I recoiled from the cashier, another student, suddenly at my elbow.  "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," she said, sounding pretty indifferent about it to be honest. "Can I help you find something?" "There's someone out there," I told her. "By the tables. Just standing there." The figure, of course, was no longer there.  "Really?" She appeared slightly more concerned and went to the counter and called campus security without hesitation. "I keep telling my manager the school needs to keep the lights on out there," she said, while we waited together. "It's like a freaking horror movie in here."  Within minutes, three campus security guards appeared with their flashlights in the student centre. They asked a few questions but when I admitted I wasn't certain what I'd seen they acted as if I'd certainly seen nothing. I bought some extra strength ibuprofen and left. I felt belittled by the security guards and my arm ached more than Rory indicated it would. The evening had started with so much promise. I began to regret having a punch of my skin taken, and also felt like an idiot for regretting it. Of course, I regretted it. Any normal person with average intelligence would regret such a stupid choice.    I walked past the ivy covered buildings right out of an ad for post-secondary education without my usual pride and wonderment. The truth was that my years at the school were coming to an end faster than expected. I had less than two years to go and no plans for afterward except a vague idea about a masters degree and a PhD.  I didn't know what those endeavors involved and had no strong desire to find out. I didn't know what to do with my life. I wanted to know, to have some direction or passion, but simply didn't. Looking up demons and learning about the occult was fun. It wasn't a career.  In the midst of these depressing thoughts came the wraith. The tarmac path winds around the forest as both descend and rise from a shallow bowl in the earth that floods when it rains. I looked back at the furthest edge of the earthen bowl and on the other side stood the hooded figure I'd seen in the parking lot, the one I thought must be Rory when he appeared on the sixth floor. "Rory?" No answer but the wind tugging at the edges of his black hoodie, which he lowered slowly to reveal his ridiculous art project. With deliberate slowness, he touched his index finger to the square near the small of his throat.  "Is that mine? You work fast," I said. "How'd you know which dorm I was in?" I wasn't angry yet, but the shadows pouring from the sockets and orifices of his patchwork mask were unsettling. Probably because he also didn't answer my question or say anything for that matter.  He continued to stare.  "I'm gonna go, Rory," I said. I turned away for a second. "Is this part of…" He was gone before I could ask if this stunt was part of the project. "Whoa. Batman. Good one, Rory." Nothing but the wind replied. I was tired and achy and had had enough fringe art crap for the night. I left and entered the dorm building, intending to drop into bed the second after I finally took those painkillers.  I went to close the curtains, however, and there he was, standing on the grass beneath the barren branches of a tree. The hood was back on, and, like last time, he lowered it slowly to show the skin mask. He touched the new patch again too. Then those hollow cavities where his eyes, nostrils, and open mouth took control, pulling my attention beyond the human skin mixed with leather.  I opened the window to yell through the screen. "What the hell, Rory?!" Silence. Only staring. "Look man, this is really not cool. Just email me those documents. I don't want to meet you next week. Or leave them at the desk when you get them. For real, you're taking the joke too far." I slid closed the window and closed the curtains, figuring I'd check again in a minute to see if he was still there.  When he was, with the hood up, and starting to lower it again to repeat the whole thing, I closed the curtains and went to my computer. It took a few minutes to connect to the internet and fire off an email.  *Rory. What the fuck man? You seemed like an interesting person but I am not okay with whatever drama you're playing at here. I don't even know how you know where I live and it's creepy.* I didn't know how to end it, so I sent it without further information. The email notification sound came while I resumed looking down at him. He lowered his hood. He touched the new patch. He stared. The new mail came from Rory. *I don't know what you mean. I don't know where you live. What's going on?* I checked the window again. Still there. Hood back on. Going through the process: He lowered it. Touched the patch. Stared.  I'm no idiot. He had a friend in on his prank. Either Rory stood below or an accomplice. Whatever the case, I'd had enough and called campus security.  "There’s someone outside my dorm," I told them, "and they're wearing a mask and staring at me." They instructed me to stay on the line and continue to look out the window. Rory, or his friend, must have heard the approaching car. I did. He walked slowly down the path, toward the woods, and finally out of sight. "He's gone into the forest," I told the dispatcher. One of four security guards below received that information on his walkie. They went down the path and out of sight too. Minutes went by, and the dispatcher asked for more details about the masked person, which I was reluctant to give because it somehow felt self-incriminating: Yes, ma'am, he's wearing a mask made out of human skin, including some of mine. I told her I didn't get a good look.  "He's gone," the dispatcher said. "We'll keep patrolling the area and put some extra guards outside your dorm. Get some sleep, honey." She could have been my mom.  I did try to follow her advice. Deep, restful sleep eluded me, however. I kept waking up from stupid dreams. Nothing to do with Rory or the mask. Not even nightmares. Of them, I can only recall one clearly, a conversation with a long-winded high-school teacher of mine, lecturing me about the first girl I ever loved. We didn't date, and only held hands once. She dated a friend of mine, who didn't give a crap about her, and when they broke up and she was ready to be with me, I found only resentment in my heart. I should have been first. Not some consolation prize.  "You should have hugged her," my old teacher said, "and never let go."  "I know," I said miserably. She walked away, and I never saw her again. Recent internet searches still yield nothing because I assume she moved on, got married, and changed her name.  Before the sun could rise I awoke in a panic. "I know," I announced loudly on a Saturday morning to an empty dorm building. Outside the window, beneath the tree, no one and nothing remained to freak me out.  Another email from Rory had arrived during the night. Attached were several documents of Malachi Martin's. None appeared to be unpublished works but it was still cool to have more of his writing. My arm hurt less today, and I was starting to feel optimistic once more.  *Not sure what happened last night, but hope you're okay. I found some of Malachi Martin's books right away, and here they are. I'll get the rest soon.* One thing I didn't notice until that moment was how Rory had said Malachi Martin had unpublished works that he could get, but then didn't accurately recall the author's name outside the library. How could he know Martin had unpublished works if he didn't know who the author was?  The guy was obviously full of shit, and it was time for breakfast. I went through the student centre on my way to the only cafeteria open on the weekend at the far edge of campus. A new cashier and a pharmacist stared at me as I passed and didn't wave when I waved to them.  In the caf, as I ate my eggs and hash browns, a custodian stopped at my table and pointed to her neck. I nearly choked. The gesture was too close to Rory's.  "You… you're bleeding." "What?" "On your neck, right there. There's blood." I touched the spot and my fingertip came back red. Careful to swallow, I retreated to the bathroom to check it out in the mirror. A square set of scratches had been made in the small of my neck, deep enough to draw blood.  With some wet paper towels, I cleaned up the spot and tried to make sense of the injury. Clearly, I must have done it to myself while I slept. Weird dreams had visited during the night. Perhaps one of them had involved the disturbing skin mask and the neck gesture. Yes, that's what it must be. Unless someone had broken into my room and done it without waking me somehow.  I lifted the bandaid on my shoulder too and found the biopsy spot looking fine. I'd taken a risk and there'd been some consequences the following morning. I didn't drink but sort of assumed this was something like a hangover. Conflating neck scratches and inebriation seemed like an irrational stretch toward calm.  There was nothing to be done anyway. I finished breakfast and returned to my dorm to start reading the files Rory had sent. Martin's words were interesting and dramatic. However, I couldn't read from a screen for long and opted to waste the rest of the day on video games.  Before bed, I stared out the window and the grass beneath the tree. Nobody to freak me out tonight, which was good news. I'd had enough excitement, and had a good story to tell. I had begun to relax into slumber when the phone on the nightstand rang.  It wasn't supposed to make a sound. Landlines were permitted in rooms only if they could be muted. Otherwise, there'd be constant ringing at all hours through paper-thin walls. I picked up the phone. "Do you have salt? Do you have sage?" The voice sounded weird. Feminine but robotic. "Pack the wounds with salt. Burn the sage and bathe in smoke."  "Hello? Who is this?" I asked.  "Salt and sage." A long pause followed. "He is there. The window." The call ended. I threw the blankets off and crept to the curtain, opening a slit to peek. The attempt to observe from hiding proved futile. Rory Sallow lowered his hood, revealing his grotesque mask once more, and touched his neck.  Through the window, in the dark, I didn't notice he'd touched a spot next to the first, another new patch, on his collarbone. I called security and they were as useful as before. He walked away into the night, and they stood guard. The actual police arrived to take a statement. A constable came in and asked if I knew the person in question. I gave up Rory Sallow without regret. He'd gone way too far with this stalker shit.  "You're bleeding," the constable said, tapping the top of his pen to his neck.  "Oh, yeah, I know," I said, "I scratched myself in my sleep."  He crouched a little to take a closer look. "You said you weren't asleep yet when you got that call." "Yeah, I meant last night." "Looks pretty fresh, kid."  I went to the mirror by my desk. There on my collarbone a new squared section of flesh had been rented. That's how I knew Rory hadn't touched the original spot. Suddenly, I gasped and found it impossible to take a deep breath. The constable sat me down and talked me through my first panic attack.  When my breathing had resumed normal efficiency, he asked if there was anything else I wanted to tell him. I did and I told him everything, showing the biopsy spot and describing my interest in demons.  He stopped writing at that point. He took off his cap, and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm going to pay Rory Sallow a visit once I know where he is, but this sounds like some satanic stuff you've gotten involved in." I knew better than to tell him the Satanic Panic had ended earlier that decade. "My advice is to go to church, and pray. Do you attend church, kid?" I was about to tell him I did not, but a thought struck me. Noah had said to come back Monday. I needed his advice as soon as possible, however. A Baptist would be in church on Sunday.  "I'm Baptist," I lied.  The constable nodded. "Okay. Do you go to Harmony Church?" I shook my head. "I only attend my church when I go home. I think I'll go tomorrow though. Know the address?" He wrote it down, and said he'd be in touch when he'd gotten more information. The security guards stayed all night and I didn't sleep. I went to Harmony Church as soon as the sun was up, waiting on the edge of a tiny garden and hoping Noah would show up.  He saw me before I saw him. He'd arrived before the parishioners to open up. I just presented my neck and the scratches and started to cry. He hugged me and guided me inside to an office. Without a word, he got out a first aid kit and began disinfecting the wounds, including the biopsy punch spot. I told him everything.  He was calm when he spoke but his words filled me with terror. "You have drawn the enemy of Man to yourself, and it has claimed you. The entity will consume you slowly until you give yourself to it entirely. Then will you become a passive observer of your life until you free yourself from evil." I had trouble breathing again. Panic attack number two had ensued. "Wh-wh-what c-c-can I d-do?" He grasped my hands tightly. "No Christian can be oppressed by the enemy. Say the name of Jesus, and accept him into your life, and this will stop. Do not despair."  I trembled. This was all some hypnotic bullshit and the power of suggestion. I pulled my hands away from Noah, and stood up. He reached forward and pleaded with his eyes for me to stay.   As I started to leave, he said, "You're not alone. When confronted next - and there will be a next - command it to go in the name of Jesus Christ and it will trouble you no more." I pushed through the glass exit doors angrily, and startled some early service parishioners.  "Sorry." "No problem," Rory said as he mounted the steps in his Sunday best. He went into the church. "Have a good day." Dumbstruck, I watched as he entered the foyer where Noah received him with a handshake. The pastor held up his hand and beckoned me to return. I ran down the steps, feeling betrayed when I should have been warning Noah about the demon in his church.  I thought about going back. I thought about what Noah had said. By the time I had metaphorically collected my emotions from the sidewalk outside the coffee shop, and found the courage to stand up and go to Harmony, it was late afternoon. Services had ended and the church locked.  I thought he might be at Divinity College. No luck there either. It was dark inside and empty looking. The sky had turned a darker shade of gray, and it looked like rain. The thought of staying on the college steps because they might be like holy ground occurred to me, and I felt annoyed again.  I didn't want to give in to religion. Academics and reason should be everyone's guide. It wasn't until I was much older that I understood the things we learn at school and what we think is rational are just as made up as religious belief. Each requires more faith in an orderly universe than experience and age allow. The best a person can hope for is chaos and indifference from powerful, evil things. You will arrive at these conclusions too. When you're old enough.  The sky spit down into the streetlights and I wandered to the library. It was open and I went in with my fists clenched, looking for Rory Sallow. He'd followed me everywhere that weekend. It was reasonable for him to show up there too, especially if I could provoke him.  I ran up the steps to the vacant sixth floor and stood at the window. The hooded figure waited in the parking lot as expected. He didn't wait for me to look away this time before striding swiftly across the tarmac, black and slick like blood from the rain. Let him come, and find out.  The elevator door slid open and soft footsteps shuffled through the aisles to the corner where I waited in ambush. I misjudged where he'd appear, however, and there he stood suddenly in the shadows of the opposite corner, down the opposing aisle.  The hood lowered and the eyes, the nostrils, the mouth drank all my pathetic courage. I started to shake. He took his finger and touched a leather-skin patch on his cheek, and I felt the burn on my own face immediately. The blood ran fast alongside my lips and tasted like hot metal.  His cloying cologne, covering the smell of decaying flesh, encouraged the tears filling my eyes to run. Rory had lied about the quantity of skin he'd acquired over the years. I knew that with inexplicable certainty because he was there - no, not he, it. It was here for more than I wanted to give. "Do not be afraid," it said with Rory's voice from beneath the mask. "I can give you everything you desire. Direction. Purpose. Academic greatness. You would not be the first we have made perfect. The price is low. Only a few scars." The price was too high. I didn't know how to escape or what I could do. Fists might only harm Rory. Even the creature was the horrible idea of the mask. Not the mask itself. Its presence could dwell in the mind of a victim such as I with similar ease.  Noah had told me what to do. If only I had listened more carefully.  "In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave me alone." My voice had not been loud or steady. And it laughed before it said, "Jesus I know, and Paul I know about, but who are you?" It laughed more and then it was upon me. It seized Rory's body and I had no hope of defending myself. I covered my head as punch after punch, kick after kick impacted my body. I woke up on the elevator when the door slid open. Broken and bloodied, and stripped naked, I walked out before the astonished shelvers and a crowd of students who'd returned for this week's classes. More students were in the plaza. I walked with no destination in mind, completely separated from the moment, an observer of my body's actions. A squat woman in a shawl stood in my path. Smoke surrounded her. "Salt and sage," she said, tossing a handful of granules over my head before waving smoke around my whole naked body. I felt my focus return somewhat, which only made the embarrassing moment worse. "Go," she commanded.  I ran back to my dorm room and sat on the floor for an indeterminate amount of hours. I know it was late when I finally got up and went to the window. No one stood beneath that tree. Nobody during that whole night. I left the university the next morning, and returned home to Bridal Veil Lake. My parents were furious with the school and contemplated legal action. My mental health became their priority. They'd find me often looking out the window in the morning. With time, I recovered and recognized similarities between the attack at the library and the Bible story in Acts of some young men attempting to use Jesus's name, without conviction, to exorcize demons. They too were beaten, stripped and humiliated.  A heavy envelope arrived in the mail before Christmas. There was no return address but I knew it contained the printed documents Rory had promised. When my parents were at work, I got a fire going in the hearth, fully intending to burn the whole thing without opening the envelope. For some reason, I didn't and shoved it in my closet.  When I finally checked my email soon after the envelope incident, there were several messages from Rory. None contained subject lines, and I left them unopened too.  I gradually compartmentalized the trauma and got on with the business of living. Forgetting about academia proved to be easier than expected. I took up a trade, finding a meditative effect in woodworking and building.  Years passed. I got married. I have a couple of kids, and life is good.  My mother found the envelope in my old bedroom closet, and gave it to me. I lied to her about its contents, saying it was an old novel I'd mailed to myself because I thought it'd protect the ideas from thieves. Her expression said she didn't believe my elaborate story. She didn't question it though either. I shoved the envelope and the awful memories accompanying it to the bottom of an old drawer. But the damage had ripped open old wounds. The light scarring on my cheek, and neck, hadn't faded as much I imagined.  I'd been avoiding mirrors for so long. My wife thought I'd gotten them from a cycling accident because that's what I'd told her.  The woman with the salt and sage I thought of as a friendly witch professor, the one who taught nothing and kept no office hours. AP believes she too was or is in league with a demon, and that these beings fight for territory or something. I was merely an unintended benefactor in a conflict between them. She saved me in order to show another of her kind they couldn't operate on her turf. Sounds like a pretty dumb theory if you ask me, but who knows the truth?  I used the same old Hotmail account to send my story. Rory's messages are still there. I've thought about opening them finally. Would you?
*A man is watching TV in his apartment. Suddenly, loud cooing is heard.* *The man is visibly frustrated, he quickly stands up and approaches the balcony.* *He opens the balcony door and angrily shouts at the small group of pigeons.* *The pigeons scatter instantly, but it seems like one of the pigeons is entangled in the messy collection of fishing gear that the man keeps stored on the balcony.* *The frightened bird tries it's best to get out of the fishing wire, nets and rods that are pinning it to the ground, but to no avail.* *The man looks at the trapped animal, a malicious grin forms on his face.* Man: That's what you get, bloody bastard! *The man leaves the struggling pigeon and closes the door, showing no empathy at all, he sits on his large sofa and continues watching TV.* *A montage begins, the man is doing his usual daily routine while the trapped pigeon's frantic cooing is noticable in the background. Seemingly, days pass, the pigeon's desperate cooing is getting louder and louder, but the old man remains unbothered, he completely ignores the bird's cries for help.* *After many days of struggle, the pigeon finally becomes completely silent.* *He notices this almost immediately, then gets a trash bag and opens the balcony door.* *He is met with a surprise, instead of finding the corpse of the unfortunate pigeon, he finds nothing more than his fishing gear.* *He shuffles through the fishing gear, but the pigeon is nowhere to be seen.* *He scratches the back of his head in confusion, then he exits the balcony and starts watching TV once again.* *As soon as he sits on the sofa, he hears two light knocks on the window.* *He turns around and looks at the balcony window.* *He notices a unusual dark-colored pigeon pecking at the window, the pigeon seems to be completely black, except for it's large blood-red eyes.* *The man approaches the window and quickly knocks on it to try and scare the pigeon away, but instead of flying away, the bird just slightly turns it's head and looks directly at the man.* *He awkwardly stares at the pigeon for a good minute while trying to scare it away, he shouts and knocks on the window, but the bird doesn't move or make a sound, it's bloody eyes continue staring at the man.* *His patience seems to be thinning, as he grabs a fly swatter off the table, with the long fly swatter in hand, he opens the balcony door and immediately forcefully hits the pigeon with the large fly swatter.* *Surprisingly, the dark pigeon is completely unfazed, once again, it just turns it's head slowly and looks the man straight in the eyes.* *The anger on the man's face is quickly replaced with a look of absolute fear.* *He quickly exits the balcony, closes and locks the door behind him, then quickly shuts the blinds of the balcony windows.* *Visibly disturbed by the unwanted visitor, he goes to the bathroom and washes his face.* *While washing his face, he hears another knock, instinctively, he looks at the bathroom window and sees the same dark pigeon staring at him with it's bulging eyes.* *He quickly shuts the blinds once again and exits the bathroom.* *Another montage begins.* *The man is once again doing his usual daily routine, the scenes are similar to the last montage, but this time, the man is visibly uneasy. The uncanny dark pigeon is standing at the window of every room the man enters, he is trying to ignore the pigeon's gaze, but to no avail.* *Finally, the man seems to have had enough. He shuts the blinds of every window in his home.* *While trembling in fear, he sits down and turns on the TV, his hands are shaking so much that he can barely even hold the TV remote.* *Suddenly a loud sound of glass breaking is heard.* *The man gets up and slowly approaches the bathroom.* *He cautiously opens the door of the bathroom.* *Inside the bathroom, on top of the shattered glass, stands a tall dark creature.* *The massive birdlike creature is easily as large as the man, it is covered in feathers that look more like greasy dark fur, it's legs are long and muscular. Overgrown, sharp talons are protruding from the creature's toes. The sinister creature's beak is oddly similar to a toucan's, the only difference being it's charcoal black color.* *Without warning, the creature looks the man in the eyes, he immediately notices something that makes him scream in terror, the creature's eyes look like a pair of bloody marbles, exactly like the dark pigeon's eyes did.* *The man starts to run, the creature immediately follows him, matching his pace with ease.* *He tries to exit his home, but the creature quickly stands in front of the main door.* *With his only exit now blocked, he desperately enters the living room.* *He quickly rushes to the balcony, his mix of rashness and fear overwhelm him as he trips and falls on the hard balcony floor, a loud crack is heard as his head hits the ground.* *The man looks like he's badly hurt, he doesn't seem to be able to get up and his speech has been reduced to pained moaning.* *The disturbing creature approaches the crippled man, as the man slowly loses conciousness, the creature looks him in the eyes for one final time.* *TAPE ENDS.* *Just like I did last time, I quickly swap the tape with the next one.* *Tape 5: Eripmav, begins.*
I parked my Gray Mazda CX-30 on the grass near the treeline, and loaded a silver bullet clip into my Taurus 45, and multiple silver laced shotgun shells into my sawed off. I opened the trunk of my car, and took out an ornate silver dagger where the blade had the outline of  black dragon engraved on it, and a saber that had a similar engraving as well. I took out a flashlight, and closed the truck door. I then sheathed my saber and dagger and entered the forest line in the middle of the knight. “Should be 5 miles up from here.” I said to myself, turning on my flashlight.I walked to the campsite, the dry leaves of autumn crunching under my black leather boots and the bushes brushing alongside my black double breasted trench coat rubbing along the dry bushes. God, how I hate that the order makes us wear these things. I reached the campsite only to be met with the smell of rotting bodies, and yellow police tape and I checked to make sure there weren’t any cops around before entering the campsite.  I was lucky to know that a lesser vampire caused this. For those curious as to what happened, four days ago, a group of six campers went camping in the Allegheny National Forest and were supposed to return the next day. When they didn’t return, some of their relatives called the forest service and they found this campsite with four bodies. One of the cops who was investigating the scene was an insider for the order and relayed the information to them. The only thing I had to do was find a trail which for someone with my level of experience was relatively easy. I looked around the woods along the campsite and found a small clearing with some broken branches, blood, and footprints. They led up northeast  an old mineshaft. I held my saber in my left hand and put my flashlight in my right hand and entered the mineshaft. For most normal people, entering the pitch blackness of these tunnels would be terror inducing   with them jumping at every drop from the ceiling, every creak, every small noise. For me though? This is my job and I’ve gotten used to it to the point that’ it's little more than a minor distraction. I walked silently through the caves, the boots specially designed to cancel out noise until I heard the sound of crying from a side tunnel piercing and echoing through the tunnels. It was obviously human, that much was obvious to me. Lesser vampires sometimes take their victims and sort of in a morbid way store them for later feeding, typically within a month. If I was lucky, both of them would be alive. I found both of them tied up against the granite cave wall. It was a large, open cavern where the ceiling of the cave was roughly 25 feet in the air with unpower lights, and mining equipment, and scaffolding inside. I walked up to the two campers who were hanging up against the wall. One of them, a hispanic male who looked to be in his 20’s, was unconscious while another, a blonde girl was awake and wide eyed. “Is he still alive?” I asked “Yeah he is. Get us the hell out of here!” “Don’t worry I will.” I said. “You need to hurry up! We’re in danger! I know this sounds crazy but you need believe me that-” she said, a clear panic  in her voice “That there’s a monster that brought you here and killed your buddies? That’s exactly why I’m here, you know.” Then for a brief moment the air around us got cold as the instinct that my target was about to attack me weighed on me.  I turned around and using my saber, blocked one of the lesser vampires attacks using it. The vampire was pale and shirtless with his lower body being covered in a dark maroon cloth as he bore his fangs and razor shark-like teeth at me.“ What business you have?” He growled. “It’s simple, I want to kill you and make money.” I said, a mischievous smile forming on my face before I kicked him away and pulled out my Taurus  45 with my right hand  and shot two bullets into his stomach. He  moaned in agony as the silver burned it like a witch at the stake. “My work you dare interfere?” “What work? Become a fat ass from eating humans?” He got visibly offended by my comments before screaming in the same broken English “ I shed blood of you for the mother.” He screamed out loud before lunging at me, one of his claws grazing my right arm. I dashed to the right, slashing at his leg. He kept trying to claw at me with me effortlessly dodging each strike before  I stepped to the side and I cut off his right arm with my saber and shot him in the head, killing him instantly as his body made a loud thump.“Why do they always give me the easy targets? I guess they pay well.” I said out loud. I walked  towards the vampire’s captives and freed both of them. I woke the unconscious man and let him recuperate. When both of them were done, I told them to wait and not go anywhere. “ What do you mean we have to stay here?” The man protested. “You guys were unlucky enough to be dragged into a  large abandoned mine system, good luck getting out of here on your own.” “So lead us out of here right now!”“I will do that, but I have something I need to look for.” I said. “Say, did the vampire do anything strange with any of you?” The girl stopped to think for a moment before saying “I saw him periodically slash Juan and put his blood in multiple test tubes like he was using them for an experiment. I never saw him drink it, he just went somewhere.” “Test tubes?” I said, my curiosity immediately aroused. “Lady, did you see where the vampire went after he was done extracting blood from your friend?”S he pointed to a tunnel to my left as I walked inside the tunnel. Turning on my flashlight, I walked through what felt like around three minutes through the cave until I saw a light to the right. I turned off my flashlight and unsheathe my saber and reloaded my Taurus 45. I crept up to the edge of the cave wall, taking  a peak at the room and seeing if there was anything in there. While there weren’t any monsters thankfully, I saw a mini alchemist lab in a cave.T o say I was astonished would be a great understatement. Most lesser vampires were just as intelligent as humans with an IQ of 80-95. I had never seen any lesser or higher vampire do something like this.  I crept inside the lab, preparing to be attacked at any moment but nothing came. I then began examining the lab. “Boiler flasks, Erlenmeyer flasks, beakers, test tubes, and alchemic books.” My initial amazement quickly turned to multiple large questions. What was he researching? Why was he collecting blood? I sheathed my sword and began looking through the alchemist book that the vampire had opened. It was written in Latin but thankfully I was taught a fair good amount of Latin so I was able to partly understand it on my own.“Communion with Lilith, mother of the Godless, and Crowned Princess of Hell.” it read.  “Lilith? Why would a lesser vampire want to commune with Lilith?”  I thought to myself. I don’t know much about Lilith but from the stories I’ve heard, she was one of the most powerful demons of hell, second only to the Kings of Hell. I also heard that she would be too egotistical to speak with something like a lesser vampire. I started reading some of the notes on the side to gauge this vampire motivation.They were also written in Latin and I roughly understood them to be both  praise of Lilith as well as notes on the progress he was making. I then flipped a page and- “What the fuck?!” I yelled, almost falling to the ground. I saw a symbol, a symbol that I was very familiar with but didn’t know the name of. It was a cross but the lower half was bent towards the left while the horizontal line that insects with the top part of a cross was tilted diagonally with the end slightly curving in on themselves. There were two snakes that were wrapping themselves around the cross with them meeting at the top and looking like they were hissing at each other. The twisted cross is also within the confines of a circle.I read what the symbol was and I understood it as “ The Mark of Lilith”. Freaked out , I closed the book, and put it in a medium size  satchel around the center right side of my waist. I would give the book to my granddad back at the bar I worked at later. Till then, I walked back to the surviving campers but before escorting them outside the mines, and back to my car, I took out my dagger and severed the fang of the vampire I had just killed. I would give this to confirm my kill and get my moment. I then took the campers out of the mines and guided them to my car.Just before we reached it however, I stopped them. “What are we stopping for?” The girl asked. “I did both of you a favor by saving your lives so I would appreciate it if you did me one as well.” I said. “There's a nearby Ranger station where you will be fed and comforted. They’re  going to ask you a lot of questions so you’re going to tell everyone that asks you about that  you were attacked by a deranged machete wielding killer who stalks these woods and both of you managed to escape him.” “You expect us to shut up about the fact that a fucking vampire attacked us in the woods and spent 3 days toturing us?!” Juan said. “If you don’t, well let’s just say things are going to get ugly for you, fast.” I said Both of them didn’t say a word, shaking at the thought of what I might do.  I had no intention of causing them any harm, it’s just the order’s  protocol when we faced these kinds. I led both of them into my car and I drove them to the ranger station where the rangers took them in. After I got them the help they needed, I drove to a nearby 3 star motel and slept for the night before preparing to go back home to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. I woke up, ate the mediocre breakfast they were serving, and drove for around 5 hours back to Bethlehelm, the events of the hunt weighing on my mind. I arrived and parked outside my grandfather's bar, The Joyce Bar.I walked into the bar and stepped on the hardwood floor to some old 60’s music playing in the background.' “Hey Connor, how’d that hunt go?”  Silvia said.  She was a Brunette woman in her 40’s sitting at a bar stool at the far left end of the counter. My grandfather's bar also served as a meeting place for many of the order’s hunters this side of the country. “I killed that vampire.” I said, trying to form a smile in a half hearted attempt. “ I need to talk with my grandfather.” “Hey Micah, get your ass over here, I want another drink, and also your grandson’s back.” My granddad came from the storage closet, and restocked some of the selves. He then poured a drink for Slivia.  “Come here and take a seat son.” He said as I then sat on the counter. I pulled out the vampire tooth I had served and I placed it on the table.  “Good work as always, kid.” He said, a pride filled smile forming on his face. My granddad took the vampire fang and told me that I can expect my payment of 3,000$ next week. He noticed the look on my face. “Son, is everything all right?” “Yeah, it’s just something that has been weighing on my mind ever since I returned.” “What is it?” “Grandpa, when I killed the vampire, I searched his lair and found this.” I laid out the book I retrieved on the counter to my grandfather's eyes widening. “What the? A  Dark Alchemist book? From a Lesser Vampire?” Before my grandfather could inquire for any more information, I flipped over to the part of the book where the mark of Lilith symbol.  I looked my  grandfather, dead in the eye, before saying  “Why do I have the Mark of Lilith engraved on the left side of my neck?”
Ever since I was a child, the sight of Barney the dinosaur filled me with an inexplicable dread. His gigantic, plush purple body, the way his mouth moved, those large, empty eyes—it was all too much. While other children sang along to his songs and danced with glee, I would hide behind the sofa, trembling in fear. My parents dismissed it as a weird phase. “She'll grow out of it,” they'd tell concerned relatives. But I didn’t. The fear intensified. As I grew older, I did everything in my power to avoid any references to Barney. No TV shows, no merchandise, no themed birthday parties. My friends found it quirky but never truly understood the depth of my terror. One summer, in my early twenties, I took a job at a local community center. They hosted events, workshops, and summer camps for children. I loved my job, especially the genuine smiles of the children. But everything changed one fateful day. A colleague named Jake was discussing plans for an upcoming kids' event. “We've managed to get a real treat for the children,” he mentioned with a grin. Before I could ask what it was, he continued, “A live performance by Barney! Well, not the real Barney, of course. Dave from the next town over has this incredibly realistic costume. The kids will love it.” My blood ran cold. The very thought of being in the same building as that monstrosity was unbearable. I decided to take the day off, unable to face my childhood nightmare. The day of the event, however, curiosity got the better of me. I thought perhaps confronting my fear, even if from a distance, might help. I arrived early, ensuring I wouldn’t be near the performance area. Peeking from a window overlooking the main hall, I caught sight of "Barney" getting ready. The suit looked unsettlingly real. The show began, and children cheered. But something felt off. Barney's movements were more aggressive, less cheerful. The songs were not the usual catchy tunes but renditions that sounded distorted and ominous. I felt a knot in my stomach. Suddenly, Barney stopped, his head slowly turning towards the window where I was hiding. Our eyes met, or at least, it felt that way. The hall's doors slammed shut, and Barney began to approach, the children's cheers turning into confused murmurs. I panicked, retreating from the window, my breaths coming in short gasps. Every door I tried was locked. It felt like the building was conspiring to keep me trapped with that purple horror. I could hear the distant thudding of Barney's footsteps, echoing in the otherwise silent corridors, his bubbly voice inside my ear, even feel his rancid breath on my back. Finding a closet, I hid inside. The muffled sound of that haunting version of the "I Love You" song seeped through the door, growing louder. My heart pounded so loudly that I was sure Barney could hear it. Suddenly, the closet door was yanked open. I braced myself for the worst. But it was Jake, pale and wide-eyed. "We need to get out. That's not Dave in the costume." Together, we managed to find an emergency exit. Bursting out into the daylight, we didn't stop running until we reached the safety of the nearby streets. Jake explained that Dave had called in sick that morning, so the community center had quickly hired a replacement from a different agency. No one knew who was inside the Barney costume. The event was shut down immediately. The police were called, but the Barney costume was found abandoned, with no trace of the person who had worn it. I quit my job at the community center, the trauma of that day leaving a permanent scar. The identity of the imposter Barney remains a mystery. Every creak in the night, every shadow in my peripheral vision, conjures images of that purple terror. The childlike mantra of "Barney is just a friendly dinosaur" offered no comfort. For in the end, it wasn’t the fictional Barney I feared, but the unknown entity hiding behind its mask, exploiting my deepest phobia, and reminding me that sometimes real terror wears a familiar, smiling face.
Many people go through a mopey ‘nobody wants to date me’ phase. I was in the midst of mine a few years back, when I was a junior in college. There’s nothing particularly dramatic about it. I had no interest in romance in my teens when plenty of people around me were going through such formative experiences. I hardly socialized, either. So, unsurprisingly, when I finally acted on the feelings I started to have towards certain members of the opposite sex, I was clumsy and awkward, and I met with no success. I recognize that it wasn’t too big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, even if it felt catastrophic to me at the time. I was downcast but not self-pitying. I realized that I had a lot of personal growth ahead of me before I’d have much to offer to another person, and I felt a little lonely and insecure as a result. That insecurity didn’t stop me from opting for a semester abroad. It’s something I’d always seen as a valuable learning opportunity, and, thanks to my school’s strong ties with a Danish educational program, I soon found myself on a plane from the states to Copenhagen. The first couple weeks went smoothly enough. I explored plenty of landmarks, from ascending the Round Tower’s iconic helical corridor to touring the gigantic Frederiksborg Castle. I also made progress in a basic-level Danish language course. Learning the language in detail was hardly necessary, though, as virtually every resident there would rather practice their English than try to decipher a foreigner’s rudimentary Danish. I first saw her at a crowded bar on a Saturday night. My roommate and I were sipping Carlsbergs when I spotted a woman by the door. She had red hair and pale skin, and there was a peculiar, kinetic energy about her that caused her to stand out from the crowd. For a moment, we made eye contact before, nervously, I averted my gaze to the floor. My roommate announced that he was turning in for the night. No sooner did he leave than she approached me. When I started mumbling a basic greeting in Danish, she smiled and quickly cut me off. “I saw you looking at me. Want to buy me a drink?” Like many Danes, she spoke fluent English with a Nordic accent. “Uh, yeah, sure,” I said, gesturing for another beer on tap. She introduced herself as Madeline and, at her suggestion, we got ourselves a small table. She asked me a lot of questions, and she seemed to listen intently to my responses. We talked at first about basic subjects, such as my hometown and my reasons for studying abroad, and how she’d grown up nearby but recently returned from traveling through Switzerland and Germany. Before long, we were discussing more personal topics. I explained how my father had passed when I was little, and she shared how she’d recently broken up with a longtime boyfriend. As our conversation stretched into the early morning, I realized that I felt more comfortable around her than I did around, well, just about anybody else. I found her extremely attractive, too, which contributed to my excitement. Eventually, she suggested that we depart. “You going to drink that?” I asked, motioning to the still-full beer I’d ordered for her. “No,” she laughed. “I don’t really drink. I just wanted to see if you’d order it for me. Help yourself to it, if you want.” I took a deep gulp from it as I left payment on the table before following her to the deserted cobblestone street outside. She learned into me until her face was just inches from mine. “You ever kissed a girl before?” she whispered. “Yeah,” I lied, embarrassed over my inexperience. “Ever done more than that?” “Uh-huh.” The smirk on her face showed me that she likely didn’t believe me. “Just a little,” I added. If she sensed I was lying, it didn’t seem to bother her. “What do you say,” she said, drawing away from me, “you hang out with me tomorrow night? I’m having a gathering with some friends and family. Afterwards, we can spend some time together alone. Just the two of us.” The wink she gave me made my heart flutter. “Oh, yeah, okay,” I stammered, nervously. “Sure, I’ll be there.” That seemed to please her. She proceeded to describe the route I would need to take to get there. I typed each step into my travel flip phone. As we parted ways, she called to me, “Vi ses senere.” Danish for *see you later*. I practically skipped with joy as I made my way home. After so many self-doubts and restless nights, a charming, gorgeous woman had shown interest in *me*, of all people. My mind flooded with thoughts of what was to follow. Maybe the event would be awkward and little would come of it. Perhaps I’d say or do something foolish like I had so many times before, and I’d never hear from her again. But, just maybe, this could be the start of something meaningful, or, at a minimum, something validating and fun. When I got home, I realized that she’d left me with relatively little specific information. Madeline hadn’t given me her last name or even her phone number. I had an address, but I had no idea what sort of building I was looking for, or the kind of neighborhood I’d be heading into. Her mention of ‘family’ struck me as strange, too. Who brings someone to a family event on a first (or, if last night counted, second) date? My mind didn’t dwell on these peculiarities for long. Instead, I replayed the wink she gave me when she’d referenced us being alone together. It was more than enough to silence any uncertainties. I spent the next morning preparing. I showered, shaved my face, and picked out a nice shirt. I tried to think in advance of the questions her friends and family members might ask me and practiced my responses before a mirror. My roommate, sensing my purpose, wished me luck as I stepped outside. At first, the journey was unremarkable. The metro station had its usual glossy, spotless appearance. When the fully-automated train arrived, I took a seat near a chatty group of teens, and numerous passengers embarked and departed over the next few stops. Things started to change when I reached the Nørreport station. According to Madeline’s instructions, I needed to switch to a train on the ‘silver’ line. However, I couldn’t find a platform for such a line, nor did one appear on any of the maps throughout the station. I spotted two metro employees and asked them for assistance. They exchanged a quick glance when I mentioned the silver line. “Are you sure you want to go there?” asked the first. I nodded, trying to make sense of their grim, concerned expressions. “Then follow me,” ordered the other, a short, well-built woman with a gray ponytail. She led me up a small staircase that I otherwise would have assumed connected to a custodial closet or maintenance hatch. At the top, she led me down a shadowy corridor. In contrast to the polished, pristine look of the rest of the station, the walls and flooring in this area were rugged and dirty. We stepped into a cavernous room. A weak, flickering overhead light partially illuminated an empty train platform in its center. A large sign above it read *Sølv/Silver*. In contrast to the other platforms, there appeared to be no ticket booth or electronic indicator of when the next train would arrive. When I asked about this, I found, to my surprise, that the woman who had brought me there was already gone. I was alone. I considered leaving. This all made little sense – the absence of any silver line from the map, the platform’s dingy appearance, and the reaction of the employees. The air had a rancid, foul smell to it, too, and the temperature was much higher than in the rest of the station. But, I’d come this far, and it had all accorded, more or less, with the instructions Madeline had left me. I reminded myself, too, of why I was there in the first place. I thought about how comfortable and warm her presence had made me feel last night. I imagined the smile that would spread across her face when she saw me; the feeling of her lips pressed against mine; doing more than kissing, perhaps even quite a bit more. Eventually, two harsh red lights punctured the opaque darkness and approached like the eyes of a hunting predator. As they grew closer, I discerned that they were the headlights to an older, shabbier train than the one I’d used to get here. The smudges across its glass windows and the graffiti that covered its metal exterior reminded me much more of public transportation in the U.S. than what I’d seen elsewhere in Copenhagen. Even though the train seemed to be at the end of the line, no one who had arrived on it exited. Instead, the handful of passengers in the car I stepped onto remained eerily silent as I took a seat. An empty glass bottle rolled across its dusty floor as the train jutted back into motion, reversing direction into the black void from which it had emerged. I checked the directions Madeline had given me. Seven metro stops, and then a five block walk until I reached “Skeltoftevej 27.” I’d be there soon enough. I tried to relax as the train sputtered along. At the first two stops, no one got on or off. By the time the train approached the third stop, I noticed a peculiar stillness among the passengers in my periphery. Neither the lanky man by the door nor the mother and daughter in matching red jackets in the seats ahead of me had moved an inch since I’d gotten onboard. As far as I could tell, everyone around me remained completely motionless. I shifted my gaze to the window on my right as the train approached the third stop. Between the back-glare against the dirty glass and the outside platform’s minimal lighting, I could barely make anything out. The doors opened and, again, I discerned no movement onto or off of the train. Staring deep into the shadows outside, I noticed something else odd: the vague outlines of figures, all as still as those in my train car. At the fourth station, I observed the same thing. I couldn’t identify any details of the distant spectators, beyond that they just seemed to be standing there…doing nothing at all. It perplexed me. Why were they there? As far as I could tell, there wasn’t any other train on this track. As the train departed, I picked up on another detail – pairs of tiny, neon green dots of light. They were hard to make out at first, but once I noticed them, I couldn’t ignore them. Each hovered above the ground…right around where the obscured figures’ faces would be. The fifth and sixth stops were the same. Now that I knew to look for them, I detected no fewer than a dozen pairs of these glowing lights, all gazing at the train like eyes that never blinked. As we approached the seventh stop, I wasn’t sure what to make of what I’d been seeing. The distant figures spooked me, even though I had no reason to think I was in any danger. I reflected on just how alone and isolated I was. After all, I was a foreigner traveling to an area I knew nothing about on a line that didn’t appear on maps, all to see someone I’d only just met. I hadn’t even told anyone where I was going. But I had to exit the train at some point, even if only to turn around. So, I mustered my courage and approached the screen doors, praying that whatever lay in the void ahead of me meant me no harm, and that I’d soon be happily reunited with the gorgeous woman who’d shown so much interest in me. As the doors began to open, my hands shot impulsively to my eyes to protect them from an unexpected and intense wave of what felt like blisteringly bright light. As my eyes started to adjust, I squinted to find before me a fully-illuminated train platform. To my relief, it was bereft of any skulking figures, or anyone at all for that matter. Sounds of my footsteps echoed through the vacant train station as I made my way through it. There was nothing odd about its structure or layout, but the absence of other people left me uneasy. I remembered the giggling teens and hand-holding couples I was used to seeing at places like this. Everything around me, by contrast, felt artificial, mechanical, and joyless. The street outside had a similarly ethereal aura to it. It possessed all the qualities of the vibrant cityscape I’d spent the last few weeks exploring – cobblestone streets; occasional baroque churches; crooked houses painted in warm hues of yellow, red, and orange – but it was all quiet, so quiet, and the air carried a suffocating staleness. As I passed by a restaurant, I found myself fixating on its chairs and tables – all uninhabited, like everything else around me. Their design, and the layout in general, were identical to that of an upscale Italian place not far from my dorm back in the states. My mind flashed back to the night I’d taken Audrie, a girl from my chemistry class, out on a date. Our conversation over the meal had been…awkward. She’d acted friendly towards me earlier, but that night, she’d been guarded and withholding. When the check arrived, I’d tried to pay it in full, but she’d insisted on splitting the expense. As we stepped outside, she confessed that she’d thought we were hanging out as friends and hadn’t realized until she’d arrived at the restaurant that I’d asked her on a date. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something earlier. I just didn’t know what to do.” When she told me she didn’t see me that way, I said that was okay, and I’d apologized for the misunderstanding. I felt terrible, though I tried not to show it. I dismissed the memory quickly. As I continued towards Madeline’s address, a distant noise caught my attention. As I got closer, I recognized it as laughter. At first, I found this reassuring. It was the first sign of life I’d encountered after traversing so much seemingly abandoned cityscape. But, I steadily pick up on an unwelcome undertone to the shrill giggles ahead of me. There was a piercing meanness to them. They recalled the specter of a group of people – young people, by the sound of it – basking in a peer’s humiliation. It was a sound I knew too well. When I’d summoned my courage to ask a classmate out to prom – a fellow violist named Maria I’d shared a stand with in orchestra for over a year – she’d laughed at me like that, and her friends had quickly joined in. *Do better,* I’d told myself when I’d cried into the mirror that night. *Nobody owes me anything.* I’d do better tonight, I told myself. Everything was going to change. Madeline and I had made a connection so quickly. She really liked me, and I liked her, too. Maybe I’d just grown up on the wrong continent. The laughter got louder until, right as I reached the alley from which it seemed to have been emanating, it stopped, and there was no one there to be found. *Just keep moving,* I told myself, adding it to a list of abnormalities I fought to keep buried in the back of my mind. *I’m almost there.* Finally, I reached a street sign that read *Skeltoftevej*. The first few buildings were businesses –a deli that served distinctly Danish open sandwiches called smørrebrød, a barber’s shop, a camera store. At last, I found myself facing a brick structure with the number ‘27’ affixed to its front door. The sign next to the entrance displayed three words: *Den Værdige Bedemand.* I knew that ‘den’ translated to ‘the’, but the remaining words were unfamiliar to me. My best guess was that it was a bar or a restaurant. If so, it was a fancy one, judging by the black suit worn by the man by the ornate front desk inside – incidentally, the first person I’d seen since the train station. I expected to feel some sense of relief at seeing another living, breathing person, but his emaciated appearance and grim expression brought me little comfort. He said something to me in Danish – I think “Lan jeg hjælpe dig?” (*Can I help you?*) – but he spoke a little too rapidly for me to be sure. I just stated Madeline’s name, hoping he’d understand that I was looking for her. “Madeline,” he repeated back to me. He nodded solemnly and then beckoned for me to follow him. We arrived in a large, plain room occupied by at least two dozen people. The first thing I noticed about them was how formally they were dressed. My patterned button-down shirt looked outright casual compared to the suit jackets and plain dresses – all muted shades of black and gray – worn by everyone else. Naturally, I felt out of place. Nobody said anything to me, but I sensed, truthfully or not, that I was being judged. Why hadn’t Madeline told me this was a fancy event? I wondered, too: Where was Madeline, what kind of event had she invited me to? The absence of any food or silverware-laden tables confirmed that I was not, in fact, in a restaurant as I’d inferred. Rather, the attendees were standing and chatting quietly with each other in voices no louder than a whisper. Nobody really seemed to be doing anything in particular. I approached an elderly man standing alone. “Excuse me,” I said meekly. “I’m looking for Madeline.” A puzzled expression formed on his face. As he looked me over skeptically, my face turned red with a mix of nervousness and embarrassment. I felt so hopelessly lost and confused. He slowly raised his arm and pointed towards the far end of the room. “Tak,” I muttered before nudging my way through the small crowd in the direction he had indicated. My jaw nearly dropped when I saw the wooden casket, which was decorated by an array of lilies and roses. Madeline lay underneath its open head panel. Her eyes were closed, and she was perfectly still. She wore the same clothes I’d seen her in the previous night. A display next to the casket read, “Madeline Hænning, december 12, 1994 – september 7, 2019.” It was too much to take in. My legs grew weak and I began feeling dizzy. My mind raced to process what was happening. I was at a *funeral home*. And Madeline had invited me…to her *own* open casket? Something else stuck out to me. Last night – when I’d met Madeline – was September *14th*. One week *after* the date listed as that of her death. None of this made sense. What was I doing here? How was any of this possible? The old man who’d directed me shuffled past me and stood next to the casket. He turned to face the rest of the crowd, which quickly grew silent. I realized he was giving some kind of speech. Was he a relative, or a priest perhaps? He spoke in a coarse, raspy voice. My mind was too astounded for me to grasp a word of what he was saying. I wasn’t even sure that it was Danish. The reaction from the crowd baffled me even more. They were *laughing*. Again and again, the man made comments – comments that I could not understand – and the rest of the room chortled and giggled in response. All I could do was watch, embarrassed and dumbfounded, as I wondered who tells jokes at an occasion like this. Suddenly, all eyes turned to me. “*Michael*,” the man hissed, somehow knowing my name. “It’s time.” “Time … for what?” I replied, exasperated. I looked around the room – at the dozens of people staring intently at me. “What’s happening? What do you want from me?” “It’s not us who want you,” said the man. “It’s her.” He walked up to me, then turned to face the casket. I stood frozen as Madeline’s corpse sat up. Madeline opened her eyes, and, placing both hands on the casket’s mahogany surface, pulled herself slowly upward and hopped onto the floor. “Michael,” she said, her voice weaker and coarser than it had been last night. “You came. I knew you would.” She wobbled towards me, her legs seemingly straining to support her. I froze, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. “Are you, are you-” I stuttered. “They’re going to bury me, Michael,” she said, as she continued her approach. “Six feet under.” As she got closer, I recoiled at her rank, putrid smell. Impulsively, I backed up, only for the speaker to grip me tightly, holding me in place. “I don’t want to be alone, Michael,” said Madeline. “There’s room for us both down there.” “No,” I gasped as I struggled to get free. “No, please-“ “There’s so much that I can show you. It’ll be just the two of us, and we’ll have all the time in the world. Isn’t this what you always wanted? To never be alone again?” She stood right in front of me now. My stomach churned as the rotting smell grew even more pungent. The world spun around me as panic set in. I remember tearing the man’s hands off me, losing my balance, and slamming my head painfully into the casket before I hit the ground. ~ When I came to, my head was throbbing, and I was being dragged outside by two men. Graves littered the surrounding landscape. A crowd of people, including Madeline, had assembled by a deep pit a short distance away from me. Next to it was a coffin – a much larger one than I’d ever seen before. Large enough for two bodies. I couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. But, I *knew*, with a sense of absolute certainty, that I was about to be buried there. I figured my best bet would be to act before they realized I was awake. Throwing all my force into it, I lunged forward, managing, barely, to pull myself free. One of the men dived for me, grabbing my leg and sending me toppling over a headstone. As I scrambled to my feet, I noticed a long metal shovel laying atop a pile of dirt. As one of the men charged at me, I picked up the shovel and frantically swung it. The blade slammed into his cheek, sending him sprawling. “Michael, what are you doing?” cried Madeline. I didn’t respond. My attention was fixed on the man I’d just hit. The force of the blow had somehow fractured his skin. Cracks spread over his face, which then shattered into small pieces that fell onto the ground, revealing the raw bones of his skull and a pair of unblinking, unnaturally bright green eyes. As he got to his feet, seemingly unbothered by the evisceration of his face, my flight instinct kicked in. I remember climbing a fence and ignoring the pain in my ankle when I hit the ground on the other side. I remember the sounds of dozens of footsteps pursuing me, and being too afraid to look back. I remember Madeline’s voice begging me to return. I ran on instinct, retracing my steps as best I could. Figures filled the once deserted streets around me. I ignored their missing faces and the green glow they emitted. I ignored the ones who called for me, who said they *wanted* me, who resembled Audrie, Maria, and so many others whose rejection haunted my mind every time I closed my eyes at night. By the time I reached the platform, I was breathing rapidly and drenched in sweat. Thankfully, a train was already there. I could hear voices resounding through the station behind me. They were getting closer, louder, by the moment. I could tell that the train’s doors were about to close. With my last bit of strength, I dashed forward and dove between them. Pain shot through me as my body thudded onto the hard surface inside. ~ When I awoke, my body ached all over. I was laying on a couch in some kind of office, and a woman I recognized as the employee who had led me to the silver line stood over me. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked. I was too perplexed to answer. “What…where am I?” “My office at the Nørreport station. Just upstairs from where you started.” “I don’t understand.” She shrugged. “You do not have to. You should go home.” “But…but…” I stammered. “What about the silver line, and things I saw-” “Nobody will be riding the silver line anytime soon. Just closed down for repairs. Go home.” ~ I’ve never fully understood what happened to me that day. The metro employee refused to answer any more of my questions. I never saw her again, or any mention of a silver line even existing. Nor could I find any reference in an atlas to the part of town it had brought me to. Once, before returning to the states, I ran into the bartender who’d been on duty when I’d met Madeline. When I asked him what he remembered about that night, he responded that he recalled me sitting alone, talking to myself for hours. “We did have a regular customer with that name,” he’d continued, after I mentioned Madeline’s full name. “She told me once that we were her favorite bar in town. Haven’t seen her in months, though. I have no idea what happened to her.” ~ My physical wounds – bruises and a sprained ankle – healed relatively quickly, but, inside, I felt shattered. I became reclusive, focusing entirely on my studies and, after graduating, on my work. A few weeks ago, my brother set me up on a date with a friend-of-a-friend who he insisted was a good fit for me. Understandably, I’d spent the last few years utterly detached from the dating scene and avoiding any perceived advances. But, I eventually caved in to my brother’s persistence. Her name is Clara, and, well, my brother was right. She and I formed an instant connection and, so far, we seem to be a perfect match for each other. The other night, we even exchanged a kiss, the first of my life. We were sitting together in my apartment’s living room on a rainy Saturday afternoon when I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to find a bouquet of lilies and roses sitting on the doormat. “Did you order these?” I asked Clara. She shook her head, her expression puzzled and concerned. A small card pinned to the bouquet displayed a short, handwritten message in black ink. *Death is the great equalizer, Michael. When it comes for you, too, know one thing: I will be waiting.* *Vi ses senere,* *Madeline.*
I’ve always been fascinated by the paranormal, especially haunted dolls. I’ve seen many videos and stories online about people who own them and experience strange things. I wanted to have one for myself, so I decided to look for one on eBay. I found a listing that caught my eye. It was a porcelain doll with blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a pink dress. The seller claimed that the doll was from the 1800s and that it was possessed by the spirit of a girl named Lucy, who died of tuberculosis. The seller said that the doll was very active and that it could move, talk, and even cause poltergeist activity. The seller also warned that the doll was not for the faint of heart and that it could be dangerous if provoked. I was intrigued by the description and decided to buy it. The price was only $50, which seemed like a bargain for such a rare item. I paid with my credit card and waited for the doll to arrive. A few days later, I received a package at my door. It was the doll. I opened it eagerly and took out the doll. It looked exactly like in the pictures, except that it had a crack on its forehead. I assumed that it was damaged during shipping, but I didn’t mind. I thought it added to its charm. I placed the doll on a shelf in my living room and admired it. It looked so innocent and cute. I couldn’t believe that it was haunted. I decided to name it Lucy, after its original owner. That night, I went to bed and fell asleep. Around 3 am, I woke up to a loud thud from downstairs. I got up and went to check what it was. As I walked down the stairs, I heard a faint giggle coming from the living room. I entered the living room and turned on the light. What I saw made me scream in terror. The doll was on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and books. It had fallen from the shelf and knocked over everything in its way. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that the doll had changed. Its eyes were no longer blue, but red. Its mouth was no longer closed, but open in a twisted grin. And its voice was no longer silent, but loud and clear. “Hello there,” it said in a high-pitched voice. “Do you want to play with me?” I ran back to my bedroom and locked the door behind me. I grabbed my phone and called 911. I told them that someone had broken into my house and that they needed to come quickly. As I waited for help, I heard the doll banging on the door. “Let me in! Let me in! I want to play with you!” it shouted. I prayed that it would stop, but it didn’t. It kept banging and banging until the door broke down. And then it came in.
This is probably going to *shock* you, but I’ve been finding it pretty hard to land a job with my PoliSci degree. Crazy, right? I’ve been applying to pretty much anything and everything under the sun. Admin Assistant? Sure! Data Entry? Why not! Digital Content Specialist - not sure what that entails but *hell fucking yes!* Having clocked in at nearly 500 applications with no responses (outside of automated rejection emails, of course), I was naturally starting to sweat a bit. Thankfully, my throwaway application to the “Marketing Assistant” role at NexaNova Systems was able to get a bite. It was a joyous occasion, and soon after my response to their brief email questionnaire, they were already set for me to come onsite to take some sort of “Marketing test”. Deciding to not overthink a good thing, I made my way to their office, located in a part of the city I’d never been to before. I took the elevator up to the seventh floor in the towering, yet somewhat run-down, building that housed them and other companies. As the doors opened, I was met with a depressing-looking reception area and a rather uninspired logo. A nervous-looking man sat at the reception desk. “Amanda… for NexaNova Systems, right? 5 o’clock test?” “That’s right!” I said, as cheerily as I could muster. He looked around, awkwardly drumming at his desk for a while. He grimaced, as if he were deep in thought. Finally, after a painful minute of waiting, he said “Alright, let’s go!” and lifted from his seat. I followed him down the lengthy hallway, past dingy offices and tables with scattered paperwork on them. The office was basically empty - I clocked, like, *one guy* drinking coffee in the kitchen, and maybe *ten* flickering lights on my walk? Disappointed with the office decor thus far, I was tempted to ask the guy escorting me more about what NexaNova Systems did. *Yes,* they did have a website that I scoured during my five minutes of pre-interview prep, but there wasn’t much on it except for vague mentions of market research and ‘top notch product evaluation’. We arrived at the “Testing Room”. That’s what the placard on the door said, anyways. He held it open, and I entered the very long and narrow, almost rectangular-shaped room. It was completely empty inside, save for an old computer on a small desk in the center, a gray folding chair positioned in front of it. As I approached the desk, I noticed a row of windows to my left that unveiled a massive, seemingly endless warehouse below. The receptionist motioned for me to take a seat, and so I did. He booted up the computer, and before I could even ask him any questions, he was already on his way out. I’m pretty sure I heard him half-heartedly mutter “best of luck” before he closed the door behind him. I’ll be honest. I wasn’t particularly excited to work here. *But,* the prospect of being able to afford hot pockets again was enticing, so I decided to press on. I examined the archaic computer that was in front of me. Bulky, beige, 15-inch CRT screen, with a similarly chunky keyboard sitting in front of it. Fucking *prehistoric*, but a welcome throwback to late 90’s computing nonetheless. Ah… what a simple time that was. A time where I could spend my full weekend wrapped in blankets while watching TV. *Send me back there, please.* The computer finished its start-up sequence, and immediately, I was greeted with a form asking questions like my name, my email, and the position I was interviewing for. I promptly filled it out. After that, the test kicked off. The questions were simple at first: “What are the 4 P’s of Marketing?” and “What does *positioning* mean in marketing terms,” stuff that I was able to address reasonably well with my one hour of studying this morning - thank you very much ChatGPT. As I kept up the momentum, carving through the questions with relative ease, I started to feel a bit proud. *Maybe, just maybe, I was assistant material after all?* I wrapped up the section, only to be greeted by a black screen with a small icon of a spinning hourglass on it, indicating that the next screen was loading. Underneath the hourglass, the following text slowly appeared, displayed in a white, jagged, dated-looking font: **“By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work. With the universe bearing solemn witness, God, in His infinite majesty, succumbed to the slumber of death.”** *What?* I was by no means up to date on my bible lore - it’d been well over a decade since my mom last forced me to go to church - but I’m pretty sure God *dying on the eighth day* wasn’t part of the King James canon. Before I could muse on this quote for longer, a voice blaring from *somewhere* jolted my attention away. “Don’t worry about that,” said a voice that came through loud, tinny, and mildly distorted. *Is that a PA system?* I turned around and confirmed my suspicion. Nestled in the corner at the junction of two walls and the ceiling, was a PA speaker that looked tarnished from years, nay, decades it seemed, of use. *Is that… a normal thing for… marketing firms?* I turned back to face the computer. The next section had loaded. On the screen was an image crafted in a 2D retro art style reminiscent of old educational games like Oregon Trail and Math Blaster. There was a boy sitting at the edge of his bed in a dimly lit room, watching a TV screen that had cast a pale glow around him. Though mostly static, the image had a subtle animation - a soft twinkling emanating from the TV. At the bottom of the screen, text displaying the following question appeared: **We want the child to remember the JOY of drinking Coca-Cola. Do you recommend:** **(a) Showing him a 10 second ad every 15 minutes?** **(b) Running a 2-minute storytelling ad once every three hours?** I struggled a bit as I thought through the question. I wasn’t sure which cadence was the more effective one. The muffled voice off the PA interrupted my thoughts. “It’s a trick question,” the voice echoed. I raised an eyebrow, instinctively turning around again to look at the PA. As I turned back, I noticed that I’d missed a timer that had been running in the corner of the screen. It had already reached zero. I sat confusedly, wondering what the PA had meant. Suddenly, the child at the edge of the bed started to fade away, vanishing as if he were an apparition. I heard a ‘ding’ sound, indicating I had somehow answered correctly. New text appeared at the bottom of the screen: **“Correct! The child was not real!”** *Huh?* Convinced that this question was some sort of dramatized interpretation of a rule about marketing to children that I had missed, I decided to take the victory. But as I sat, the image of the empty room with the TV playing lingered for longer than I would’ve liked. Finally, the computer transitioned to the next question. On screen, in a similar 2D-animated style, was a gardener donning a sun hat and a green apron, carrying around a watering can, sprinkling pixelated droplets on the flowers in his busy garden. Text appeared at the bottom of the screen: **Jack is thinking about the best digital marketing strategies to utilize for his flower business called JACK’s FLOWERS. What are your suggestions for Jack?** A prompt with an empty text box appeared, awaiting my response. In the background, Jack continued adorably flowering his plants. Not really feeling as ‘in my element’ as before, I typed a generic answer: *Market on Facebook and Instagram?* As soon as I submitted, Jack paused his gardening, glanced up at the screen with a smile, and offered a ‘thumbs up’ in approval. A new text box emerged, accompanied with the instruction, **“Give Jack more advice!”** I thought over what to type next, but as I ruminated, I noticed a shuffling in the bushes in the corner of Jack’s garden. Two bright red eyes appeared in the hedges. Distracted, I carelessly typed another generic answer in the text box: *Do an email marketing campaign?* The text box disappeared, my message received, and again, Jack flashed me a thumbs up. The red-eyed character in the corner of the screen stepped out of the bushes, its full figure now in frame. It was hard to make sense of what the creature was. The smiling, demonic-looking thing was animated in the same artstyle as everything else, and yet, it looked *completely* out of place. It crept towards Jack, holding a pair of hedge shears. New text box appeared. **“Give Jack even more advice!”** I typed: *Turn around Jack, something is coming for you.* But weirdly, as I pressed enter, the text changed right in front of my eyes to: *Focus on your fucking gardening, Jack.* I whispered “what in the ever-loving-fuck is this test?” under my breath as Jack flashed me another sign of approval, and the twisted entity arrived behind him, shears readied. I tensed up, but thankfully, the screen went black. When it returned, it was a tranquil scene in the garden. Jack was nowhere to be seen, and the demented red creature was now the one attending to the plants. *Except*, the plants looked to be twice as large now, and the pixelated droplets falling from the watering can looked *a bit too red* to be water. Genuinely disturbed at how morbid this test was, not to mention thrown off by how dark the room had gotten all of a sudden, I was again greeted by the crackle of the PA system. “Fair warning,” the amplified voice reverberated through the room, “This next question requires a very fast answer.” *Oh great.* The image on screen shifted from the garden to the next, similarly-styled 2D animation: the disturbing scene of a woman, bound in ropes, being lowered into a large bed of spikes. A timer in the corner of the screen was counting down from 20 as a new question appeared: **Keeping psychological pricing in mind, what should the price of the bed of spikes should be?** **(a) $11.00** **(b) $10.99** **(c) $9.50** *Aaaand I think I’m done here.* I got up from the chair, now convinced that this whole thing was just some sort of twisted prank, when I caught a movement in the corner of my eye. Glancing towards the windows on my left, which overlooked the vast warehouse beneath the interview room, I noticed a rope swiftly descend down, with what I could’ve *sworn* was a person attached to its tail end. In a panic, I rushed to sit back down, half-hoping that I had just hallucinated that. The counter descended down from 9, 8, 7, 6… and with the animated woman now seconds from impalement, I hastily guessed ‘B’. *Ding!* The sound from the computer indicated that my answer was correct. But… on-screen, the rope-bound woman still tumbled down into the bed of spikes. Despite the dated graphics, it was a nightmarish sight. I sat still for a moment. Then, in a strange reflex that betrayed my usual timid self, I got up from my seat and walked towards the windows to look into the warehouse room. As I peered down, I saw a bed of spikes - a near-perfect 3D replica of what I’d seen on the computer screen, out below in the vast room. Beside this, a woman stood, her arms triumphantly raised. To her left and right, there were two individuals who helped steady her upright stance. A banner unfurled in the warehouse with the words “She’s Alright!” written on it, confetti falling all around the scene below. *Seriously, what the fuck is this.* As I tried to make sense of the sight, I noticed that the woman, though apparently in a celebratory pose, was leaking blood. The people at her sides were propping her body up, and especially, holding her neck up, but the holes in her body made it very clear that she *had, in fact,* been impaled. The lights in the warehouse room immediately flickered off. I was now staring into a sea of black. I stepped away from the window and made a beeline for the room’s exit. Whatever the hell this test was, or this fucking job for that matter, I wanted *nothing* to do with it. A voice from the PA blared, seemingly in reaction. “Don’t worry, she’s safe. Didn’t you read the banner?” I pulled at the door. It was locked. *Of course it was fucking locked.* I pounded at it, continuing to pull as hard as I could. Static from the PA crinkled as more words came through. “There isn’t that much left in the test–” “Get me the fuck out of here!” I yelled. A pause, as if the voice was thinking. Then, more hissing from the PA system. “You can leave when the test is over. Promise.” “I’m not *fucking interested in this job anym–*” “The hallway isn’t safe right now,” said the speaker, cutting me off. “Please.” Weirdly, despite the muffled, overmodulated quality of the PA voice, something in the delivery of those words sounded *authentic*. Also, the hallway, which now had most of its lights off, looked… different. *Narrower*. There were fewer offices lining the halls, fewer bulletin boards, heck, the actual *lightbulbs* looked different. The more I stared, the more I noticed a disconnect between the walls I remembered walking down and the ones I was looking at now. *Where the fuck am–* “Please take a seat,” the voice echoed. I thought about it. Staring into the hallway was bringing about a more and more uncomfortable feeling in my chest with each passing second. Staving off my body’s urge to hyperventilate, I obliged with the tinny voice’s request and returned to my seat, hoping the test would offer a distraction, more than anything else. A video player popped up on the computer screen, with text below it reading: **“Let’s do a recap of your journey thus far!”** I pressed play on the video, hoping that its content would somehow alleviate my mounting anxiety. The video was 30 seconds long. It contained three equal-length snippets. First, it displayed footage of… me. A *younger* me. No more than ten years old, playing with toys in my room. The closet door in my childhood room hung open, and within its shadows, a pair of glowing red eyes stared out. Next, it was footage of *teenage* me, sitting in a high school exam hall taking a test. A comical-looking arrow was overlaid on the screen, pointing at the door in the distant corner of the room. Outside the door, the glare of faint, red eyes could be seen. Finally, I saw grainy footage of me… from earlier today… coming in for the interview. Except, the footage showed me approaching the building while walking… backwards. Through the lobby, and towards the elevator… backwards. And then, all the way to the interview room, backwards, with no one escorting me. By this point, I was on the edge of breaking. I shrunk into myself, fearing that any sudden movement, or hell, even me just *turning around* at this point, would bring about some horrible fate. So… I just focused on the test. I hoped that if I drowned everything else out, and kept my attention on the horrific nonsense on the screen, that somehow, I’d be safe from the rest of the world. I pushed down the urge to cry, barf, jump out the window, and kept myself paralyzed. *If I make myself small enough, I can get through this.* Terrible logic, I know. The spinning hourglass signifying the ‘loading screen’ stuck around for a few minutes. Then, it transitioned to the next part of the test. The screen now displayed an animated family of three sitting at a dining table, sunlight streaming in from the large window behind them. Mother and daughter sat on opposite sides of the table, while the father faced the screen. The artstyle and graphics looked more modern than the earlier parts of the test. After a brief moment, the image transformed. Mother and daughter were still eating dinner the same as before, but the father was now… aggressively smiling. His being looked as if it were somehow… oscillating, almost aflame? There was a hand on his shoulder placed by a cosmic-looking figure standing beside him. The figure radiated a brilliant blue. The window outside now showcased a world that was much darker, with swirls of black and crimson red streaming in. A prompt appeared at the bottom of the screen. The counter in the corner was already at 5 and dropping down as the question appeared: **The new God of our world has just pitched a** ***very*** **intriguing idea to this man. Do you have a better pitch?** And as soon as the text box appeared for me to type my answer, it was already gone, and a weird buzzing sound played, indicating that I’d gotten the question wrong. The image transformed again. The father was smiling, almost staring right at me. His hands were resting on the table, each holding a fork and knife with pride. The cosmic figure beside him had similarly turned to face the screen. Mother and daughter were no longer there. As I tried to make sense of the image, I noticed a leg peeking out from under the dinner table, obscured by the tablecloth. A flashing arrow appeared, pointing directly to the space under the table. Text appeared at the screen’s bottom: **The MOTHER and the DAUGHTER are now underneath the table. Would you like to see them?** *No. I’d rather not.* The arrow kept blinking, while the father and the cosmic figure’s images seemed to somehow intensify. I kept my eyes closed for the next minute. Eventually, I squinted to see the relieving sight of the screen turning to black. *Please let this be over. Please let this cursed, miserable fucking experience be–* I heard a strange, hollow sound come from the computer as the next section loaded. With respect to Bill Gates and the fine people at Microsoft, what I saw next was something that was beyond the capabilities of a computer seemingly running on Windows 99. On screen was *incredibly high quality* video footage of… outer space? As if an astronaut deep in the cosmos had a GoPro strapped to their helmet or something. I heard the sounds of deep, rhythmic breathing as this unknown individual gently rotated amidst the expanse, surrounded by stars in the sea of black. Large, white text appeared in the middle of the screen: **Sell Him On The Stars** And then a rudimentary-looking text box appeared over some of the most high-quality space footage I’d ever seen in my life. It didn’t make any sense. *What the fuck am I supposed to do here?* I typed a generic-as-hell answer that even I didn’t fully believe: *Isn’t the universe beautiful?* I pressed enter and the text box disappeared. Suddenly, in the black abyss on screen, the distant stars started fading away, one by one, like light bulbs dimming. The heavy breathing continued, as the presumed astronaut mumbled in a language that sounded otherworldly. Soon, there were only a few stars remaining. As they flickered off, I heard the voice mutter, almost cry, in plain English: “It’s so beautiful.” The screen remained black for quite some time. But something in me stirred. I knew that there was still something left. An attempted whisper over the PA confirmed just as much. “Last question,” resounded the voice off the speaker system. I readied myself. The new image finished loading. On screen, there was a… pretty cheerful, generic-looking 2D animated guy standing in a living room. He looked like the Office Assistant Clippy had come to life or something. He had his finger placed on top of a light switch, the living room window beside him showcasing the cosmos. *Alright, last question…* The animated character shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated manner, with a speech bubble appearing beside his head. It read: **“Should we join God in his slumber?”** A flashing arrow pointed to the light switch. *What?* He opened the window in his room, revealing a zoomed-out view of the Milky Way — the same Milky Way image I’d seen in like a million textbooks growing up. The word bubble next to his mouth had new words now: **“Is this product at the end of its lifecycle?”** I was stirring, confused. A text box appeared. I typed *‘No’*. “Why?” responded the character with an annoyed, exasperated sigh. Immediately, graphic real-life images flashed across the screen over a split-second: the decapitated gardener’s blood pouring into a bed of flowers, the red-eyed entity emerging from the closet in my room, the mother and daughter underneath the dinner table… As I recoiled in fear, the character was suddenly back on screen, back in his living room. He broke into a comically sad gesture as his speech bubble updated: **“But there is so much suffering here.”** It’s funny. It felt like I’d hit rock bottom when I first entered the lobby. But somehow, the floor on this thing kept getting lower and lower. The character motioned to the Milky Way galaxy outside his window. Then he looked at me intently. **“Justify the existence of this product.”** A new text box appeared, awaiting my input. In the corner of the screen, a timer started counting down from 20, 19… *Christ dude, I am not cut out for this. Matter of fact, I’m not cut out for anything.* 18, 17… Slowly, the room started rumbling. I was suddenly concerned about what would happen if I didn’t answer the question. 16, 15… *Fuck, I just wanted a fucking job. Does everything in my stupid, sad life have to be a nightmare?* 14, 13… *If I knew how to justify this fucking product I wouldn’t be here interviewing for a fucking shit marketing assistant job for no fucking money with no fucking life or career prospects Jesus fucking–* 12, 11… Through the now-erratic rumbling of the room, which felt like a full-blown earthquake at this point, I heard a voice barely croak through the PA: “I believe in you.” 10, 9… *There has to be some fucking reason for this to exist.* 8, 7… I searched my brain for a reason. Thinking through my experience of adult life so far, I struggled to find a good one. 6, 5… A memory dislodged itself from my subconscious. Maybe it was jogged by the CRT screen, or the 90s graphics of this ‘test’. 4… A memory of me as a kid… Sitting on the sofa… 3… Covered in blankets… Drinking hot cocoa… 2… Watching a Christmas movie I can’t remember the name of… 1… I forced my words into the text box before it disappeared: **its osmeitmes occasioanly oczy** The split-second before the textbox disappeared, I could’ve sworn that the typos had, *somehow*, been corrected. The galaxy now appeared on screen in high-definition, the revised text triumphantly appearing underneath it in a jagged, dated-looking white font. **The Universe: It’s sometimes, occasionally cozy.** I won’t lie to you, it looked pretty stupid. We were back to the animated living room, the character now tapping on his chin. He lifted his finger. “I like it! Well done! You, my friend, are *quite* the marketer!” Before I could even process the compliment, the screen fractured with a loud crack. Smoke seeped from the computer’s vents, accompanied by a whirring and sizzling sound. Heart racing, I jumped up from the chair and backed away. *I guess… the test is over?* The lights in the test room, the hallways outside, and the warehouse visible through the window all flickered back on simultaneously. I nervously stepped towards the door, and finding it unlocked as I pulled, I ran out of the room screaming. I held my fists up while sprinting, as dozens of scattered employees - including, I shit you not, the woman I previously saw get impaled - all clapped for me. The sight of them surrounding me and cheering was *not* helpful. I’m pretty sure it only made me scream louder as I escaped. I arrived at the elevator - doors already open - and lunged inside, hastily jabbing the ‘close door’ button. The receptionist, voice no longer warbled by the PA, was barely able to squeak out “I knew you could do it!” before the doors shut on him. *What. The. Fucking. Christ.* I made it home. The next few days were a blur of sleep, drinking, sex and denial. It took me a week to feel comfortable checking my emails again. When I did, I was, for reasons I still don’t quite understand, oddly disappointed that NexaNova Systems hadn’t sent me another email. *Kinda thought I nailed that test, no?* I looked up the job posting again, but it was now inconspicuously missing. *In fact*, their whole website was gone. I looked up their address on Google Maps, but there was no history of them ever being in that building… or them *existing in the first place*, for that matter. All I had was that initial email they’d sent me. Hrm. Well. *At least they liked my resume, I guess.* Anywho… back to the grind. These bills aren’t going to pay for themselves, unfortunately! If anyone reading has any job leads I should look into, let a girl know. I’m motivated, I’m a hard worker, and I suppose I can now say that I work pretty well under pressure.
Ten years ago, something crawled into my brain. I’m not quite sure what it was. But I’ve suffered the consequences. Soon enough, you’ll suffer as well. I don’t know what that looks like, not for you, but you will feel pain. It will hurt in ways that you can’t imagine. And it will feel personal, like it’s meant for you and you alone. Custom made. You’ll try to explain it to others, but they won’t understand. They’ll claim to, but they’ll be lying. Fuck them and their bullshit. You’ll feel your pain, but don’t worry: they’ll feel theirs as well, and it will feel personal. It always feels personal. Because it’s supposed to. I was at work that night, ten years ago, saving lives and doing noble things, because that’s what I used to do. I heard the faintest buzzing sound, accompanied by a barely perceptible buzzing and I ignored it. Like I said, I was doing noble things. I was saving lives. The irony of that is fucking delectable. The buzzing got louder, the vibrations more pronounced, and still, I tried to ignore it. I stood there and closed my eyes as the creature, my creature, flew inside of my ear, and whispered a single word: “Death.” The softest and loudest word I’ll ever hear. You don’t understand this, not fully, but you will. I heard this, and I was floored, gobsmacked, whatever fucking colloquialism that suits you best. “Death.” A message, an omen, a harbinger of misery. All of my past sins revealed. All of my present fears realized. All of my future hopes and dreams, crushed. I stumbled out of work, overwhelmed. What are you supposed to do, when the Devil himself decides to send you a message? Whether or not you deserved it, you’re one guy. You did your best. You did noble things. You saved lives. What the fuck are you supposed to do? That night, ten years ago, I drove to a gas station. I filled up my gas tank. I snapped into a Slim Jim. I smiled at the clerk. And then I ripped his head off. No, really. I legit walked behind the counter, he seemed like a nice enough guy, but he was kind of scrawny, and I’m not. I had this demon creature buzzing in my brain, and all I could focus on was death. So I created death. It wasn’t personal. But for the rest of you, it will be personal. At least it will feel that way. Side note: it never occurred to me to dip Slim Jims in the blood gushing from someone’s carotid artery, but not gonna lie, the shit added something. Savory and sweet, I approve. The buzzing died down after that, until eleven months later. And then one night, it crept up on me, and then once again,, that voice. So soft, so loud. “Death.” Luckily for convenience store personnel everywhere, my gas tank was full when I heard that voice. Which sucks for the woman working at the front desk of the adjacent hotel. Sorry for your family’s loss. I felt badly, even sent them an Edible Arrangement, because at that point, I had no idea what to do with this buzzing in my head, this voice, this demon creature. It’s been ten years, but now I know. I finally know exactly what I’m supposed to do. And now that I do, you will suffer, and it will feel personal, because it’s supposed to. Happy anniversary. I’ll see you soon.
Part 1 #x200B; Part 2 Desperate, I watched Foras out of the corner of my eye. He seemed to watch me in return, though his eyes constantly flicked back to the road. I saw the headlights reflecting off strange eyes in the alleyways and buildings, but whenever I turned to look, only the shadows remained. I had my seatbelt on, and Foras didn’t. He must have felt confident in his abilities, and unconcerned with a car crash. I knew he had power, and I quickly formulated a suicidal plan. I accelerated the car. Ahead of us, I saw a light pole with a long-dead, dessicated corpse hanging from a fraying noose. I tried to line up the passenger side of the car directly with the metal pole. Holding my breath, I closed my eyes as the car closed the last few feet, still accelerating, engine roaring. I couldn’t have been going more than forty miles an hour, but it sent Foras flying through the shattered windshield. The driver’s side airbag deployed, smashing me in the face so hard I saw stars. I felt blood gushing from my nose, and the world seemed to go dark for a few seconds. The engine hissed, spitting coolant and transmission fluid in great, steaming gouts that puddled under the car. After regaining my senses, I looked up to see Foras. He lay on the hood of the car, moaning and moving his hands in random circles. Blood streamed from a deep gash on his skull and covered his inhuman face. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Stumbling, my fingers trembling, I undid the seatbelt and opened the driver’s door, falling on the cracked pavement below. I breathed hard, then with a sudden burst of will, I pushed myself up. Foras still grunted incomprehensible sounds, apparently unaware of where he was. I heard him repeating the same nonsense over and over: “Ennngh, ennng, ahh, uhhh, mah…” he said, clenching and unclenching his twisted fingers. I thought of just choking him then and there, while he was seemingly weak and defenseless- but I didn’t know how defenseless he actually was, even in this weakened state. Moreover, I had no idea how to get back to my world, and killing the only being who I felt sure knew the way might backfire spectacularly, dooming me here for the rest of my life. I decided to book it as fast as I could and leave him there, bleeding on the crumpled front of the car. I started walking fast, stumbling slightly as a sharp pain ran up my leg. When I felt I had mostly regained my balance after the crash, I started jogging away. Looking back towards the car, I saw him getting up slowly, trying to push himself off the hood of the car with his long, strange fingers. He fell back down on the hood, then reached down with shaking hands and took something out of one of his bound leather satchels, placing it in his mouth. I took a left into the first alleyway I found. This whole city was a horrorshow, a deluge of nightmares. Rotting corpses lay everywhere, and I saw a dumpster at the end of the alleyway filled to the brim with body parts. Decomposing legs, arms, chests and hands, all sliced off, had been thrown into the dumpster haphazardly, like common refuse. One hand limply reached out, as if trying to motion for help. It had blackened fingernails and the thumb was missing. The body parts overflowed the dumpster, a cloud of bugs buzzing around it. The smell, as I got near, was overwhelming. I gagged, moving to the other side of the alley, trying to put as much distance between myself and that dumpster as humanly possible. It was an odor like rotting tomatoes mixed with feces and rancid meat. But before I left that city, I would see- and smell- much more like it. I took random turns left and right through the streets and alleyways, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and Foras. Paranoid, I kept hearing imaginary footsteps, but it was always just the echo of my own. In one alleyway, I saw what looked like a mutated racoon standing at the far end. It was the size of a German shepherd, with huge tumors and fibroid growths all over its body. I saw a fifth paw hanging down underneath its stomach, boneless and stunted. It gnawed on the corpse of an old woman that had long since dessicated, chewing open her bones and trying to suck out the marrow with its twisted, stained teeth. The racoon didn’t notice me, or the strange silhouette slowly sneaking up behind it. As soon as I saw movement, I quickly looked around and saw a stainless steel garbage can with dark, thick fluid that dripped down the exterior. When I hurriedly peered down, part of me expecting to see Foras’ inhuman, grinning face in there, I found something nearly as horrible. I saw the garbage can was filled with rotting dogs and cats, piled one on top of another like cordwood. For a moment, I was so horrified that I almost forgot what I was doing. Then my brain screamed at me to move, to hide, and I lunged to the side, hoping the man on the far end of the alleyway hadn’t seen me. I held my breath, trying not to inhale the overwhelmingly rancid stench that radiated from the can. Decomposing animals smell different from rotting human corpses, as anyone with “experience” in both can attest to. Rotting corpses always had more of a rotten tomato smell combined with a sewage smell, compared to the musky odor that mixed in with the putrefying meat of a dead animal. Both were absolutely horrible, some of the worst smells I had ever experienced. At first, I thought it was some sort of deformed monster, with irregular growths and fibroid tissue standing out all over its body. Then I saw it was just a man, some sort of mutant or victim of a genetic disorder or radioactivity, or maybe something even worse. He had a bat with nails sticking out of it, and before the mutated racoon could turn its head, he had whipped the far end of the bat into the top of its skull. The racoon crumbled to the ground with a soft exhalation of air. My first instinct was to run, but something in the man’s demeanor made me think he wasn’t the monster I at first believed. He walked in a childish way and talked to himself. I could hear the sad words he muttered in a low voice, echoing off the brick walls of the alleyway. “More raccoon,” he said. “I’m so sick of eating racoon alone every night. I wish I could find some more jerky… remember when we found that big stash of beef jerky in the bunker? I shouldn’t have eaten it all so fast. Dumb Frankie, never thinking about the future.” He whacked himself, hard, on the side of his deformed head. “Hello?” I called out, overriding my better judgment. I had few options, trapped in this strange, dead city in another world. The man, who had just started dragging the racoon corpse away by the scruff of its neck, immediately froze, his face a comical mask of confusion. He didn’t seem scared at all, but now he noticed me for the first time as I stepped out from behind the garbage can. He looked me up and down. “What’s a normie like you doing in the city?” he asked. I saw one eye had a slanting look, like a fold of skin had partially grown over his eyelid. The other widened comically in surprise as he saw my clothes. “You look like the ones who come through the stairway. Never turns out good, I’ll tell you. They don’t know what they’re doing, coming down those stairs.” He dropped the racoon’s body and quickly strode over to me, moving much faster than his size would suggest. He put out his huge, scarred hand. I stared at it for a moment, confused. Then I reached out and shook it. I felt his iron grip crush the bones in my hand, and tried not to wince. I looked at him closer, and realized he looked similar to the Elephantman, except far more solidly built and mobile. He had the same strange growths emerging from his face and body, however. They didn’t hide the bulging muscles underneath. “I’m Frankie,” he said, smiling, showing his few remaining teeth. “I used to live here with my family…” He motioned to the destroyed ruins of the city around us. “But after the bomb, my momma… she disappeared. I miss her so much. I keep looking, hoping I’ll see her again, but I don’t think she’s here anymore. I think I’m all alone now.” He looked like he was about to cry. I had no idea what to say. “I’m Jason,” I said. “I’m sorry about your mother, Frankie. Do you know your way around this place?” His sad expression evaporated, and he smiled again, the corners of his mouth forming a partial smile, which seemed as far as he could move them. It made me feel sad to watch him. He had a sense of innocence and friendliness that contrasted heavily with the hellish conditions surrounding him. He seemed like he was mentally somewhat slow, but he also had a sense of confidence in his ability to survive in this apocalyptic wasteland, which I admired. “Of course. Didn’t I say I grew up here? There’s a building near here, very strange, though. It changes often. The passageways move around, the doors switch places, and it leads down… very deep. I don’t go down to the bottom.” He shuddered. “It’s filled with horrible things.” I was about to respond when I heard a strange humming noise. It sounded ethereal, almost like a gong or a singing bowl, and yet the sound also seemed to get into my bones and made my eyes water. Even now, a few years later, my eyes water just thinking about it. It was one of the most jarring and horrendous sounds I’ve ever heard. Frankie’s eyes widened in horror. He dropped the racoon and grabbed me by the arm. He ran towards the street. As soon as we came out on the street, my breath caught in my throat. One of the largest buildings I had ever seen stood there, the color of polished silver. I saw windows spiraling around the exterior of it, like the stairs on a lighthouse. Looking up, I couldn’t even see the top of it. It seemed to simply fade into the dirty gray clouds above our heads. “No time to look now!” Frankie whispered, a tone of urgency in his voice. “Come on!” He pulled me forward to the other side of the huge street, across twelve lanes of cracked concrete and rubble. He ran into the shattered glass doors of the massive skyscraper. I heard shards of glass and rusted nails cracking underneath my steel-toed shoes, and I was glad I had come from work and hadn’t been wearing sandals. That humming seemed more insistent, higher-pitched- and closer. I turned to look quickly, and I saw Foras coming out of the alleyway, a look of fury and hatred twisting his bleached-white face. His eyes blazed, and he kept snapping his head to the left and right, almost certainly looking for me. As he got closer, the humming grew louder, and I saw him holding the same pebble he had held to the demonic boy’s face as he had died. Though tiny, it gave off a strange black light that threw twisting shadows over the rubble and ruined buildings outside. I realized, with horror, that he was using it as some sort of tracking device, to find me and very likely kill me. He still had dried blood staining his face, and I saw fresh drops running down his scalp. He ignored them and, like a bloodhound berserk with the scent of its prey, moved forwards towards me. “You need to hide!” Frankie said urgently, and he pointed at the corner of the lobby. I saw a hatchway sitting open. “The bunker. Let’s go.” Without any more urging, I sprinted towards it. Frankie went down first, and I followed. As I poked my head out, reaching up to grab the hatch, I saw Foras only feet from the shattered glass doors of the skyscraper. As quietly as possible, I lowered it, pulling out my phone to shine some light, and I turned the steel wheel, locking us inside. I used the light to catch up with Frankie, who seemed to know the tunnels so well that he could navigate them in the dark. He turned his deformed face towards me, smiling and excited, a childish glee evident from his expression. “He won’t be getting through that!” Frankie said. “That’s a bomb door. It was built for the big ones- the H bomb and the antimatter one.” “What is this place?” I asked. “They call it Sanctuary,” he said. “There’s an entire underground town in here. This is where General Matheson used to run his government from. It goes up 200 stories! How do they build it so big?” I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said. “So do people live down here?” He frowned at the question, thinking for a long moment. Then his eyes widened. “People?” he asked. “No, no people…” “OK,” I said. “No people? So what does that mean?” “Well,” he said, “other things do like to live down here. It’s a big place, you know. Even I haven’t explored most of it. But sometimes, the pigmen get in here. And the snakes. I usually run when the snakes get in here.” He shuddered. “What kind of snakes?” I asked. “Like… rattlesnakes?” His expression stayed stoic for a long moment as he considered the question, then he began to laugh, a sound like a child amused by a dirty joke. “You mean those little ones with the rattle on their tail in the deserts?” he said, still chuckling. “No, no. I mean snakes. Usually about my height, and as long as…” He pointed down to the end of the tunnel, a few hundred feet away. I groaned. “Some people also think General Matheson lives under Sanctuary,” he said. “But the tunnels further down run for hundreds of lengths, you know.” I didn’t know what a “length” was, but when he explained in his slow, plodding way, I figured out it meant about half a mile. Or so I guessed, anyway. “Why would General Matheson live down here?” I said, genuinely curious now. The story Foras had told me had intrigued me. It reminded me of certain events that had occurred on Earth, my Earth, though nothing nearly as catastrophic as this. “He disappeared during the War,” Frankie said. “He was last seen in Sanctuary, running down the stairs, when the antimatter bomb hit.” He shrugged. “The true believers still think General Matheson is down here, waiting to come back and lead everyone into glory and power.” He gave a low laugh. “The Iron Servants have looked, though, and they haven’t seen a bit of him. I think he’s dead. I think he’s been dead. But some people will never believe that.” I wondered if he was right, when the ground started to shake. I thought an earthquake had started, but Frankie’s horror seemed to suggest much more than that. “The snakes,” he whispered, his eyes haunted. #x200B; Part 3 #x200B;
Have you heard of a woman who carved out her own eyes because God said so? Yeah. I'm talking about the woman who was on drugs and did it out of psychosis. Well, that's what they said but that's not what I saw. I not only saw how she carved out her own eyeballs, but I was also beside her when that happened and I'm telling you, it's not because of drugs. I was minding my own business, eating ice cream by the fountain, when a woman sat not too far from me. She was wearing a denim dress and a tattered sneakers, her black hair healthy and long. We met each other's eyes and smiled to acknowledge each others presence and went back to what we were doing. This girl was drawing something on her sketchpad and I don't know what it is but she looked so peaceful drawing it. When I was done eating, I grabbed my bag on the ground and composed myself to walk away. I was never really good at leaving someone behind, even if it's a stranger, so I was actually building up my courage to say 'bye' and be on my way. But when I tried to call her attention, I noticed something strange. There was a hazy shadow behind this girl, shaped like a humanoid figure but not distinct. It's like the thing is here but when you focus on it, it's blurry and seems like a transparent figure, blending in the background. Then suddenly, the shadow crouched down and whispered something in her ear in an erratic way. The shape of the shadow glitching and disappearing. When the shadow totally disappeared out of view, the girl froze, letting her pencil fall on the ground. I tried to talk to her but I got no answer. I waved my hand over her face, still no reaction so I decided to leave her. As I was about to leave, I unconsciously covered my ears when I heard the most blood-curling scream from the girl. Keep in mind we're only meters apart so it was sickening. I snapped my head to her direction and the girl was now standing and looking up to the sky, still screaming. And in that moment, I knew I was going to remember this scene forever. The black-haired girl, scooped her eyeball with her hands while laughing maniacally. I froze on the spot, not knowing what to do while she chewed on her first eyeball. Blood was gushing and dripping down her face when she was about to scoop her second one but the cops got to her real quick. You'd be relieved that her one eye was saved but I kid you not, she bit the other cop's arm and scooped her eye so fast and swallowed it. I think the cop was traumatized because he fainted when he looked at the eyeless human in front of him, laughing and giggling. The girl collapsed and eventually died from blood loss. The people who witnessed it says that she was on drugs to rationalize what the woman did to herself but I know. I know that there are things out there that cause chaos for fun and part of their fun is playing with people's minds, making them do unimaginable things to themselves. I believe it because I've been noticing things in my apartment that I swear I consciously didn't do it but it was there anyways. Like buying cartons of meat and storing it in the fridge, feeling groggy for slitting my wrists, and I feel like it's whispering something to me right now. I just can't seem to understand it but I think I--
My daughter was having a sleepover for her 13th birthday and had invited about half her classmates. It was roughly 10:30pm, the girls had finally settled in the living-room and were watching horror films on scattered blankets, duvets and pillows. At 00:22, I woke to the most harrowing choir of screams. I ran down the stairs within a micro second. All the girls were clustered next to each other in the far corner, terrified, cowering under their blankets. "What the *hell* is going on?!" Nobody spoke. They all just looked at me, genuinely scared. I slid across the floor on my knees to my daughter and gently shook her as she stared into nothing. "Sweetheart, what's happened? What's going on?" "Mom?!...Mom! I'm so so sorry! We never should've done it! It was supposed to just be a game!" "What? What's just a game?" But before she could answer, we jumped from the sudden loud knocking coming from the back door. The room fell completely silent, apart from the knocking, and we all stopped breathing. **Knock...Knock...knock...** "Who's that?" I asked the room, confused. No one answered, and I was starting to get very frustrated. "Some one had best tell me what this game is you've been playing, or so help me--" "Every game has rules." The girl in the corner spoke almost purposely slow and quiet, but at least one of them finally answered. Her young and mono toned voice added an even creepier feeling to the room that I was not expecting, and a cold shiver spread over me as I listened and absorbed her information. "The Back Door Game has 6 rules: 1, at precisely midnight, dial 363636 from any phone. 2, wait on the line for 36 seconds and a clicking sound will start. 3, Hang up the phone and wait another 36 seconds, after which, the phone will ring. 4, answer the phone and count how many clicks you hear. Once the clicks have stopped, Hang up the phone and head to the back door." I swear this kids voice was getting creepier and scarier the more and more she spoke. My mind skipped over the idea that this could still be all one big joke in attempt to make me jump or something, but that look in their eyes was something so awful, you could not fake it. "5, knock on the back door the amount of times you heard the clicks. And 6, wait for HIM to respond." This is where I have to interject. "Woah woah woah woah, HIM? Who's him? And what do you mean by respond?" "He responds by knocking back." I swear the girl smiled. "That's when you open the door, and let him in." **Knock...Knock...Knock...** I slowly crept to the back window. From there, if anyone were in the garden or at the backdoor, I would be able to clearly see them. I whipped open the curtain and abruptly looked outside wearing my, *'I'm-not-scared-of-you!'* expression, and...nothing. There was nothing. No one at the door, no one in the garden. Nothing. My heart began to slow. I leaned in closer to the glass to inspect the outside better. I got closer and closer, my breath creating condensation on the glass. I squinted my eyes, almost as if to zoom in on the garden, then...**knock!**...My body flew backwards to the floor with a hard and painful thud. **Knock!**... *'What?! How can there be knocking?! There was NO ONE THERE!'* **Knock!**... *'Fuck!'* All the children were now screaming hysterically, but that haunting knock was still somehow much louder. **KNOCK!!!** One girl started screaming, "LET IT IN!" I did a bad backwards crab and scrambled on my hands and heels towards the kids. "LET IT IN!...LET--" "NO! SHUT UP! JUST...FUCKING SHUT UP!" I didn't mean to swear at her, we were all terrified, but she wasn't exactly helping. My mind raced back to all the movies I'd watched and screamed at for them to just run and leave the house. I looked at my daughter, at all the children standing in my living room. *'Get. Them. Out!'* I scrambled to my feet and quickly ushered everyone out the front door. While we all stood in our night gear in the middle of our cul de sac street, I called all the girls parents and demanded they come pick them up. I also called the police, not thinking ahead to how ridiculous and crazy my story will come across to them, but explained what happened nonetheless. And yeah, they thought I was crazy. It turns out, that when they checked with the other girls, non of them had any recollection of even being at the sleep over. Over the course of the next 5 days, my daughter went blind. She would later tell me that all of the other girls slowly went blind too. The doctors put the mystery blindness down to parasites, and the police shrugged off my story and put it down to lack of sleep and stress. I haven't told anyone else about this, afraid of being called crazy again I guess. But let me tell you this, I have not yet opened my back door. I hear clicking whenever I use a phone, any phone. Its starting to engrave in my mind, I hear it over and over, click click click click click...I receive a hand written note everyday with the same three words written in black, 'Let Him In!' No matter how fast I am at retrieving the note and opening my front door, there's never anybody there. And every night, no matter where I am, I hear that dreadful and haunting knock.
Hey y'all. Sorry it's been over a week. I've been pretty busy dealing with this shit and actual work. I did end up going back to work, I couldn't take not knowing what happened. And I wanted to get in touch with the other closers. Thanks for the suggestions! They've been helpful and good material to think on. It actually helped guide me a bit. This is only going to be about the next day, I wanted to break it up so I didn't write a book for y'all. I'm at a place where I have a little more spare time now, sorry to keep y'all waiting! So, the next day I went into work still very much freaked out and horribly curious. Luckily  I came in before the opener left so I could ask her about the cameras. Once I clocked in and put my stuff away I went to find her. She was in the back taking care of the boarding dogs and prepping dinners. I jumped right in to help her grabbing some bowls for dinners and to talk. "Mona!" I called out, waving. She waved back though she seemed really out of it. "Hey! Good, I need to talk to you." She mentioned as she sorted through the feeding guides and dog food brought by the parents for their pups. She updated me on the work stuff first, which dogs left or any new or important info about the dogs staying. We went back and forth a bit as we finished prepping the meals, then she touched my shoulder. "Also, listen. I did watch the cameras from last night. I want you to come into the office with me." I nodded, muttering an 'okay' and followed her back to the office. I could feel my heart beat- it almost felt like I was in trouble. We both took seats at the desk with security monitors. "So, it was really weird. I saw you left at like 11:40 last night," She shuffled back through the video and paused it. "and I was wondering if you saw anything inside? You can see a light shining from outside, like someone with a flashlight looking in." She looked at me, waiting. I swallowed, my mind racing. "Well... Maybe? It's hard to say. I heard something from outside but when I looked in... It was too dark, even with my phone light." She nodded turning back to the monitors. "That tracks. Watch." She played the video starting from 11:40pm. You can see me turning off the lights, turning the alarm on, and locking up for the night. After I left it was still for a minute until there was a weird graininess at the top corner by the basement door. It was small and slight at first but the speckling and weird darkness started growing, shifting, and getting faster. It moved first just around the top corner but slowly drifted down towards the floor. "Do you see that?" Mona asked pointing at the screen. "Y-yeah... I do." I felt my breath catch in a lump in my throat. So I wasn't losing it. Here was proof. "I've seen this before but never this bad. " She explained leaning her head onto her hand. The mass shifted, getting darker and darker and growing until it encompassed most of the bottom corner, surrounding it with darkness. Soon it was the same kind of unnatural black I saw even though this was a night vision camera. "Like, what the fuck even is this?" "I have no fucking clue. That's so scary." I watched my light shine in from outside, still not penetrating the thick inky black depths. "It quite honestly scared the shit out of me. I thought about never coming back." "Thank god you did!" She put a hand on my shoulder again, pleading with her eyes. "I appreciate it so much. Listen, this is wild. Will you be okay closing tonight?" "Yeah." I told her softly, though I really don't know why. "I'll keep an eye out and be careful." She gave me a look of concern, I'm sure I didn't sound confident. "If you need anything at all, just call me. I'm here for you, okay?" "Okay Mona. Thank you." We both stood up when I remembered to ask. "Oh, hey, actually. Can I get the numbers of the old closers? I want to see if they saw anything weird like this." I was nervous. She turned to me smiling, but it seemed... off. "Oh, yeah! Great idea! I'll reach out to them for any info. I'll let you know what they say. You can leave the detective work up to me!" She winked. I nodded with an 'allright' and we both left the office, getting back to work. I was worried and anxious, and the whole interaction with Mona seemed off, but I did trust her fully. She had been close with me since I started and was one of the only people I could rely on. I just hoped she had the same urgency as I did to find answers. I'm sure she doesn't want to lose another employee though. Replacing employees is no where near as easy as it used to be. Especially with how our business paid. I started doing my back duties much jumpier than I had ever been with all the dog noises. I also felt this creeping sensation of being watched though I summed that up to being extra heightened after last nights events. I waded through most of my shift with unease but also without incident. Everything went fairly smooth save for a few unruly dogs, but that was normal. I chose not to wear my earbuds that night so I didn't get surprised by anything. I started sweeping the lobby at the very end of my shift, but my eyes kept going back to the bite marks on the basement door. I kept thinking I was hearing things but the radio was off and when I stopped it was silent. I took a deep breath and leaned the broom on the wall. The curiosity was killing me and I had to try. I'd never seen anyone go into the basement. I had no idea what was down there. So I wanted to try, even to just stop thinking about it. I walked up to the door slowly and cautiously. My hand was shaking as I reached out, heart pounding, forgetting to breathe. I took a deep shaky breath and forced my hand the rest of the way to touch the doorknob with my eyes shut. I turned the doorknob only to find it locked. The air let out of my lungs and halfway collapsed from relief, opening my eyes. "Thank god." I laughed, letting go and shaking my arms, turning to go back to sweeping. "That was stupid." I took a few quick steps back before I heard something... again. I froze. It sounded like padded footsteps coming from behind the door. I turned to look, eyes wide, feet still facing away. Once my eyes met the chew marks there was a loud THUD and a deep booming bark. The entire door shook like something was pushing it from behind. I screamed, falling, and scrambling to run out the door. I immediately called Mona once I was outside but it went to her voicemail, it being after midnight she was definitely sleeping. "Mona, h-hey. Did you hear anything back from the closers yet?" I know I sounded panicked, my breath was shaky and I was crying. "Sorry to call so late. There's something in the basement, Mona. The fucking door shook. It's locked, but I don't know what the Fuck is going on. The dogs are taken care of. I'm leaving, I'm sorry, but I can't stay. Call me as soon as you get this, okay?" I was frantic. I hung up the phone realizing I had to go back in for my stuff. My keys were in there. I let out a full guttural yell, jumping a few times before running back inside. As I ran by the door shook more and I heard ethereal barking and growling from behind it. I ran faster, quickly grabbing my stuff, turning the lights off and running back out again to lock up. I still wanted to make sure the dogs were safe but I couldn't stay. There's something completely fucked about this place. Something with the basement. I ran down the street to a nearby gas station to order an uber from there. I smoked 2-3 cigs as I waited. I decided there was no way in hell I was closing again by myself. I can't do it. This is too wild and I don't make nearly enough money to do it. I'll update with more info again sooner than last time. I'm still figuring out what the hell is going on. Now it's become a deep morbid curiosity of mine. And I don't know how much Mona actually knows or is holding back. The next update should be in a few days. Besides being busy, I've needed to take a mental break from everything going on. I'm back on my day shift now so I'm safe. But in the process of playing detective and putting pieces together. Today, I'm going to break into the basement. Wish me luck!
I have a habit of staying on my cell phone after eleven o'clock reading Creepypastas and listening to horror podcasts. They rarely scare me, but they do fill my mind with unrealistic scenarios of entities, monsters and murders. One Saturday night, when the whole neighborhood was already quiet, and I was the only person awake. I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom, with my back to the dark corridor, listening to a horror story through my headphones. Suddenly, I heard a noise of something falling behind me. I quickly paused the story and looked back. Nothing. Just the empty corridor, illuminated by the light from the bathroom. So I decided to go out and look in the direction where the noise seemed to have come from, my bedroom. I went into it and turned on the light. I wasn't scared, just worried that something had fallen and broken in there, but everything was normal, so I thought it was just my head or the story, and went back to doing what I was doing. When I'd finished, I went back to my room and put on my pajamas to go to bed. It was very late, I'd spent all night listening to horror podcasts while playing games, so I was quite sleepy. Until I noticed that the window was wide open. Something that surprised me for a few seconds because I didn't remember opening the window, well, since it was so hot, maybe I should have done it earlier and I didn't remember. I put on my pajamas, turned off the light and went to bed. I scrolled through my social media feed for a few minutes before putting my cell phone on charge and turning it off. Then I woke up out of nowhere with a panicky feeling taking over my body. I quickly opened my eyes, and a feeling of dread gripped my body as I looked towards the entrance to my room and saw a dark figure with only a white face, standing there and staring at me. My heart raced wildly, almost as if it was going to explode. The thing walked towards me and the door closed on its own behind it, without the thing even putting its hand on it. Then the thing stops next to me and stares at me with those black orbs. On closer inspection, the creature must have been hooded and looked more human. And its white face looked more like a mask now. I felt sweat beading on my forehead. Then something clicked in my mind. I remembered the stories I used to read and how they filled my mind. It could only be a sleep paralysis, and the thing must have been an amalgam of everything I'd been imagining all day. And then, in the midst of the excitement caused by my relief, I abruptly moved my arm and leg. And the thing was still there. That's when I realized that I wasn't in sleep paralysis.
My 4th Great Grandfather served in the American Revolutionary War from 1777 to his discharge in 1778. He was a Militia meaning he has to defend local towns from British forces. Me and My Grandfather were scavenging our stuff that we hadn't use for a while. We went to our ancestor's house in Massachusetts (My 4th Great Grandfather) to drink beer and talk about friends and family. It was a nice house, there was a fireplace and a casement window. #x200B; After Our Talk, My Grandfather got up and went into a room. Returned with a small book which looked like a diary and I was correct. My Grandfather said with a calm town "You know, Your dad doesn't like to talk about this because he thinks that you will stay up night everyday. If you don't know what's this book then it's your 4th great grandfathers journal during the War. #x200B; It was 12 AM right now, it scared me a little bit. My Grandfather read the whole entire journal and after that, I have no words we just said "Goodbye" and went to our homes and I couldn't get some sleep after that story my grandfather read. #x200B; The following is my 4th Great Grandfather Journal, #x200B; November 13, 1777, I have been enlisted in the Continental Army. I was a youth when I entered into the service of the military. My elder brother hath perished in the Battle of Saratoga. My friend, William, and myself were dispatched to a hamlet in Upper State New York, a community of roughly two hundred souls. #x200B; November 21, 1777, About the time of Thanksgiving, my comrade William was deployed to spend the holidays with his kin in New York City, while I dutifully stood guard over our town. At the stroke of 1 AM, as I maintained my vigil, musket in hand, patrolling the entire township, I discerned a voice that was unmistakably that of my friend William, exclaiming, 'Hey Arnold, come and behold what I have discovered.' This, however, puzzled me greatly, for William had ventured to New York City with his family. An eerie intuition suggested that something was amiss, as if his voice had been twisted or distorted in some unnatural manner. Summoning my resolve, I called out, 'William, where are you?' Yet, there was no reply. Then, from behind me, a response emerged, and it sent shivers down my spine. 'I am right here,' came the retort, and as I turned to face it, I beheld a grotesque and inhuman figure. Standing at a towering nine feet in height, its emaciated visage appeared as if it had suffered from relentless hunger, and its form lacked the attributes of humanity, including any semblance of genitals. Swiftly, I discharged my musket, aiming squarely at its abdomen, eliciting from it a shrill cry akin to that of a fox. In an astonishing display of speed, it vanished into the night, leaving me confounded and bewildered. I would not encounter it again until the passage of a full month. #x200B; As I proceeded to a nearby shop in proximity to the creature I had encountered, a scene of dreadful horror unfolded before my very eyes. There lay a deceased man, likely in the latter stages of his fifties, amidst a pool of sanguineous fluid. The sight was indeed a gruesome and ghastly spectacle to behold. Without delay, I swiftly mounted my trusty steed and embarked upon a journey to New York City, with the intent to apprise my friend William of the dire events that had befallen. #x200B; November 22, 1777, I arrived in New York City and reunited with my friend William. He inquired as to the purpose of my journey alongside him, and I proceeded to recount the entirety of the unsettling events. Following my account, his countenance took on a spectral pallor, and he hastily concluded his repast. Together, we set forth, making our way back to the environs of Upstate New York, with the solemn intent of launching an investigation. November 24, 1777, William and I returned to the small town as the clock struck four in the afternoon. The atmosphere was chill, and a serene calm enveloped the surroundings. I chanced upon a woman and inquired if she had ever laid eyes on a creature of extraordinary stature, one that reached nine feet in height. Her response was in the negative. Thereupon, I recounted the entirety of the unsettling narrative to her, and she found herself overtaken by a sense of dread. She kindly extended an invitation for us to lodge at her dwelling for the night. Later, William and I revisited the shop, where we encountered its proprietor. I queried if he had encountered the enigmatic entity, and to my disquiet, he responded with laughter. My emotions oscillated between agitation and exasperation. Notably, the bloodstains that had once marred the floor were conspicuously absent, as if no vestige of a body had ever occupied that space. In the evening hours, I took up residence in the woman's abode. While William slumbered soundly, I gazed out into the wooded expanse through the windowpane. My ruminations remained captive to the troubling events that had transpired. Sleep eluded me, the incident persistently occupying my thoughts. It was during this nocturnal vigil that I engaged in conversation with the woman, whose countenance possessed a captivating charm, her chestnut tresses framing a visage that bespoke youthfulness in her early twenties. We exchanged introductions, and our affections bloomed. #x200B; December 20, 1777, William and I journeyed to Valley Forge with the purpose of receiving military instruction under the tutelage of Baron von Steuben, a Prussian military officer of notable repute. Under his guidance, we embarked upon rigorous training regimens encompassing the proper use of the bayonet, the precision of marching in formation, and the swift execution of orders. The toil was relentless, and I found myself beset by fatigue, akin to the weariness that befalls those toiling in the fields, such as slaves laboring under the unrelenting sun, gathering rice or tending to tobacco. To rejuvenate our spirits, we sought repose in distinct quarters, each of us retreating to our respective lodgings. Thereafter, we would reassemble for further sessions of training. #x200B; December 27, 1777, Sometime around 5 AM, I awoke to the urgent voice of William, summoning me to venture outside, for he professed that my beloved had arrived at Valley Forge. Yielding to his plea, I consented, and as I cautiously unfastened the door, the world outside lay silent, the rest of our comrades in deep slumber. Surveying the surroundings, my gaze fell upon William, who stood alone in the dimness. However, conspicuously absent was my girlfriend, and a disconcerting revelation coursed through me — this was the very creature I had encountered just one month prior. Gripping my bayonet tightly, I inched the door shut, wary of what lurked beyond. A span of ten anxious minutes elapsed, devoid of any sound but for a distorted and unnerving bark. I steadfastly resisted the impulse to reopen the door, all the while gripped by an escalating sense of dread and fear. #x200B; January 8, 1778, William confided in me about a disquieting incident that occurred during the night, some twelve days hence. As he lay in slumber, the creature materialized outside his window, although on this occasion, it refrained from assuming the guise of a beast. In an attempt to dispel the dread that had settled upon him, William feigned slumber, striving to convince himself that the encounter had been naught but a disturbing dream. The disconcerting nature of the occurrence left both of us in a state of profound trepidation. We find ourselves confronted with a vexing dilemma — should we elevate this matter to the High Command for their counsel and intervention? #x200B; January 20, 1778, William and I conveyed the disconcerting news to General John, who expressed a commitment to conduct a thorough investigation in the town we had staunchly defended in Upstate New York. Laden with provisions of sustenance and potable water, we made our way to the settlement, only to find it draped in an eerie stillness. As night descended, William, General John, and myself embarked on a collective patrol of the desolate town. We had intended to rendezvous with the store owner, who had previously scorned my account, but he had inexplicably vanished without a trace. Encountering the woman with whom I had shared my time, her visage now etched with deep anxiety, she inquired about my whereabouts during my absence. I apprised her of my sojourn in Valley Forge. She confided that the store owner's inexplicable disappearance had left her with grave reservations, and she harbored doubts as to whether the same malevolent entity that had claimed the life of the elderly man two months prior was responsible. Remarkably, she bore the news of her pregnancy. Recognizing the need to offer solace and security in such uncertain times, I extended an invitation for her to accompany us to Valley Forge, where she might find respite and refuge. Without hesitation, we ushered her to the sanctuary of Valley Forge, a haven where she could seek rest and reassurance. #x200B; #x200B; January 23, 1778, Upon our return, the conspicuous absence of General John confounded us; he was nowhere to be discerned. Inquiries amongst the inhabitants yielded a disconcerting account, for they recounted observing him engaged in discourse with an unseen interlocutor amidst the woodlands, his steps leading him deeper into the shrouded forest. We embarked on a steadfast journey through the woodland, our voices raised in a clarion call for General John. Along this course, we happened upon a cave, its interior steeped in inky darkness. Kindling our lanterns, we pierced the gloom with their luminance. There, within the cavern's recesses, a chilling tableau unfurled before our very eyes. Scores of human remains lay strewn about, reduced to naught but skeletal vestiges. Amongst the macabre assemblage, a bloodied handprint, etched with the ominous proclamation, 'Arnold and William are next,' leapt out to assail our senses. A portentous conviction overcame us, and William voiced it with urgency. 'We must evacuate this dread-filled abyss,' he declared. Swiftly mounting our steeds, we departed from the site of the dire discovery, retracing our path until we were safely ensconced within the confines of Valley Forge. #x200B; January 25, 1778, Upon our return, we conveyed the harrowing chronicle to George Washington, the laughter upon his countenance serving as an unwelcome reception. He chided us, deeming our belief in the realm of the supernatural or apparitions to be a folly of the highest order. A wave of indignation surged within us, for our assertion rang true, yet his credulity was beyond our grasp. It was then that we learned of his intent to enact our discharge, the designated date set for March 15, 1778. As the sands of time dwindled within the hourglass of our service, we found ourselves endowed with an abundance of leisure. #x200B; 2 AM January 26, 1778, We chanced upon an entity that bore the semblance of a deer, yet as its gaze fell upon us, the creature affixed its eyes upon ours, an unsettling communion that endured for an indeterminate span. In an abrupt and astonishing metamorphosis, the creature swelled in stature, launching an onslaught upon our steeds. By some providential grace, our horses withstood the assault, emerging from the fray with their lives and limbs intact. Yet, the enigmatic entity persevered, doggedly tailing our every step. We find ourselves in close proximity to the border of New York, to say the least. #x200B; January 29, 1778, We tarried in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, seeking reprieve for a solitary night's rest. To the townsfolk, we divulged the fullness of our tale. Amongst them, a man by the name of Joseph, seasoned by service in the French and Indian War, emerged as a source of wisdom on matters of lore and legend. Joseph beckoned me into his cabin, nestled amidst the sylvan outskirts of Williamsport. Here, in the quietude of his abode, he arranged a parley betwixt myself and the Native Americans, whom he identified as Ojibwe Indians. Remarkably, Joseph possessed the gift of translating my words into their tongue, and their responses into English. It was amid these exchanges that they imparted to me the name of the malevolent entity we had encountered - a Wendigo, by their reckoning. The Indians conveyed that the slaying of a Wendigo availed two methods: a well-aimed shot to the heart, or the infliction of death through fire. William and I, burdened by the capriciousness of our marksmanship, elected the latter course of action, consigning the creature to the cleansing embrace of flames. #x200B; February 15, 1778 - February 16, 1778, I returned to Valley Forge and imparted to my beloved the course of action I had charted. Her countenance radiated with enthusiasm, bidding me farewell with a heartfelt 'Good luck.' On the ensuing day, William and I labored to fashion torches, a strategy to confront the elusive entity should we encounter it anew. As fate would have it, our paths once more converged with Joseph. He pledged to dispatch a cadre of Native Americans to accompany our mission, their purpose to aid in the relentless pursuit of the Wendigos. And this, dear friend, brings me to the most cherished segment of our narrative. #x200B; March 1, 1778 Sometime around the seventh hour of morn, I was stirred from slumber by a familiar symphony of barks, harkening back to those eerie echoes of four months prior. With stealthy resolve, I roused the Native Americans, Joseph, and William from their repose. Swiftly, we readied ourselves, seizing hold of our trusty torches, resolute in our intent. In relentless pursuit, we embarked upon the chase, hot on the trail of the elusive Wendigo. As the creature materialized before our eyes, we hurled our flaming implements in unison, igniting a chorus of anguished cries that reverberated through the air, threatening to rupture the very confines of my eardrums. Then, in a surreal tableau, I bore witness to the gradual dissolution of the Wendigo's corporeal form, vanquished by the searing blaze. Profound gratitude welled within me, a sentiment I readily extended to Joseph and the Native Americans for their invaluable tutelage in the art of the Wendigo's demise. #x200B; March 10, 1778 Subsequent to the departure of the Native Americans, accompanied by Joseph, William and I made our way to the township in Upstate New York. Venturing into the wooded expanse, the very locale where General John's presence had last been witnessed, I espied a recently excavated depression in the earth. Drawing nearer, our grim discovery unveiled itself – the lifeless form of General John lay supine within the pit. The spectacle that met our gaze was one of unimaginable horror, a testament to the inhuman brutality inflicted upon him by the Wendigo prior to our triumph over the loathsome creature. #x200B; March 15, 1778 We received our honorable discharges and were dispatched to our respective homes. I journeyed back to the heart of Massachusetts, where I sought to unburden my soul by recounting the harrowing chronicles of my service to my family. \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- #x200B; Meanwhile, it grieves me to relate that William's sojourn in the urban labyrinth of New York City had taken a grievous toll upon his sanity. He was committed to a wretched institution for the infirm of mind, a place where tales of mistreatment at the hands of the attending physicians weighed heavily upon my conscience. The plight of my dear friend weighed heavily upon my heart, and I harbored a profound sense of sorrow on his behalf. In the year 1786, I undertook a poignant visitation, an opportunity to commune with William for the final occasion. It was a melancholic farewell, for in the year 1788, he departed this realm, his tormented spirit released from the bonds of earthly suffering. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ For those who may peruse these words, I commit them to paper on this day, the 4th of October, in the year 1822. A span of 44 years has elapsed since the nightmarish ordeal befell me. The specter of those dire events still haunts my thoughts, a disquieting presence that time has failed to diminish. I must extend my profound gratitude to Joseph and the Native Americans whose valor led to the demise of the creature. Yet, even as I draw solace from their triumph, I cannot fully quell the apprehension that one day, the malevolent entity may rise once more from the abyss. Alas, I am compelled to acknowledge that my days are numbered, for infirmity has taken hold, and my journey upon this mortal coil nears its conclusion. The prospect of bearing witness to any potential resurrection of the fiend is beyond my grasp, as I stand on the precipice of my own impending demise. Furthermore, in August of the year 1778, my son entered this world, a joyous arrival that transpired shortly after the calamitous incident we had weathered. Regrettably, the fates conspired to keep us apart for countless decades, a prolonged separation that weighed heavily upon my heart. As time unfurled its tapestry, I received tidings that my son had embarked upon his own journey, entering into the sacred bonds of matrimony and siring offspring. His valor was tested in the crucible of the War of 1812, a conflict that further etched the indelible mark of service upon our family legacy. Yet, in the year 1814, the specter of sorrow descended upon me once more, as my cherished wife departed this earthly realm. Her absence leaves an irreplaceable void, and in the present moment, as I inscribe these lines, my eyes are awash with tears, for the ache of her absence lingers evermore. #x200B; \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ad there you go, this has been in my memory for 30 years. My grandfather is at the ripe old age of 102. I still think about how brave my 4th Great Grandfather and his comrade killing the wendigo.
Rain pattered on the sidewalk, giving out that soothing earthy smell. Across the empty road, there was a diner with a blue neon sign. Tom’s Diner, it read, the letter M flickering. Through the fogged up glass, I saw the silhouette of a woman sitting with her fingers fidgeting. She was waiting for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to go—Not yet, at least. #x200B; #x200B; I looked away from the trance she had me in, pulling out another cigarette from my pocket. I must’ve smoked four of them in the short while I was sitting on that cold metal bench—five of them now. The smoke mixed with the cold air in my lungs. I let out a shuddering sigh and faced the lonely moon. #x200B; #x200B; *Well*, I thought, *I can’t keep her waiting all night.* I fixed up my curly hair one last time. I also made sure my leather jacket didn’t have a wrinkle nor a speck of dust. #x200B; #x200B; With a countdown from five in my head, I lunged up and speed-walked to the door before my mind changed or came up with another excuse. #x200B; #x200B; I clasped my hand over the door, the green entrance light casting a glow on my face. After taking in a deep breath, I pulled it open. #x200B; #x200B; The air of freshly baked bread mixed with coffee smacked me across the face. A hologram behind the counter stood there wavering and crackling as the outside air seeped in. “Welcome to Tom’s Diner. Please close the door behind you,” it said in a robotic tone. I turned around and shut it. “Have a seat, we’ll be with you shortly.” #x200B; #x200B; “Thanks,” I replied. #x200B; #x200B; I purposely acted like I hadn’t noticed the woman staring at me from my peripheral vision. I scanned the empty diner, every unoccupied seat and table, before laying my eyes on her... Mia. #x200B; #x200B; Mia gave me a sweet, undeserved smile. Her gray eyes twinkled with the hanging chandelier above her table. Caramel-colored hair cascaded down to her shoulder. I stood there paralyzed, going over all of the memories I cherished with her. #x200B; #x200B; I saw her and I running barefoot across the Mexican beaches. After a long night of drinking, I carried her up to our hotel, hotel number 505, I saw it so clearly in my head. We stayed up all night ordering food from the hotel menu and watching Netflix. We would always watch movies at home, but it was different that time because there was nothing to worry about. And nothing to do but enjoy our honeymoon. #x200B; #x200B; When her thin eyebrows shot up in confusion, I snapped out of it, rubbing my eyes as if I had woken up from a nap. Even after doing that, she looked surreal. I walked over to her table and sat awkwardly. #x200B; “You look like you’re holding up well,” I stuttered. #x200B; #x200B; “Hello yourself,” she said in a sarcastic tone. “It took a while, but yes.” #x200B; #x200B; “I’m sorry, Hello.” #x200B; #x200B; “Hi.” #x200B; #x200B; My eyes darted back and forth, looking everywhere but at the eyes in front of me. #x200B; #x200B; “Uhh… They serve great coffee here, huh?” I said. #x200B; #x200B; “Not bad. Just a little too strong for my liking. Nothing a little creamer can’t fix.” #x200B; #x200B; I leaned towards the edge of the table and called out, “Hey waiter! Can you bring me a black coffee please!” I cleared my throat and sat up straight. #x200B; #x200B; “You look tired,” she said. #x200B; #x200B; “Oh, yeah, no, I just got out of a uh… an afternoon shift.” #x200B; #x200B; “Where at?” #x200B; #x200B; “Downtown at the little tech warehouse. The pay isn’t bad, but it isn’t good. It’s in the middle, you know?” #x200B; #x200B; “I know,” she said, taking a sip from her creamer-filled coffee. #x200B; #x200B; “How about you? What do you do now?” #x200B; #x200B; “Same thing.” #x200B; #x200B; “Oh wow, still? After what? Four years?” I knew the exact amount of years. #x200B; #x200B; “Three years, and yes. That college degree can’t go to waste.” #x200B; #x200B; “Yeah, true, but I thought you might have moved by now.” #x200B; #x200B; “Out of that… that apartment, yes. Out of town, no.” #x200B; #x200B; “How did you—” #x200B; #x200B; Soft, squelching footsteps made me lose my train of thought. I turned left. The waitress wore blocky rain-boots and apologized for the noise. She walked towards our table, cradling a tray full of coffee. She extended it out, I grabbed a cup of coffee and thanked her. With a smile, she walked away, boots squelching on the tile floor. #x200B; #x200B; \`I took a sip of the coffee and my face scrunched up. #x200B; #x200B; “I told you,” she giggled. “It's strong.” #x200B; #x200B; I coughed into my elbow and laughed with her. #x200B; #x200B; “So,” she said, “have you been seeing anyone?” #x200B; #x200B; The question caught me off guard. My face must’ve shown that. “Of course not.” #x200B; #x200B; “Oh,” she said, averting eye contact. #x200B; #x200B; I looked down at her soft hands. There was a glimmering ring on her finger. She quickly tried covering it up. My heart shattered in a million little pieces as I realized. But in my mind, I was happy for her. #x200B; #x200B; “You don’t have to do that,” I smiled awkwardly. “I’m glad you moved on.” #x200B; #x200B; “I still think of her every—” #x200B; #x200B; “Stop,” I murmured, shutting my eyes. I saw her so vividly, my daughter, our sweet innocent daughter. #x200B; #x200B; “Do you…” I opened my eyes, feeling tears trickling down my cheek. She tilted her head at me and continued, “Do you still…” #x200B; #x200B; “Stop. I-I can’t, please.” #x200B; #x200B; “But it wasn’t your—” #x200B; #x200B; “It was,” I cut her off. “It was.” #x200B; #x200B; My mind tormented me with our daughter's little giggle. She had my facial features. Every mirror of my apartment was shattered or thrown away. I couldn’t look at myself. I couldn’t look at my daughter. #x200B; #x200B; “Alex,” she said, “you have to stop blaming yourself. I… I forgive you. I have for a while now.” #x200B; #x200B; “You can’t.” I clawed at my eyes, wiping the tears out with angry strokes. #x200B; #x200B; “How could you have known?” She said with a crackly voice. #x200B; #x200B; I looked up and into her eyes—my daughter's eyes. I shot my hands up to my head and yanked on my hair as if I could pull out the haunting memories. The memories of seeing her lifeless body in the coroner’s office and how soulless her eyes looked. They resembled those doll eyes that gave the illusion of tracking you. It was as if her glare was reminding me how I failed. #x200B; #x200B; My wife gave me the cold shoulder, blaming me for her death. She had every right to. It was my fault. I let her out of my sight. I let her get hit by that bus. #x200B; #x200B; I looked away from Mia. “I… I can’t do this. I'm sorry. I can’t.” #x200B; #x200B; As I was scooting to the edge of the seat, she placed her warm palm on my cold hand. “Alex, do it for me.” She had tears streaming down her cheek. “Do it for me. I can’t stop thinking of you and how you're holding up. Will you try something stupid? Will you finally move on? Let me give you closure—give us both closure.” #x200B; #x200B; I hung my head down, letting out ugly cries. #x200B; #x200B; “I forgive you, Alex. Our Luna forgives you.” #x200B; #x200B; I looked at her with my eyebrows furrowed. “How can she forgive me? And… How can you know?” #x200B; #x200B; “She was not the type to hold grudges, you know that.” #x200B; #x200B; I thought back to all the times she would look at me from the shadowed corners of my apartment. I felt her angry presence. I felt the grudge she held against me. She would whisper in my ears at night. Asking me why I failed her. I was supposed to be her hero. I was supposed to push her out of the way and save her. Or throw myself in front of the bus for her, taking her place. #x200B; #x200B; Looking at Mia through my watery tear-filled vision, she looked just like Luna. #x200B; #x200B; “I’m sorry,” I said under my breath. “I have to go.” #x200B; #x200B; I stood and walked towards the exit. #x200B; #x200B; “Alex, please,” Mia cried out from behind. #x200B; #x200B; I paused by the door, the red exit sign casting a sizzling glow on my face. I saw her through my peripheral vision, mind racing with millions of things I wanted to say. This was better for both of us—no, better for me. #x200B; #x200B; I opened the door, the cold air rushing to get inside. The way the cold slashed at my face with a whistling sound felt deserved. I shut the door behind me, letting the gloomy night consume me. #x200B; #x200B; The wind carried echoes of child-like giggles. I nearly fainted. My heart sunk to my toes. Those were Luna's giggles. *What was she doing outside?* I thought, *She never leaves home.* #x200B; #x200B; As I scanned the empty streets for the source of the sound, movement from across the street caught my eye. Sitting on the metal bench, Luna glared at me. Her legs dangled, swinging impatiently. She was waiting for me. #x200B; #x200B; Her doll-like eyes glanced at the fogged up window. I followed her gaze. Mia’s silhouette was sitting with her head hung and body shuddering. Silhouetted tears trickled down onto the table. It was as if Luna was saying: “It’s me or her.” #x200B; #x200B; The daughter I yearned for or the woman who I once loved, it was an easy choice at the time. I crossed the street and pulled out another cigarette to suppress my logical thoughts. Luna giggled and hopped off the bench. She skipped away from me, but I knew where she was heading—to hide in the shadows of my apartment. #x200B;
After dark, I'd hear them. Not quite every night, at first, but most nights. My mother told me they were just wild dogs hunting in the woods on the border of our property; that there was nothing to worry about. Not while I was safe in bed, anyway. But something about their nocturnal prowlings never failed to inspire a vague dread deep in the pit of my gut, one I couldn't ever fully ignore as I sought sleep. Then, one night, it wasn't just the distant howls and grunts or the faint scattering of crunched leaves underfoot anymore. They would scratch at my window with long, yellowing claws - my window on the second floor of our old farmhouse, to which there was no earthly access from the outside. The whispers followed shortly after, seeping through the windowpane, corrupting my dreams and rendering any semblance of undisturbed rest utterly impossible. What they spoke of was a mystery to me, incoherent as it all was, and while I should have been frightened by the hoarse, inexplicable mutterings, I found myself strangely intrigued instead; a sense of curiosity which spurred me out into the darkness to investigate. The moon hung bright and full, almost blinding in its shimmering glow, as I stepped out onto the front porch. The screen door closed behind me with a smack, a disturbance which I was sure might have woken my parents, however the wind's intermittent howling surely muted it, at least somewhat. I remember the chill, immediate and brutal, and I began to lose my nerve. That's when I saw it, poking through a bush in the treeline. It looked just like a man’s face, however not quite right; as if the jaw was somehow uncannily elongated, accompanying a wide grin bearing a mouth full of sharp canine teeth. For the first time, I understood it when it spoke. Only it didn’t use words in the way in which I was used to hearing them. The words came from inside my own head. It simply stated, calmly and in a soft soothing voice, that I shouldn't be afraid; and I wasn’t, and it knew as I did. Just like that, I began to follow it as it vanished out of sight, deeper into the forest. It wasn’t long until I could no longer see the soft illumination from the lamp left on in the safety of my bedroom over my shoulder anymore. Now that the twinkling light was gone, I began to notice just how dark it truly was, and I started to realize how much I had forgotten myself in that powerful sense of intrigue which had moved me to such a foolish outing in the first place. I began to feel exposed; totally surrounded, and despite the consistent, whispered reassurances of my mysterious guide, I couldn’t quite escape the urge to run back the way I’d come. Still, I continued onwards through the trees, until most anything resembling light had been extinguished by the thickening branches overhead. The forest's blackness was as opaque as the night sky itself, miasmic almost in the air, and it stayed that way for quite a while. Until, finally, a faint flickering shone wanly in the distance. The mouth of the small cave seemed almost to speak too, warping around the dim light of the campfire within. A collective of voices called out in a twisted unison, each with the same whispering cadence as the one who had brought me there, yet clearly individual. I no longer felt afraid. Inside, a number of hooded figures sat crouched on their haunches, presumably warming themselves by the fire. However it quickly became apparent that wasn't what they were doing at all as the sickening-sweet odor of seared flesh filled the small chamber. They were each burning the palms of their hands over the flames until they were charred and almost cooked. Slowly and in single file, they proceeded to stand and make their way to me as I stood fixed in place by the opening, stunned in a dazed astonishment. Each creature pressed their blistering, blackened hand over my face as I breathed into them, inhaling their surprisingly pleasant choking aroma. I began to feel increasingly invigorated as a result, as though through their collective sacrifice I myself was becoming stronger somehow. Fed. When the last approached me, my eyes met its, and suddenly, in a single instant, I was entirely within their thrall. Its hard, beady eyes penetrated my soul and its leathery gray skin rippled as it pressed a dark, bloody palm over my face. From within me radiated a single word. Home. And I knew that was where I was.
Our footsteps tapped down the corridor with echoes. The silence was becoming unbearable, and all we could do was anxiously wait for the next attack. I looked over to my right and saw Alex shaking as he gripped his rifle. He had only started relatively recently and had been showing me photos of his family before this. The guy that died earlier had been Spencer and while he had one of the biggest egos I’ve ever seen, he still didn’t deserve what happened to him. None of us should have been in this place, but we were the ones stupid enough to take this mission. It was no longer a 3 man job but a suicide mission. I signaled a hand to halt and Alex stopped dead in his tracks. We both looked at each other and held our breaths as we looked into the dark examination room. My heart skipped a beat every time I turned on my flashlight for fear of seeing one of those things again. I swung the light from left to right and didn’t hear a sound. I motioned for Alex to keep following. “You sure you didn’t see any of those things?” asked Alex. “Keep your finger on the trigger just in case,” I replied. We stepped in and slowly made our way around examining the bodies of the dead scientists. All of them had nasty slash marks that cut deep into the flesh or had entire parts of limbs missing with shattered bone sticking out. We never saw what happened to Spencer, but deep down we knew it was probably this. “Ok, room is secured. Just grab whatever files are here and let’s get the hell out. I’m tired of sitting around like a rat in a cage here,” said Alex. I looked around for any sort of documents or leads while Alex shone his light on the entryway but found nothing like all the other rooms. I looked back over at Alex, but he wasn’t looking at me. I realized what he was staring at and whipped my rifle around and laid as many shots as I could into the flesh creature behind me. The being almost looked human but it was lacking any facial features and its head was a misshapen spear. I fired just enough shots to stun it and keep its clawed hands away from me. “Go!” I shouted. Alex didn’t need to think twice about that and sprinted past me as we ran down the hall as we occasionally turned around and fired. We sprayed our shots down the hallway but were only able to take down maybe one or two with each clip. There was an entire hoard of them, and we could only fend off against 1 or 2 at a time before they almost grabbed us. Pure terror seized me as I watched Alex’s body suddenly fly into the air. He screamed as one of the creatures had pulled him into an overhead vent. “Help me it’s got a hold of me!” screamed Alex. I aimed my rifle up at the vent, but by the time I did I saw Alex’s feet slide in. I cursed to myself and unloaded another clip into one of the creatures two feet away from me before taking off into a sprint. I felt every ragged breath as I sprinted but felt almost weightless even with the equipment on me due to the adrenaline. I rounded a corner and kicked one of the creatures that popped out of a side vent. I saw a large open door and squeezed in as the horde rose behind me. I just managed to close the door as a claw scratched against my cheek and drew blood. I winced from the sting and took a deep breath in my moment of rest. I saw a person rise from a desk and pointed my gun at them. I saw that it was one of the scientists and that he was alive. “Put your hands in the air and don’t move!” I shouted. The man obeyed and put his hands above his head. “Care to tell me what you guys were doing here?” I asked. “They’re beautiful…” the man said. “What, the monsters out there?” I asked. “I truly envy them. They feel none of the five senses. They never have to feel pain. They just are,” he said. “How do they get around then? If they can’t feel anything?” I asked. The man just broke into a long and hard laugh as he gripped his hair and stared at the ground. I tried to drag him out of there but he refused to move so I left him. I found an emergency exit on the second level of the room and sprinted through corridor after corridor until I found a ladder that led to an exit. I could hear footsteps tailing behind me as I scrambled up the rungs. As I stared at the empty desert before me I felt no sense of happiness or accomplishment. It was only a matter of time before these things escaped the facility and made it to civilization. By the time everyone realizes it will be too late. Even though they can’t feel anything they have some way of finding you.
The painting had been put up for auction at a local event raising money for charity. It was an original, according to the auctioneer, by an obscure but talented artist from the early 1900s. It was almost the end of the day and I had yet to see anything that caught my fancy, but the moment the painting was unveiled, I felt something stir in my chest, and I knew I had to have it. Nobody else seemed quite as enthused as me about the portrait, and winning it had been a relatively simple affair. After countering a few other vaguely-interested buyers, I managed to secure it for myself. I had it wrapped up in a piece of old, moth-eaten cloth that was found in the auction warehouse, and stowed it in the back of my car, excited to find a place for it in my home. I was a collector of sorts, mostly of antiques and other knickknacks, so it would fit right in with the assortment of old ceramic pots and tarnished clocks and statues that I had sitting in my display cabinet.  On the way home from the auction, I started to feel restless. I wasn't sure if it was because the auction had lasted longer than I expected, or because I was tired, or something else, but I struggled to focus on driving and almost pulled out right in front of another car as I turned at the junction leading left towards my house.  When I finally pulled into the driveway of my semi-detached, I cut the engine and sat for a moment behind the wheel, taking a couple of deep breaths to clear my mind.  When I flicked a glance up, towards the rearview, I thought—for just a moment— that I had glimpsed a shadow, pressed against the backseat of the car. Between one blink and the next, however, the shadow had disappeared, and I rubbed my eyes, realizing I must have been more tired than I thought. I twisted around to double-check the backseat, just in case, but there really was nothing there. Stepping out of the car, I headed round to the trunk of the car and popped it open. The painting was where I had left it, nestled safely in its bandage of thick yellow cloth. Gripping the edges of the frame, I hoisted it out of the car, careful not to knock the corners against the trunk. Balancing it on one knee, I used my free hand to slam the trunk closed and locked the car behind me, heading up the drive towards the front door. Somewhere behind me, I felt the strange sensation of being watched. Assuming it was one of my neighbours, I turned round to wave, but there was nobody there. The street was empty. Deserted. I was the only one out here.  Shrugging it off, I headed inside.  Laying the covered painting down on the mahogany dining table, I carefully stripped the cloth away to unearth the portrait. It was even more beautiful seeing it up close, instead of across the auction hall. I wasn't a painting connoisseur by any means, but even I could appreciate the balance of colours and the masterful brushstrokes used to create the dichotomy between the subject's face and the backdrop.  The signature in the corner, scrawled in black ink, read Thomas Mallory. That was the name of the painter. I had never heard of him before the auction, but the painting itself was a masterful piece of portraiture that held up against even more well-known names. I wasn't entirely sure who the depicted subject was, but judging by the brush and palette he was holding, and the easel in front of him, the subject must have been a painter too. Perhaps it was even a self-portrait of Thomas Mallory himself. The frame was a deep brass with golden highlights, but there was a faint layer of dust and grime on the edges of the frame, suggesting it had been stored somewhere damp prior to the auction, so I got some low-chemical cleaning supplies and tried my best to clean it up. By the time I was done, the frame was glistening in the swathes of the fading sun pouring in through the window. It wouldn't be long until dusk fell. I must have been sitting here for hours polishing the frame, and my wrist had grown sore. Satisfied with my work, I took the painting over to the display cabinet in my sitting room. Despite the wide array of antiques, I did dust regularly, and the air was tinged with the scent of lemon and rose disinfectant. I hadn't quite decided where I would hang the painting yet, so instead I propped it up on the mantlepiece beside the cabinet, above the bricked-up fire that hadn't been used in years. Sometimes, when I hadn't dusted in a while, I could still smell the tinge of ash and smoke embedded within the bricks.  Making sure the painting was secure between the wall and the mantel shelf, I stepped back and admired the portrait in the light of the fading sun. There was something almost melancholy about the painter's face. Those eyes, that sparkled with an unusual, almost corporeal lustre, seemed to be filled with a longing of sorts. A yearning for something that was just out of reach. But maybe I was just seeing things that weren’t really there. Like the shadow in the car. The light outside was fading rapidly, but part of me couldn't draw my eyes away from the painting, or the man's woeful expression. Why had the painter portrayed him this way? What was the story behind each stroke of the brush? I don't think I—or anyone—would ever truly understand what was going through the painter's mind as he created this piece of art. That, after all, was the beauty—and pain—of subjectivity. Of art. Of interpretation. Nobody shared the same idea of inference and understanding, especially when it came to something like this. But perhaps I was overthinking it. I shook myself out of my daze, realizing that the sun had already set, dusk painting the edges of the sky in shades of dark purple. I should get something to eat before I go to bed, I thought vaguely as I left the room, closing the door behind me. That night, I awoke to darkness, and the feeling that I wasn't alone. I lived on my own, as I had done since separating from my partner a few years ago, and didn't have any pets. There was no probable reason why I would feel like there was someone else here with me, but it was something I felt with a strange sort of certainty, that there was someone here in the dark, lurking just out of sight. My heart began to flutter in my chest, panic rising up through my stomach, but I swallowed it down. I was being silly. Of course there was nobody else here. I had locked all the doors and windows before I went to bed, I was sure of it. But I still couldn't quite shake that feeling of unease that tiptoed along the back of my neck, making sweat bead along my skin. Breathing softly through my nose, I fumbled through the dark until my fingers closed around the light switch, clicking it on. Bright yellow light flooded the room, and I threw up a hand to shield my eyes from the glare. Squinting between my fingers, I looked around the room. Empty, as I expected. There really was nobody here. But then I noticed something that made my throat clench up once more. The bedroom door was open.  I always slept with it closed, the way I had done since I was a child. I very rarely went to bed with it open, even by accident.  Had someone really been in my room? Or was this one of those very rare occurrences where I had forgotten to close it? No, I was certain I had shut it. I remembered the creak and the click of the old door against the frame. It had become an almost bedtime ritual, and I would have felt something was off earlier in the night if I had left it open. I gazed at the crack in the doorframe, shadows pooling around the edges, fear tightening my chest. Was there someone in the house? Should I call the police? No, not without investigating first. I didn't want to waste their time if it really was just my imagination, conjuring threats from nothing. Slipping out of bed, I tiptoed over to the open door, my fingers trembling as they gripped the handle, pulling it open wider. Light from the bedroom spilt out onto the landing, illuminating the rest of the corridor. I couldn't see anything immediately out of place.  I held my breath for a few seconds and listened. Above the pounding of my own heart, I could hear nothing. Just the faint moan of the wind and the rustle of the leaves. The house was deathly silent. Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I stepped out of my room and tiptoed down the stairs. I wanted to make sure there really was nobody else in the house before I went back to bed. Downstairs was silent too, except for the faint, intermittent drip of the kitchen tap. I had gotten a glass of water before bed, so perhaps I hadn't twisted the faucet all the way. I padded into the kitchen, switching on the lights as I went, and tightened the leaky tap until it stopped dripping.  Feeling somewhat less terrified, I went through each room, checking behind doorways and in closets to make sure nobody was hiding. Every room proved empty. The last place to check was the living room, where the painting was. In a brief lapse of judgment, I considered the possibility that a thief had broken into the house to steal the painting. But who would steal a painting by a less-known artist, after I'd only owned it for a day? Shaking away the thought, I approached the living room door and froze. It was one of those old-fashioned doors with a frosted glass window. On the other side of the window stood a shadow. A shadow that wasn't supposed to be there.  Fear stabbed my chest, my heart racing. Was there someone on the other side? The shadow wasn't moving. Maybe it was nothing after all. But I had never noticed it before, and I was sure there was nothing on the other side of the door that could be casting it. Heart thundering in my chest, I went back to the kitchen to grab a knife from the drawer, and hurried back. The shadow was still there. With a short, sharp breath, I shoved the door open and swung the knife around the edge of the door. Nothing. There was nothing there.  A bead of sweat cooled on my brow. All that panic for nothing. Maybe I really was just overthinking it all. I checked the painting just to be sure, but it hadn't moved an inch. In the dark, the eyes seemed to glisten like obsidian. Eerily realistic. I took a moment to calm my racing heart and rationalise the situation, then left the room, closing the door behind me. This time, when I glanced back, the shadow was gone. The next morning, I decided to do some research and see what I could dig up about Thomas Mallory and his work. I thought it odd that last night's experience had come right after bringing the painting into my home. Perhaps I was being paranoid and making connections where there weren't any, but I was still curious to see what I could find out. Surely someone, somewhere, must know something about him, even if he was a more obscure name in the art world.  I searched for the name on the internet, but all I could immediately find were articles about Thomas Malory, the writer. Not the painter of the portrait sitting in my living room. After scrolling through countless websites and forums, I finally managed to find a page dedicated to the right Mallory. There was an old black-and-white depiction of him, and I recognised him immediately as the same figure in the painting. It was a self-portrait after all. I was sitting with my laptop on the couch in the living room, and my gaze lifted to the painting. Mallory gazed sombrely down at me, making my chest pinch. Returning my attention to the webpage, I read through a brief history of his life. According to the text, Thomas Mallory had never managed to succeed as a painter during life, and had died in poverty, without selling more than one or two of his works. Towards the end of his life, Mallory had begun to rant about how he had been unable to find his muse, and that he would keep searching for her, even after death. He blamed the muses forsaking him as the reason he had been so unsuccessful, and had apparently passed away in a state of bitter despair. When I scrolled down to the bottom, I soft gasp parted my lips. There was a section titled ‘Mallory’s Last Work’, and the picture attached was the very same one that now sat on my mantel. Mallory’s self-portrait. The last ever painting he created, before his death. Was that the reason for his despondent look? Had he been unhappy with his career, at a loss, abandoned by the muses? Was that the message the portrait portrayed? I studied it from across the room, raking my eyes over the paintbrush poised against the painted canvas, the palette of muted colours almost drooping in his hand. Was this when he was on the verge of abandoning his passion altogether? Or was that searching, longing look in his eye a plea to the muses, to hear his desperate call? I shook my head, closing my laptop with a sigh. Thomas Mallory, despite being a wonderful artist, had suffered the same fate as so many artists had. Unappreciated, unrewarded, dying nameless and poor. It was only after death that they truly found fame. The following night, I woke up once more to the feeling that I was being watched from the dark. The room was pitch-dark. Through the netted curtains, there was not even a glimpse of the moon. Only the dark, starless sky, like the open maw of a beast. I sat up, rubbing my eyes. It was just after three o’clock in the morning, according to my watch. Using one hand to switch on the lamp, I squeezed my eyes closed against the light, waiting a few seconds for my eyes to stop watering and finally adjust. The air in the room was still. Undisturbed. The door was closed. Nothing felt out of place, except for the strange prickle of unease tiptoeing down my spine. I gazed around the room for a few minutes, waiting in silence for something to happen, but nothing did. Once again, it was all in my head. I reached for the lamp again, my fingers brushing the switch. The moment the room plunged into darkness was the moment I heard it. Footsteps. Soft, muted footsteps coming from somewhere deeper in the house. I held my breath, my pulse racing beneath my ribcage. Was I hearing things? There, against the quiet of the night, was the sound of retreating footfalls. Someone was inside the house. This time, there was no mistake. Fighting the rising panic in my chest, I fumbled to switch on the light and slipped out of bed. The air was cold against my legs, and I shivered, tiptoeing towards the door. I wrapped my fingers around the handle and tugged it open, as quietly as I could. I peered out. Nothing. The footsteps grew fainter, moving further away, until eventually I could hear them no more. Had they already left? I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Keeping close to the wall, I padded down the hallway and stood at the foot of the stairs, peering down. I couldn’t see anything. Nothing stirred amongst the shadows. Silence pressed against me like something tangible, broken only by my short, panicked pants. Taking the stairs slowly, I reached the bottom and peered around the edge of the bannister. My vision swam in the darkness, and I tried to ignore the feeling that there was something crouched in the shadows, waiting to catch me off guard. It’s all in your head. This time, I passed by the kitchen and dining room and went straight to the living room. Straight to the painting. The door was open. Inside, the darkness felt thick, suffocating. I reached blindly through the dark until I found the light switch, flipping it on. The room felt warmer than the rest of the house. The air felt disturbed. Like someone had been here recently. There was nobody hiding behind the doorway. Nobody crouched behind the sofa. Everything was in its place. Closing the door behind me, I walked up to the painting, and gasped. My legs wobbled, feeling like they were about to give way. My head began to spin, not quite willing to believe what I was seeing. The painting had changed. The painter—Thomas Mallory—had disappeared, leaving an empty space, a dark, mottled void where he once stood. The paintbrush and palette had been discarded, and the canvas—that had before been turned the other way—was now facing me, containing a new painting. A new portrait. A portrait that looked exactly like me.
Having a baby is terrifying enough without your next-door neighbor’s brutal murder. They could at least have put everything in one body bag. The rumor is that they didn’t find the top half of him until the bottom half was already zipped up. So the crowd that had converged next door got to watch two separate gurneys roll Fred into an ambulance. The most horrifying part was seeing the paramedic vomit. They see the worst of the worst, so I can’t even begin to imagine what actually happened to Fred. That was enough for me. My wife was home with Oliver, who was scheduled to wake up from his nap and make green shit while I was changing him in about fifteen minutes. So I turned around to leave the looky-loos and police to their speculation. That’s when I saw the scratches in the ground. They were deep and long, like someone had taken a scythe to Fred's yard. Periodic slashes almost looked like footsteps as they led to his fence. The same fence that separated his yard from mine. Nauseating fear crept through my chest and froze my diaphragm as I realized that the claw marks had sliced their way up to the top of the fence. Just like something had walked up it. I sprinted to my front door, terrified that I wasn’t moving fast enough while simultaneously not wanting to see what I might find inside. “What’s wrong?” my wife asked as I burst through the door. I didn’t slow down as I took the steps two at a time to the second floor. As I wheeled around the landing, bones of the 110-year-old house creaking, I could see through the window where the claw marks had torn through my back lawn. They disappeared from my angle of view directly below Oliver's room. I sprinted down the hall, skidding to a halt just in front of his doorway. For half a second, I balked: If something terrible was on the other side of this door, I was in the final good moment of my life. I held my breath and opened it. Oliver was sound asleep in his crib, completely whole. I belted a cry of relief and sank to the floor, trying to start my lungs again. I was so relieved that I didn’t notice it at first. I opened my eyes. I stood up. His window was open. The claw marks traced down the wall, across the floor, and made a beeline directly to his crib. That’s where they stopped. Gag reflex and bladder ready to fire, I walked over to my sleeping son, hands shaking uncontrollably. I stopped right next to him, looking down, not wanting to believe what I was seeing. *How?* His tiny, razor-sharp fingernails were coated in crimson that dripped along his open palms, staining his fingers red. I wanted to tell myself that it was red paint. It wasn’t red paint. An oppressive copper smell swirled my thoughts as I stared at his slightly open, toothless mouth, covered in red from his eyes to his neck. A bloody snot bubble frothed from his nose, expanding and contracting with each breath. That wasn’t the worst part, though.
Growing up there were points where it was hard to hear, or my hearing would be lost In both ears. What made the condition so frustrating was the fact that doctors were unable to diagnose it. By eleven it was frequent enough to be a problem, but it never occurred while visiting a doctor. Dangers posed by the hearing loss mounted as the years passed. While my parents sought more autonomy for me, they also realized the difficulties of my condition. This is how Ms. Marsel came into my life . She was a professional who worked with people who are hearing impaired. While teaching me strategies to overcome the challenges faced in my life she showed me nothing but compassion and kindness. Not only did she help overcome my struggles, but she had a profound impact on my views and perspective. Every other Saturday my parents would take me to Ms. Marsel’s. We both lived in Mineral Hills, a town outside of Northampton, Massachusetts. Best characterized by claustrophobic roads that weaved in between conservation areas, it was the kind of place that one could get lost in if they weren’t careful. I was fourteen while learning sign language. Nothing about my condition changed, but the belief was that my hearing could be lost and never come back. About forty minutes into our session we took a break. Tobey and Mathew (Ms. Marsel’s two other students) sat eating their sandwiches. They were both younger, but their conditions were more advanced than mine. My parents got me food beforehand, so Ms. Marsel sat and talked to me. “Are you having a good weekend Newton?” She asked me. “Yeah dad and I have tickets for a Red Sox game, I’m really excited,” As this was being discussed unconsciously my vision shifted to Tobias and Mathew eating their food. “Well that sounds very exciting…” She didn’t sound like she trailed off. Somehow her voice went silent. The realization came that my hearing was gone.. After this my head turned back to my mentor. To my distress her hands were cupped over her ears. That's when I signed the question “can you understand me?” Dismay began to wash over as Ms. Marsel’s face displayed a pure look of terror. Never before did anyone have a breakdown in front of me, this changed that day. Hearing would return to me about ten minutes later, but Ms Marsel was completely lost, soon she was huddled in a fetal position and was unresponsive. Calling my parents was the only option. They sent emergency services. Something was just so odd about the situation. One Second she’s fine, just a few seconds later and she’s in an untameable state of madness. Things did not improve and she was eventually put into an institution and that’d be the last time I saw her. From that point forward my life would change. Depression took hold and without Ms. Marsel my life shifted in a different direction. Therapists had trouble understanding my predicament. Graduating from college was a goal of mine since being young, but just after a few semesters dropping out was necessary. Work was my only option. Many places in the area had openings, but after a couple interviews a grocery store hired me. A maximum of five employees were operating the store at any one time. Due to scheduling Maxine would manage our shifts. During my time there we’d become friends. We both worked the second shift. Meaning sometimes we’d close together. I smoked at the time, and she was the only manager who let me take a smoke break whenever I wanted. Average night shifts became a routine.of mine. Morning used to be my domain, but at that point in my life there was a complete swap. On what seemed like an average Friday night a couple of old classmates invited me to a small gathering. It was the first time in a while we were going to see each other. Unfortunately Maxine wanted me to help her close that night. Usually it was only an extra thirty minutes or so, but she was reviewing some paperwork that evening. When asked how long she’d take, she replied it’d be “best” for me to begin going through the process of closing. Each register had already been tallied. Next in the process was to throw away the waste. Meaning all that was required was to take it to the bin. The door was required to be jammed to stay open. There was a metal wedge on the ground near the door that did just that. What made the wedge awkward to place wasn’t weight (although it was heavy). Rather the angle of the door. Bread was first to go out. Once the bread was thrown into the bin, the sensation that something was there started culminating. That feeling grew by the second crate of waste. Out of nowhere the sound of something sprinting could be heard, somehow the door became unjammed and slammed shut behind me. How loud the sound was shocked me. Regardless, I walked and knocked on the window to the office to get Maxine to let in me through the front. Maxine had a surprised look on her face. Aside from that she had an odd question, “How did you get outside from the bathroom?” Explaining how the door shut behind me was harder than anticipated. For some reason she was confused. She thought I was in the bathroom while I was outside. Together we checked the bathroom, after discovering it was empty we continued to close. Proceeding all of this the last two steps were looking through the store and locking it up. Somehow Maxine still had just a little bit more paperwork. She told me to take a quick smoke break, which I happily complied with. Smoke from the cigarette filled my lungs. Stressors of the day began fading, then it happened again. In that instant my hearing subsided. Stuck in silence, the cigarette was soon finished. While walking back to store the sensation that something was there with me peaked out its ugly head again. Looking around there appeared to be nothing in the dark, but then while reaching for the door, it opened. Maxine came out with a disturbed look. She was screaming something, but she ran to her car. Subsequently my hearing came back, but at that point Maxine already left. After managing to close the store myself I finally made it to the gathering. Several days later was my next shift. We had a different manager and soon I was told Maxine quit. Just about two weeks after that I’d pick up my last check. If Maxine wasn’t working there something told me neither should I. In the process of picking up my check a fellow coworker who worked as security on weekends was there, which was odd because it was the morning on a weekday. When he noticed me he approached me and wanted to ask some questions. “Did you see it?” He asked. “See what?” I responded “Newton, come here,” he said while expressing to me to come over and look at the security camera footage that he brought up. To my surprise Jack showed me throwing away the waste and soon I got to the bread. While I tossed it, behind me a blur appeared for a few frames. It ran into the door as it went inside. The door closed behind it. That’s when he played an angle which showed the hallway that had the entrances to the bathrooms. The blur passed by the camera and ran into the men’s bathroom. Video then showed Maxine walk by the bathroom and stop, then walk to let me in. Something exited the male bathroom in the process and went to the office. The office didn’t have a camera angle, but Jack the security guard sped up the footage briefly and Maxine came sprinting out. “Maxine said she realized she wasn’t alone in this office. Did you notice anything suspicious?” He implored. Being asked this led me to think about my condition, but nothing about that was said. Jack told me I may be contacted in the future. Connections that this situation posed to Ms. Marsel became obvious, and Maxine wouldn’t return my calls. After slipping into a depression it felt like my life was pivoting again. Singing and mixing my own music became my means of expressing myself. Buying equipment including a piano and a microphone was something I did even though my budget was tight. These were bad purchases, but it seemed important at the time. On top of that a tape deck converter for the mic was purchased, so that my voice and piano could be recorded and I liked the aesthetic. Sleep was only achieved during the day. At night, the basement of my apartment was my stage, and the recorder was my audience. It was during one of those sessions that my condition started acting up. Usually when this would happen at home I’d wait it out. This time I just happened to be recording before it happened. For some reason my decision was to record the silence. Nothing big occurred while sitting around, that was until I checked the recording after my hearing came back. Like all my recordings I yelled “take,” and a number. In this case the number four was yelled out by me. Then a rift on the piano was played, afterwards my voice could be heard. Silence eventually came and that’s all that was anticipated. That’s when I heard it. Demented and deep, the sound caused a shiver to shoot down a spine. It was a voice that seemed to whisper a language that was new to me. Soon the voice sounded like it was coming from over my shoulder goosebumps started forming. Thereafter the entire apartment was observed, but nothing was found. My thoughts told me whatever this had to be in the apartment with me, yet still earlier than usual I went to bed that night. Over the course of the next few days the recorder sat without me listening to it. My hope was that what was heard was hallucinated. Ultimately the impulse to listen overpowered me . The pit in my stomach began to swell, as I played back the tape. This time the deep dark whisper seemed to approach the mic, before being paused again. In the midst of all this the sensation that something was there with me grew. Calling my mother was my next action.. “What’s wrong?” She calmly asked. “Something is haunting me! Mom, please come get me.” I cried. My mother agreed to pick me up. While packing certain things, the decision was made to pack the tape recorder with the feared tape. It was a constant struggle. My parents home made me feel somewhat safe, but still curiosity and wonder remained. Not knowing what to do with the tape, one day my parents tried to intervene. They approached me and asked what was wrong and what they could do. That’s how the decision was made to show them the tape. All three of us huddled around the tape recorder in the dining room. The tape started as normal with me yelling it was the fourth take, then silence and more silence. Suddenly the realization came that there was no deep voice. “Impossible,” I whispered aloud. “Are you sure you’re okay Newton?” My father questioned. “Of course I am dad, I’m not screwing around here. The reason I showed this tape was because something was on it.” I replied. “Newton, we just listened to silence for a minute.” He said with a more stern tone and continued, “You’ve got to get your act together.” To not get kicked out of my parents’ house they required me to get another job. The next day I went into town and started puting in applications at retail establishments. Towards the end of my excursion I made a discovery, a sign with the words “Mystic-Clairvoyant.” Something told me this person could help. Walking inside there was a strong aroma of sage. The front room had a desk and a few chairs. It was the decor that stood out. Figurines of all shapes and sizes littered the room. Most of them appeared to be made from polished stone. There were beads that divided the rooms and the walls were painted a light indigo color. Through the beads from the other room walked a woman in a pink dress. She almost seemed to have a concerned look on her face when she first saw me. “Can I help you?” She probed. I stepped back towards door and I said “I don’t know… I can leav-” “-No! I’m sorry. Would you like a reading?” She apologetically cut me off. At that moment she seemed genuine. “How much is it? I replied with a curious tone. “Twenty dollars for a twenty minute session.” She announced. An agreement was made for a session. We went into the backroom. There was a table and shelf. The shelf had one of those glass balls on it. A deck of Tarot Cards sat on the table, but she took it off and put it on the shelf. She turned on a soft overhead light, while she turned off all the other lights. She started lighting candles. After she sat down she shook her hands, and then asked “Would you put out your right hand for me?” While complying an uneasy sensation washed over me. Upon grabbing my hand she jolted somewhat, as she closed her eyes. “I see a lot of pain and suffering. Something awful is happening. Something is trapped. I’m getting the initials RG. Something written. Something- No. No. No!” As she said this her demeanor shifted. Then she continued by yelling, “You must leave immediately!” After I walked out the door she locked it behind me. This experience damaged my already fragile anxiety. Nothing seemed right about my life. Not long after I’d get an interview. It went well and I ended up getting a job at a clothing store. Low key and nothing special. To not repeat anything with my coworkers I kept my distance. Thursday was one of my days off and I did some research while at the library. On the initials RG. Only the names of celebrities came up and I thought I hit a wall. So instead I researched documents. I burned through famous journals eventually finding nothing. That’s when I started reading through political documents. This led to the Mayflower Compact. It was America’s first Government Document. That’s when I saw it. The name “Richard Gardiner.” Very little was provided on the person. On another day I sat around the dining room table with my parents. Apartments is what we discussed at first until I asked my parents if they knew anything about Richard Gardiner. Expecting nothing, I was surprised by what they revealed. “Your great grandfather’s last name was ‘Raymond Gardiner.’” My father began. Then continued, “Your uncle lives at your.grandparents’ old house. He lives over in Pittsfield From what I remember there were family documents in the attic..” Following the conversation I contacted my uncle. Not many days later I drove west to Pittsfield. The house that my grandparents lived in was a strange place. It had a Victorian style architecture and the smell of old wood and must. When I explained to my uncle that I was trying to figure out our heritage and if there was anything related inside the house that he knew of. He took me upstairs to the attic and showed me a box. In this box were some pictures, a few postcards, and some letters sent between my grandmother's mother and her grandmother. All of this was from long into the past. Uncle David told me to take the box with me because he wasn’t feeling well. Apparently the box had my answers. All the documents went back to Mineral Hills. About a week or so was spent scanning through the documents. My grandmother had several pictures of her family. Every picture had her mom, dad and two siblings, but they also had someone else appear in every photo. Some guy in a suit with a cane. He looked young in the photos. What was especially odd was how in all the photos he didn’t seem to age. Even though the photos were marked as being many years apart and my grandmother’s family aged. The man in the suit did not. Just after viewing the pictures I discovered a document with our family tree. It did not contain the name Ron Gardiner, but it did contain a name to the left with an arrow drawn straight down to the bottom, which was unique from the rest. His name was “Edward Fichinham.” There was only one letter that mentioned the name. My great grandmother said to my grandmother, “Edward, the man in the suit with the cane still watches us.” Back to the library I went, this time to research the unknown name. What I discovered startled me. The only match was for an occultist practitioner from the Medieval Ages. It was rumored that he was attempting to figure out a way to live forever, but somehow disappeared. One way or another I found myself on a paranormal forum. What a user said was, “Entities interact with electronics,” it also said, “Entities can get trapped.” Afterwards I asked my father if he’d heard of the name “Edward Fichinham.” He seemed somewhat thrown off by the question, but still responded with, “No, why do you ask?” “His name was mentioned amongst some documents of grandma’s.” I responded. “Can you show me?” He inquired. When I showed him the pictures he jolted. “That man, he’s… Familiar.” He blurted out. He wouldn’t mention anything further. I’m going to do further investigation and report back in the future.
I (43F) think something is following my son (17M). A couple nights ago he went to hang out with some friends. Ever since he came home he’s been acting..strange. He won’t talk to me no matter what I try. He’s locked in his room and won’t come out. And some of you might be like ‘Well isn’t that just normal teenager?’ and maybe it is for some but my son is NOT like that. He’s an amazing boy and I’m truly worried about him. Especially after what happened last night. It was maybe 3:00 AM? Somewhere around then and I woke to crashing and screaming from his room. I ran to him and when I opened the door I saw him sitting straight up, eyes wide open. His eyes were vacant and he had this creepy grin plastered on his face. I was horrified. But that’s not even the worst part. I heard scratching coming from above my head. I looked up and saw this slim, spider-like black creature hanging from the ceiling. Its claws were dug into the roof and its eyes were glowing red. It was staring at my son, not looking away. I didn’t know what to do. This..thing clearly wanted him. For what I had no clue. It’s the morning now and I didn’t get any more sleep. My son is still in his room and I haven’t been back in. I’m considering calling a medium or maybe an exorcist to get rid of this creature. UPDATE: I called the medium and I’m even more worried than before. As soon as she walked into the house she looked like she was going to be sick. She told me she felt a very strong evil presence and no shit. There was A FUCKING DEMON HANGING FROM MY SONS CEILING. Sorry, sorry. I’m just freaking out a little here. When I took her to my sons room and showed her where I saw the demon, fear filled her face. She told me it wasn’t good. She said my son had brought a demon home. It’s been a couple hours since she left and all I can think about is what did my son do that night? Was he really with friends? UPDATE 2: I saw the demon again tonight. I was brushing my teeth when something brushed against the top of the mirror. When I looked up I saw it. Its long black limbs, red eyes, and sharp teeth. Something was dripping from its teeth and a drop of it fell on my forehead. When I reached up and wiped it from my forehead my fingers came away red. It was blood. I screamed and ran out of the room. I locked myself in my bedroom for what must’ve been an hour. After the hour mark, I realized I hadn’t heard my son in his room since before I was in the bathroom, showering and getting ready for bed. When the demon had showed up with blood on its teeth. What if..what if it was my sons blood? I raced to his room and there he was. Laying dead on the bedroom floor. Blood pooled around him and his eyes were wide open, that same stupid grin on his face. I couldn’t stand to be in that room any longer so I ran back to my room. It’s been a couple hours now and I can hear the blasted monster scratching at my door. Sooner or later it’s going to get in and I think we all know how that ends.
My family has always been at the center of my life. I grew up in this quiet town where my childhood was spent, with my mother, father, and sibling. That house, those streets, and those people meant everything to me. But now, I'm embarking on a mysterious journey into my past, and this journey begins with my family. My family was the most precious treasure in my life. My father's warm laughter, my mother's loving smile, and the unforgettable moments I shared with my sibling... They all became immortal memories for me. They were the building blocks of my childhood in this town. My family was also the custodian of memories. Our old photo album was a sacred book that carried traces of our past. Each page would bring back memories of moments we once lived. The photos were filled with memories of our family's happy moments. Recently, I revisited my long-forgotten family album. As I flipped through the pages, my hands felt like they were reliving the memories to bring them back to life. And in that moment, I found a mysterious photograph on one of the pages. In the photograph, we had stopped on a road as a family and taken a picture together. In the background, there was a signboard for a town named "**Sonhoax**." I remembered the town; my childhood was spent there. However, I didn't recall this name at all. As far as I knew, the town was called "**Xtress**." This strange discrepancy piqued my curiosity. Why was the town's name so different? And why did this new name appear in our family album? My family had never mentioned anything about this name. This enigma sent shivers down my spine, and I felt the need to remember the name of the town. This was the first step in my decision to explore my silent past. I had plenty of time on my hands, so I could easily spare a day for this. And I did. Inside the house, there was a warm and cozy atmosphere. The wooden floors had aged gracefully, bearing the intimacy of years, and each floorboard seemed to witness the memories from our family's past. The old woven carpets cushioned every step, carrying the imprints of the years spent in this house. In the middle of the living room, there was a large fireplace. It had witnessed my father's stories, my mother warming us, and the many warm moments shared with my sibling. The family photographs on the fireplace served as a reminder of the passage of time. The walls of our home were like the pages of our family album. Pictures and paintings were fragments that told the story of our family. My sibling's portrait, my father's favorite instrument, my mother's handmade quilts... Everything was a reflection of what had happened in this house. I ascended the attic stairs, and the wooden steps creaked gently. In the attic, there were old items collected over the years. Dusty boxes, worn-out furniture, and forgotten toys... But my goal was to find something more special. My memory book was the most valuable treasure containing memories of my childhood. It was a result of my desire to trace the beautiful days I had experienced in the town. I had lost it the day before leaving the town and found it under a walnut tree about two hours later. I couldn't leave without it. This book contained what I had written about the friendships and events in that town. I couldn't leave without it. As I wandered in the attic, I carefully searched through each box. Finally, in a dusty corner, I found an old wooden chest. I opened the lid of the chest and among the old items inside, I found my memory book. The cover of the memory book was covered in dust, but its contents were still fresh and vivid. I took the memory book in my hands and began to flip through its pages. I recognized my handwriting, a mix of cursive and print, just as I used to write back then, and even the darned "**koes**" term was there. "**Koes**" was a term I had coined, meaning "**silly**." This was my memory book, containing the memories of my childhood and helping me relive the days spent in the town. As I read, I saw the name of the town in the memory book. Yes, I remembered it correctly. It was the town of **Xtrees**. With the joy of solving the mystery, I continued reading the memory book, but as I read my memories, I began to sense that something was amiss. The first strange memory within my memories was about a summer day by the lake with my friends. As I read that memory, I started to relive that day. The sun was shining, and the waters of the lake promised coolness and adventure. My friends and I gathered on the sandy shore by the lake to enjoy the day. We built sandcastles together, played pranks, and laughed until our stomachs hurt. At this point in my recollection, I noticed a discrepancy between my own memories and what was written in the memory book. In my own version, all of my friends had been frolicking in the water for hours, and we had returned home in the late afternoon. But in the memory book... it was different. In the memory book, it narrated Tiffany's entry into the water in a strange and inexplicable manner. She had silently stepped into the water and then disappeared into the deep. The rest of us had panicked and returned to the shore, eventually going home, but Tiffany never came back. This discrepancy sent a chill down my spine. It was not as I had remembered it, and this strange change piqued my curiosity even more. I was determined to continue reading the other memories because I wanted to learn more about this town and its secrets. As I turned the page to the next memory, I encountered even more mystery than before. This memory was about Tiffany. About her disappearance. I tried to recall that memory in my mind, but there was no trace of such an event in my own memories. In the memory book, it described the day Tiffany went missing. I was asking my parents about what had happened to Tiffany, and they were inquiring about who Tiffany was, claiming they didn't know her. It was as if Tiffany had never existed. In my own memories, I remembered hanging out with Tiffany countless times, playing games, sliding down the slide, going to McDonald's together, and many other moments. But according to the memory book, Tiffany had disappeared. Tiffany's existence was a definite reality for me, but the memory book was saying something else. This contradiction filled me with dread. I was beginning to realize that something was not right. I needed more information to understand the depth of this memory book. It was incredibly mysterious and was distorting my perception of reality. As I moved on to another memory, I was transported to the time of New Year's. In this memory, it was written about the joy and excitement of the town's Christmas celebrations. In my memories, I recalled going to Tom's house, where all our friends gathered for a wonderful Christmas party. We danced, told jokes, and exchanged gifts. I even remembered how Chris had stolen Tom's chocolates and how all of us had gathered to take them back from Chris. Those memories brought a smile to my face. However, in the pages of the memory book, this New Year's memory was told in an entirely different way. Instead of the innocent Christmas party at Tom's house, there was something completely different. In the memory book, I was describing the brutal murder of Tom and his family, and how the police had arrived at the crime scene. My family had learned about the incident from the neighbors. The police and the town's elders had gathered, discussing the killer, and I had learned all this by secretly eavesdropping on my parents' late-night conversations. But such an event had never occurred. On that day, no such event had taken place, and it was not in my memory. In my memory, Tom and my other friends had gathered at that house to eat, have fun, and play games. However, the memory book contained a different and nauseating narrative, and this writing had deeply affected me. As I wandered between the pages, I read that the police had been unable to find the killer. Despite being a part of a town where people lived in fear, I had no recollection of such horrifying events. And the fact that I didn't remember was even more unsettling. What was happening? These pages of the memory book were completely overturning my sense of reality. The gap between the pleasant Christmas celebrations we had experienced in the past and this horrifying event was making the mysteries of the memory book and the town even more complex. I needed to understand what was going on and uncover this horrifying truth. After these memories, my fear and curiosity grew even stronger. Each page brought more questions and more concerns, but I was not willing to give up on solving these mysteries. The next memory told the story of the colorful ice cream truck that came to our town. Children scattered in excitement, running to the truck to get their favorite ice creams. However, I was down with fever that day and couldn't go outside. Amid the melancholy caused by my illness, I watched from the window as my friends eagerly waited in line for ice cream. In my memories, I visualized my friends getting ice cream for me and bringing it home, and we would enjoy it together in the backyard while joking and savoring the taste of summer. They visited Aly after me, as she was also sick. That's how I remembered it. But in the memory book, it described something entirely different. It said that all the children who had gone to the ice cream truck had disappeared. Despite the search efforts of those around, there was no trace of them. With a sense of dread, I turned the page and encountered a horrifying revelation. According to the memory book, when night fell, my family had been watching the news on television. I had secretly tried to watch it from the living room. The news on the television channel reported that the missing children had been found dead, frozen in the deep freezer of a nearby factory. This news had shaken me to my core. The warm summer day I remembered had turned into a dark and cold tragedy. The memory book was indicating that these horrifying events had indeed taken place in the town, and I was preparing myself to read more memories. I want to tell you something about Aly. Aly... she was a beautiful girl. Sweet and like-minded. She was more like a kindred spirit among the girls in our group. After the ice cream incident, we became a couple months later. One night, as we were returning from the local cinema, she separated me from the group and confessed her feelings for me in a private setting. I told her that I had feelings for her too, even though I didn't have any romantic attachment to her. We were just at an age where we thought it was cool to be in a relationship, so I became her boyfriend. When I turned to the next page, I came across a memory that was claimed to have happened between Aly and me. However, I didn't remember this event. The memory book recounted events between Aly and me. After the tragic events, Aly and I had been left feeling a sense of emptiness. According to the memory book, one day Aly told me that she would be moving away from the town and wanted to share this with me. With tears in her eyes, she confessed that she had loved me for so long and wanted to admit it. I, however, didn't feel a romantic connection with Aly; I saw her as a good friend. I didn't say anything to avoid making the situation more complicated and just hugged her. Later, Aly said, "Goodbye," and left. On the next page, I read that I had learned from my family that Aly and her family had been in a car accident that night and had all lost their lives. Learning the painful truth behind Aly's sudden departure had deeply shaken me. Aly's sincere confession and her subsequent tragic death had left me with a complex mix of emotions. I couldn't understand her feelings at the time, and witnessing her loss had been heartbreaking. The memory book was making this painful experience even more difficult as I tried to solve the mysteries of the town. It was a day that had never happened, but... a part of me was deeply affected. I felt a void. The memory book had recorded the silence of the town, something I didn't remember. According to the memory book, every day at 7 p.m., all sounds in the town would cease, and there would be complete silence until 8 p.m. But such a thing had never happened in the village where I lived. In the memory book, I wrote that I could never understand the reason for this silence but didn't question it either. After all, I was a child, and it didn't bother me. The events in the memory book were spiraling out of control. In the diary, it was written that I had sneaked out of my home without my family's permission at half-past seven. It also said that I had gone to the town center. There, I observed people never talking to each other, and this struck me as strange. Just as I was about to open my mouth to ask someone something, a stranger immediately covered my mouth. I couldn't understand what was happening. I tried to scream, but my mouth was held tightly shut. After struggling for about ten minutes, he let me go. It was written that he scolded me, saying, "**What do you think you're doing?!?! Didn't your family teach you what will happen if you speak in the square at 7 o'clock?!?!**". I was in shock, staring at the man. The man told me, "**Those who speak at 7 o'clock never return, kid! Don't ever forget this! Now, go back home!**" He said this while I was crying, and I ran back home. Of course, I never remembered this memory, but what was this silence event? With every page I turned, a new mystery unfolded. When I reached the last page, I started reading the notes at the end of the diary. On the last page, I had written that we were leaving this town and that I would never forget my friends. This final page felt like a farewell message, and I felt a strange melancholy while reading it. "*In these last days of leaving this town, memories and losses we left behind occupy my mind. You were my friends who gave me the brightest moments of my life, but this town took you away from me.* *This diary is proof of the fearful moments we experienced, a way to never forget them. I don't want to forget you, but living with the weight of these memories is getting harder every day. I hope we meet again somewhere else, in a better life. Goodbye, unforgettable friends.*" The diary was completed, its pages were finished. Suddenly, I felt like I fell into a great void. I started to contemplate the meaning of these memories and events. Were these events really happening, or were they just a product of my imagination? I knew that these events didn't happen, or at least I remembered they didn't. But why would I make up these stories? These questions occupied my mind for hours. Finally, I decided that there was only one way to find the answers to these questions: to go to that town. The writings in the diary had revealed the mystery of the town and the strange events that happened there. If I wanted to understand these events and question their reality, I needed to go to the town. This decision aroused both curiosity and fear within me. Going to the town meant plunging into an unknown mystery, and I didn't know what I would encounter. But after all that had happened with the diary, I felt that it was time to confront the unknown. I was determined to uncover the town's mystery and started on my journey, ready to face the uncertainties. Remembering the way to the town was surprisingly easy. Despite the town described in the diary being very different from the one I knew, I somehow remembered the path. My eyes confirmed it as I arrived at the place where the town should be. It wasn't abandoned, but rather an empty expanse of land. I got out of the car and looked around in shock. The road was correct, and a sign two kilometers back read "**Sonhoax**." This was the town, the same town. The only living thing in the town was a large walnut tree rising where the town center should be. It was a massive tree. I approached it and stood in the shade, scanning the surroundings. I was here to remember what had happened, but now it seemed like nothing had happened at all. I looked at the trunk of the walnut tree. It seemed rotten, but it was still standing strong. Then my foot caught on something buried in the soil. It felt like paper. Thinking I needed to dig a bit, I used my hands to unearth it. What I found sent a shiver down my spine. ***It was a world map, but the names of the countries on this map didn't resemble any country names in the world...***
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I had just moved out of my mother's house at the ripe age of 20 years old, I moved a few towns over due to where my new job was that I was accepted into. My POS car though didn't exactly like that distance as just as I got all moved into my new house it took a complete crap on me. This was about the worst case of bad luck somebody could get, my car was a 2019 Toyota Camry that I got brand new and almost as soon as I got on that new plot of pavement it turned into a 1600s Tesla. I had a mechanic come check it out and I was dumbfounded as the engine and battery were entirely blown out. With the amount of damage that I could only believe God had caused I wouldn't be able to buy the repairs for my car until I actually went to my job to get the check, now I think you know where this is going. At this point it's been a few days since my car screwed me over so I needed a ride quick, so I installed and set up an Uber account. After searching the app I found someone who seemed to fit my needs as they were my age, drove a nice and reliable looking vehicle, and had incredible reviews. I thought I saw all I needed so I booked the drive and set up the pickup at a nearby park where I hauled my ass to with my bag. I waited anxiously on one of the benches near the road on my Uber account, I got a bit freaked out as there were errors popping up everywhere. I was supposed to be at work within the hour and I was afraid my driver would be late. I was about to just sprint to work when a car pulled up in front of me that resembled the description that was on the app. I knew it was my driver as I saw a sticker on the passenger side door that had a number, the same number that was on the profile. Something was off though as I noticed that the windows were heavily tinted at a point where I couldn't see anything at all within the car but the window was rolled down hardly a few inches, "Marcy Williams?" A woman's voice crawled through the gap. "Um yeah, you're just in time." I said. I heard the doors unlock and I instinctively got in the backseat. I sat in the seat and put my bag beside me as I buckled up, then I looked up and saw the oddest thing. There was a sort of barrier in between the back and front seats, like something you'd see in a limo to give both the driver and the passengers their privacy. I chuckled nervously, "Never seen this in a Sedan before." I said. The car jolted down the street at what felt like 70 miles an hour, I didn't even have time to put my seatbelt on. The car then slowed down as it got to the actual street, "New model." A mind melting voice said to me. It terrified me more than seeing my own death. The voice sounded like any ordinary text-to-speech text but sounded more human than any kind, the uncanniness shocking me to the core. The other thing that scared me was that the voice I heard at the moment sounded entirely different than the one that greeted me outside of it. I looked at the car handles to find a lock and handle for me to grab, but I found nothing. Anything on any part of the car door you'd normally see wasn't there to be replaced by just a smooth surface. However the window was the worst part, not only could I see absolutely nothing but I stared at a twisted version of myself in the reflection. Flesh was peeled off of me, my muscle sizzled away, and my skull disintegrated lie dust, my eyes bleeding, all with an ecstasy filled smile like none of it mattered. I shot back in my seat pounded on the limo's backseat shield, "Who the fuck are you?" I shouted as I tried unlocking the seatbelt. Instead of coming off me the seatbelts restricted me like a python but burned me like getting branded, I screamed in pain as the car then stopped. "That won't matter now." The first womanly voice I heard said. The car melted away and I was left on the fleshly ground with now membrane-like appendages held me down, I looked and saw myself in a concrete space that looked like it was meshed with muscle. "It seems you ordered Uber Eats ." The now disembodied woman's voice stated. Then suddenly a twisted and mangled body with different patches of skin hovered over me with solid black eyes, bulging miscolored veins, and patches of flesh dripping off a woman's face. A pair of mandibles punctured through her skin, the sharp appendages stuck into my throat to make me scream. I felt the life being drained out of me, "Thank you for ordering Uber Eats, we appreciate your life support." The disturbing and twisted "Human" voice spoke as it then went to the woman's voice as I fell back to pass out. The EMS found me lying in the park a week later, I had to be put on life support for four years. I'm writing still from the ICU with a respirator and a VAD. I'm not too sure how long I'll make it for so I'll give you some advice. Just buy a bike or something, it could save your life.
A man in dark sunglasses, wearing an expensive black suit and carrying a fine Italian suitcase, strode purposefully towards me. I could smell the Givenchy cologne radiating off of him before he reached me. The sun shone directly in my eyes as I stared at him, wondering where this would lead. “Hello, soldier,” he said, shaking my hand with an iron grip. I saw his freshly-cut hair and the slight bulge under his shoulder where he kept his pistol. The thought came rushing into my head, unbidden: Looks like a fed. “Good afternoon, sir,” I said, saluting him briskly. He swatted away the gesture. “You don’t need to do that,” he said. “In fact, you may be done saluting and polishing boots forever, soldier. I have a potential job offer for you, if we could speak in private.” “What’s your name?” I asked. “Agent Streicher,” he said. “And I already know yours, Sergeant Todes.” I looked into his mirrored shades, wondering what hid behind them. “I have a job for you, a real, God-honest career. You could be done with the Marines today, if you wanted.” He looked over to the administrative building, the clear glass doors opening and closing as people came and went. He looked back at me, putting his hand on my shoulder in a fatherly way. “So will you listen?” “Yes, sir,” I said, and we walked into the administrative building, the blast of cold air conditioning feeling like a drink of water after wandering around the desert all day. He found a small, unoccupied office marked “Conference Room” and motioned me inside, closing the door behind us. I sat down in the small, poorly-padded chair on one side of the wooden desk, and he took the large, leather one across from me. From my vantage point, I could still see outside. Marines passed back and forth on their way to whatever duties they needed to carry out, and support personnel came and went from the admin building and medical ward across the street. They reminded me of ants, constantly rushing forwards for the good of the hive. From far away, the lines of soldiers even looked like ants. “So,” Agent Streicher began slowly, “Sergeant Jintao Todes. We finally meet.” He said my name slowly, as if tasting its syllables, pondering what it could mean. “You certainly are an adept soldier. You graduated in the top 5% of your class from bootcamp, and your IQ test shows you are in the top 1% of the American population. You have a bachelor’s degree from UConn and also graduated at the top of your class there. Moreover, you have joint South Korean and American citizenship.” I nodded at this, unsurprised. This was a man who did his research. “You speak fluent Korean?” “Yes,” I said, nodding. “I speak Korean and English. I grew up with both of them.” “Great!” he said, clapping his hands together excitedly. “You are exactly what we need. I’m recruiting from the CIA, and we need someone experienced and competent, someone who speaks the language and understands the culture. Would this mission fit you, soldier? What do you think?” “I… don’t know,” I said truthfully. It felt like this entire encounter had come out of nowhere. It had an unreal quality to it. I couldn’t believe the CIA actually had an interest in me. “You won’t be alone,” he said quickly. “We have another, more experienced agent who would accompany you.” I just stayed quiet. He pulled out a contract, showing me a paragraph marked with a hand-written star. “This is a one-time offer, Sergeant Todes. Either you sign now, or you will never see us again.” He pointed at the marked paragraph. I grabbed the contract, spinning it around and quickly reading it. The section he had marked discussed compensation: $70,000 a year, plus hazard pay as well as potential bonuses for dangerous assignments. This was far more than my salary as a Sergeant for the Marines, which was laughably small. “OK, fine, I’m in,” I said, smiling slightly. I shakily rose from my seat, and he did the same, extending his hand. We shook, and suddenly the future seemed bright, exciting- even limitless. \*\*\* I had eighteen months of training after that, and then assumed the title of Agent Todes, an Operations Officer for “The Company”. My new partner, a gruff man with a thick Southern accent, didn’t speak much or reveal anything about his past. For my first assignment, I was told to go to a small office on the top-most floor of the building. I walked in, seeing a man standing there next to the desk, a file in hand. I looked him up and down, seeing a muscular gym rat with blue eyes, a tanned complexion and very dark hair. He didn’t smile, his stony face just observing, seemingly seeing everything. In his black suit, standing six-foot-three, he made an imposing figure. “I’m Agent Todes, sir,” I said, stepping forward to shake his hand. He quickly looked away, pretending not to notice it, and I put it down. “Yeah, I know who you are,” he said. “Cut the ‘sir’ crap. My name is Agent Hudson. Or Mark. Since we will probably be killing people together, I assume we should start on a first-name basis, right, Jintao?” A slight smile crossed his lips, a smile that didn’t reach his cold, blue eyes. He had the eyes of an executioner. A shiver ran down my spine, and I felt suddenly glad that this man was on my side. “This is our first assignment. Should be easy for a young hotshot like you.” He pushed the folder into my chest, hard. I grabbed it, and he started walking out of the room. “Where do we meet?” I asked. He didn’t even turn his head. “Six AM, a car will be sent to your apartment. After that… maybe we’ll meet in Hell, I don’t know.” He laughed at his own joke, slamming the door behind him. I pulled the rolling chair back from the desk, putting the folder down. First I went to the breakroom and made myself a cup of green tea, using lots of gyokuro leaves from Japan. Carrying the cup back to the office room, the fragrant steam rising from the cup, I thought of all the possibilities in that folder. It could be a mission to go to the rainforests of Central America, or the jungles of Cambodia, or the vast forests of Siberia. I opened to the first page, my heart beating fast in my chest. I read through the preliminary report quickly, feeling a sense of disappointment. We were to go to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, more commonly called North Korea. The orders said Mark and I would travel to a biological and chemical weapons facility near the Chinese border, find out as much information as we could, and travel back to the rendezvous point. It was fairly short on details from there, and I figured I’d find out more when the time came. I went back home, eating a big meal and getting some sleep, setting my alarm early so I could shower and shave before the CIA car whisked me away, bringing me to new and exciting places. I dreamed that night of endless tundras, and open oceans, and forests filled with wonder. \*\*\* The car showed up exactly at 6 AM. I saw Agent Hudson sitting in the passenger seat. An older man, probably in his sixties, sat behind the wheel. I had never seen him before. I got in the back seat. The smell of cologne and air freshener filled the car, a pleasant combination, like vanilla and flowers. I looked at the older man in the rearview mirror. He smiled at me, his dark eyes meeting mine. He stared at me for a long moment. “Agent Streicher recruited you, huh?” he asked, more of a statement than a question. I nodded. “He’s a good man, Streicher. He recruited me, too, all those years ago. “My name’s Al, by the way. I’m semi-retired, but I still drive for the Company,” he said, using the informal name for the CIA. A lot of people who worked for it simply called it, “The Company” or “The Agency”, assuming everyone would know exactly what agency they meant. “Nice to meet you, Al,” I said, feeling tired. I had taken a caffeine pill and some ginseng supplements just before I left, but the combination hadn’t kicked in yet. I looked up at Mark, who stared out the passenger’s side window, not speaking. “Is this your first time in the DPRK?” Al asked. I nodded. “Boy, some crazy shit goes down in that country. My dad was in the Korean War. Have you ever heard of a gwishin?” I had heard the term, but I didn’t really know anything about it. “No, I grew up in the USA. I speak Korean, my family taught it to me, but I don’t really know the urban legends,” I said. His eyes narrowed as he drove down the highway towards the military airport. “This is no urban legend,” he said cryptically. “The gwishin is real. My dad actually saw one when he was on guard duty. “He said he was alone in the watchtower. Their company had taken heavy losses; usually they had two people on guard duty, but until reinforcements arrived, he had to do it alone. He mostly just chain-smoked cigarettes and drank coffee, he said. Nothing ever really happened. Then one night, something finally did, and it wasn’t North Korea behind it. “He said he saw women walking out of the trees, each of them in a white funeral gown. They had stringy black hair covering their faces, and he couldn’t see their eyes. He didn’t even know how they saw to move forward. Their hair went all the way down past their chests, and they seemed… well, strange, inhuman even. He called out broken Korean, telling them this was a military outpost and they needed to turn around immediately. They just kept walking, going faster and faster now, their movements jerky and unnatural. He knew something was wrong, and he called for back-up, turned off the safety on his gun, and started to aim. “He called out again, telling them that he would be forced to fire if they didn’t stop immediately. They started running towards the guard tower then, a dozen of them, and as they ran, the wind blew the hair back from their faces. He saw they had skulls beneath- grinning, bloody skulls with pieces of rotted flesh still hanging off. They were barefoot, and he saw the bones in their feet from where the skin and muscle had worn away. It was eerie, how they jerked and limped at such superhuman speeds, he said. “He opened fire, but they had reached the ladder of the guard tower. He shot a few, but they kept coming, twisting their bodies unnaturally, dark blood staining their white gowns a black color. He could see straight through some of them where the bullets had torn through their arms or legs, but they seemed to feel no pain. “He started to pray, and he saw rotted, pale hands reaching up from the ladder to the guard tower. Without thinking, he jumped, a fairly long fall, he said, but he rolled and only ended up breaking three fingers and his arm and spraining his ankle. In immense pain, he tried to run as fast as he could, and then the reinforcements arrived. By the time they got to the tower, they found only trails of dark, clotted blood, and some stringy black hair still on the deck- where my father had been.” He stopped talking, taking the exit to the airport. The silence in the car seemed deafening. He pulled up to the gate, showing his identification. The security guard let the gate rise and radioed something from his post. Soon we were pulling up to the jet, and Al was waving goodbye to Agent Hudson and me. “Good luck, new-blood,” he said to me. “And remember- my story wasn’t some campfire bullshit. There actually are things in those woods and in that country that aren’t normal. And with all their biological and chemical weapons research, it may be much, much worse now.” With that, he put his window up, turning the car around and driving away, a blur of black trim and squealing tires shining under the hot summer sun. \*\*\* On the flight over to China, Agent Hudson and I discussed the plan. We would sneak in through the relatively porous Chinese-North Korean border, at the exact time when the guards were being changed. We had about a five-minute window where the departing guard would brief the arriving guard in the station watchtower before coming back out. Moreover, we would be armed with various weapons, in addition to the Glock 30 I always carried in my shoulder holster under my suit. On the plane, we had two Heckler Koch HK416 rifles, equipped with both fully automatic and semi-automatic switches. We had pre-filled magazines with dumdums, special bullets that would expand on impact and create catastrophic tissue injuries in any enemies we encountered. In addition, we had grenades, lots of round, blue M67s that would fragment and explode across an area forty-feet wide. And we had two very small guns with special needles filled with etorphine, a quick-acting opioid usually used to sedate elephants or large mammals that would instantly put down any normal human. We also had opioid-antagonists so that the person wouldn’t stop breathing after receiving etorphine. If we found any North Korean scientists or high-ranking officials and we thought we could take them out alive, we were supposed to try, using the tranquilizer gun, though this was a secondary priority. If we could get them close to the border, then a few auxiliary agents would be in place to grab the hostage from us. The North Korean border guard could be killed if the hostage was deemed valuable enough. This was all off-the-books, and if we were captured and tortured, the US would immediately deny any involvement or knowledge, and say we were lone wolves or mercenaries. Before we knew it, we were landing in China, in an airfield surrounded by lush trees. A Chinese driver who didn’t speak a lick of English was there, waiting. He took off quickly. I looked back at the sleek, metal jet, wondering if I would see it again. He dropped us off seemingly in the middle of nowhere. We were on a deserted dirt road, with deep potholes and large stones scattered all over. Next to us, a thick, dark-green forest loomed, rising up into the mountains that stood like watching giants overhead. I knew somewhere in that mountain range, the border between China and North Korea stood, and then our mission- and the killing- would begin. Though this happened two months ago, I still remember the eerie sensation that crawled over me then, as if my intuition knew of the horrors I would encounter that day. We had changed into camouflaged suits before leaving the plane. The patches on the cloth, shades of black, green and dark-green, were designed to match the flora in this region. Without hesitation, Agent Hudson began to tramp off in the woods, leaving the dirt trail behind. We didn’t talk on the walk. He checked an electronic compass in his pocket, seemingly adept at reading the bizarre, constantly-changing numbers on the screen. He would occasionally stop behind a tree, pull out the electronic compass, then slightly change paths again. Soon, I saw a small clearing with a watchtower up ahead. Looking to my left and right, from our vantage point high on the mountains, I saw more watchtowers peeking up from the North Korean terrain. They went on as far as they eye could see, spaced out in the thick forest, their tops rising above the trees like snake heads rising out of a pit. “This is the crossing point,” he whispered. “Be ready for anything.” I nodded grimly, and we walked forward. I took out my binoculars, and I saw the shape of a man on top of the tower. I was about to motion to Agent Hudson, but he had already seen it. He peered through his binoculars, frowning. “Should we cross if there’s still someone up there?” I asked. “I thought this was supposed to be the changing of the guard.” He looked at me strangely. “Look again,” he whispered. I took out my binoculars and really inspected the figure, though in the dying light of the day, it was hard to make out details. But after five or six seconds, I had seen- and realized- enough. The man, wearing a North Korean military uniform, had been crucified against the watchtower, his eyes cut out and his skin peeled off. Someone must have skinned him alive and then put the uniform back on his mutilated body. We walked forwards slowly, our HK416 rifles raised. Soon we reached the watchtower and found no one around it. We walked slowly up the stairs, making as little noise as possible, expecting an ambush. I came to the top of the tower, and found the man’s corpse, with thick nails driven through his wrists and ankles. He hung from the wall around the topmost room of the tower, his head drooping. I saw letters written behind him in Korean, thick lines of black paint: “And I looked, and beheld a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.” “That’s the Book of Revelation,” Agent Hudson started to say, when the corpse twisted violently and inhaled. The muscles on its skinned body writhed as it pulled against the nails, sending thick gouts of blood streaming down from its body. Snapping its teeth, its lipless mouth opening and closing with loud clacking sounds, it tried to lunge at me. Instinctively, I backed away, but the nails, driven deep into the thick wood, had kept the corpse attached. “Oh God,” I whispered, pulling out my pistol and pointing it at the head of the writhing body. “No!” Agent Hudson said, his voice fierce and commanding. “Don’t fire any guns unless necessary. The sound could draw attention, it could draw the whole damned North Korean military. Just leave it there. We have a mission, after all.” My head seemed to clear, and I put the pistol away. We walked back into the tower and started descending the stairs, the corpse still gnashing and snapping its teeth at the air as we left. Our plan was to go straight to the biological weapons laboratory after moving through the Chinese-North Korean border, but our plans went quickly awry when dozens of North Korean soldiers ran by in their brownish-gray uniforms. We were coming out of the watchtower, and thankfully we were far higher up in the mountains than the soldiers winding their way up the dirt road below. They only had one car, and the rest tried to run next to it. The car billowed out black smoke and gave the entire surrounding area a smell of burning and sulfur. All the soldiers I could see were extremely thin with sunken eyes and prominent cheekbones. They looked like they hadn’t seen a good meal in years- and since this was North Korea, they probably hadn’t. But they still were armed and far outnumbered us. We were supposed to use stealth to complete the mission, not raw force. A North Korean informant had given us the code to enter the biological weapons facility, and we would be entering at the slowest time of the day, when the fewest staff members were present. We would still have to kill any guards we encountered, however. “Change of plans,” Agent Hudson said, pointing to a deer trail that wound in the opposite direction of the approaching North Korean troops. “There’s a small border town nearby where we can hide temporarily, until the military clears off the road.” “There’s no other way?” I asked. He shrugged. “Not that I know of,” he said. “Our planned route follows that road. We could lay low for a couple hours, then come back and check out the area. Try not to be seen by any civilians, though. They’re all spies for the regime. These people turn in their own neighbors for an extra bowl of rice. Hell, half of them are eating snakes and rats and grass just to survive. They probably earn $1000 a year, at most. They would bring us right to the torture chamber if they caught sight of us.” “Yeah, I figured,” I said. “So, are we just not going to talk about what we saw back there?” Agent Hudson stopped suddenly, giving me a severe look. His blue eyes looked me up and down coldly. “OK, then talk about it,” he said. The statement caught me off-guard. I didn’t know how to respond to it. “Well, I mean… you have more experience than me. I was wondering what you thought,” I said. The trees around us rustled in the slight mountain breeze, the air smelling sweet and clean. I looked past Agent Hudson and could see for dozens of miles into the North Korean countryside. Quaint, small villages dotted the landscape, with dirt roads snaking their way through the thick trees. Far off in the distance, from the direction of the watchtower, we heard yelling, and from a different direction, dogs started barking. “Ah shit,” Agent Hudson said. “Let’s pick up the pace. They have tracking dogs, I think. I don’t know if they’ll pick up our scent and follow us, or whether they’ll catch the trail of whoever actually did that horrible crap- skinning the man alive and all that. But our trail is fresh, so I’m not liking our odds.” He began to speed-walk, pulling out the electronic compass and reading it as he went. From our view high up on the mountain, I could see a little town not far away. Agent Hudson did too, and he quickly pocketed the electronic compass. “OK, I know where we are,” he said. “Don’t need that anymore.” “So are you going to answer my question?” I asked. He walked fast besides me, breathing hard, a slight sheen of perspiration showing on his face. “I don’t have an answer for you, Jintao,” he said calmly. “Do you think I know everything strange and unusual we’ll encounter just because I’ve been in this job a few years? But no, I don’t know what’s going on, I’ve never seen anything like that before, and I hope, for both our sakes, that we never see it again.” “What do you think about what Al said, about biological and chemical weapons?” I said. “Do you think, maybe, they tested out some new agent, and it got out?” “I think the most likely answer is that the man we saw wasn’t actually dead. He might have looked dead when we first got there, but I’ve seen lots of people who looked dead and weren’t. Even being skinned alive, you can live for a while. Maybe he was in a stupor or a catatonic state from all the pain and shock he must have suffered. “Maybe they gave that soldier some drug or chemical agent so he wouldn’t feel pain, but it’s not like we saw Lazarus rising out of the grave. In my book, all we saw was a dying, crazed man nailed to the wall.” He stopped speaking, the dogs sounding much closer now. We had almost made it to the village. It looked fairly empty, though I saw a feral-looking, extremely skinny cat skulking around a nearby residence. As we entered the town, I realized just how dilapidated and shoddy the small houses and huts here looked. The one on the edge of the forest with the cat in the yard literally had holes in the roof, and the windows were broken and covered over with paper. No power lines ran to any of the houses. I thought to myself how cold and miserable the winters must be here, without electricity or central heating. As if on cue, an old woman came hobbling out of the house, stooping down to pet the cat. She looked tiny, no more than five-feet, and had an old-fashioned red satin dress covering her thin, shaking frame. She looked up at us with bleary eyes, the whites looking like yellowed jelly. She had a hunchbacked look, and took small, tottering steps as she leaned heavily on her wooden cane. After staring at us in surprise for a few long moments, she smiled, showing her few remaining teeth, spread out in her mouth like lone sentries scattered across a warzone. “Are you with the tour group?” she asked in Korean. I immediately answered, smiling. “Yes, we got separated, I’m afraid,” I said. She gave me a suspicious look, then she motioned for me to come inside the house. “Well, come in,” she said, “and I’ll get you food and water. Maybe we can find a way to get you back to your group.” “That’d be wonderful,” I said. Agent Hudson understood some Korean, but not much. I translated the conversation for him, and he grunted in assent. “I’m not eating any of this damn North Korean food,” he said. “It’s probably all cats and dogs. Did you know the North Korean government put up posters all around the towns, saying to eat dog-meat in the summertime because it cools you down? In reality, they just wanted free food for their people, and slaughtering wild dogs is one more way to give it.” I followed the old woman through the battered, cracked front door of the house. Inside, I saw a home that only someone in extreme poverty could love. A dirty, chipped table stood in the middle of the kitchen. A fire roared in the collapsing fireplace. Most of the bricks that composed it were either loose, fractured or missing entirely. Above the fire, I saw a black, metal pot. There was an odor of rotting wood and mold. I also smelled something strange coming from the pot, a smell almost like green tea. I walked over and looked in, inhaling deeply. In the boiling water, I saw only grass clippings and a dead snake, being cooked together for a disgusting broth. I looked up sharply at the woman, who didn’t seem to notice my revulsion. “You eat this?” I asked the old woman, who smiled wanly. “When we can catch snakes or rats to eat, we do,” she replied. “Otherwise it is just grass, and rotten cabbage from the government, along with powered milk sometimes or rice. But you can’t count on the rations coming in. They’ve been cut, and then cut again, until we feel constantly hungry.” “What’s your name?” I asked. “Hee-jin,” she said, bowing curtly. I wondered whether this woman was a friend, or a liability. I certainly didn’t want to kill her, and I also didn’t want to risk her running out to inform the authorities of our presence immediately after we left. I could see these same thoughts passing through Agent Hudson’s mind, his face turning stony as he looked down at her. “I’m Jintao, and this is Mark,” I said, purposefully not giving her our full names. Have you seen anything strange around here lately? We found a corpse in the woods that appeared to be… not fully dead.” Her eyes widened at this, and she uttered a short gasp. “We had that during the Arduous March, the famine that killed millions,” she said. “Some of the people who starved came back, and they were rabid, biting, totally insane. Nothing was left of their humanity. They were just agents of hunger, who went around eating the living.” “And what about the line, ‘And I looked, and beheld a pale horse.’ Have you ever heard that before?” I asked. She broke eye contact, looking down and to the left, hesitating for a long moment. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. In North Korea, Bibles could get you a death sentence or life in a concentration camp, so I doubted if she would have known the reference anyway. But something in her demeanor suggested that she knew more than she had said. I wondered if this was just paranoia from the stressful situation, or whether I was actually seeing it. As I relayed the conversation to Agent Hudson in full, I heard dogs barking outside and men calling orders. The heavy thud of many booted feet echoed from the dirt road through the village, and it seemed to be growing nearer by the second. Before I knew what was happening, I saw Agent Hudson take out his tranquilizer gun and shoot a dart into her stomach. She looked down, confused, then frowned. With seconds, she began to waver on her feet. “Oh,” she said, falling. Agent Hudson scooped her up in his arms as the knocks came from the front door- loud and insistent. Soldiers yelled in North Korean, stating that enemy agents had infiltrated the area and a search was underway. Agent Hudson ran to the bedroom, throwing the woman down on the threadbare mattress. I heard crashing from the front and back of the house, and heavy boots began to thud on the wooden floors. Without thinking, Agent Hudson and I took refuge in a closet in the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind us though leaving a slit to see outside. And we waited for the men to come in and discover us with guns drawn and take us to the torture chamber. #x200B; Part 2 #x200B;
I was around 8 or 9 when this happened. I went to visit my grandparents on the other side of town. They lived 5 minutes away from an elementary school and I would often walk to it to play on the playground. A young family with a daughter my age lived right next door and we would play together whenever I came over. One day we decided to take a walk after having fun at the park. We still had energy and dinner wasn't ready yet so we wandered through the neighborhood. We were laughing and picking flowers along the way when I noticed a white van. We continued our walk and before you know it, I had completely forgotten all about it. My friend had stopped to tie her shoe and I was looking around for more flowers to pick when I realized that we had gone a lot further than we ever had before. I didn't recognize the houses in front of me and it was going to get dark soon. As soon as the thought enters my mind, I see the white van rounding the corner heading towards us. My stomach sank. It was the same van from earlier but something seemed different. They stopped in the middle of the road and stared at us. I tell my friend that we need to go and I ask her if she recognizes the houses around us or the van in front of us. She doesn't. I tell her that we should probably head home and she agrees. The van then drives past us slowly and the man in the passenger seat rolls down the window. "Do you girls know where 'Apple Street' is?" We both say no and I get a good look at the van. It has a picture of a vacuum on the side and a company name i don't remember. He tells us that they are cleaning houses in the neighborhood and they can't find the street they're looking for. I know I'm not supposed to talk to strangers so I grab my friends hand and I tell the men sorry but no we don't and we keep walking. We begin our walk home and my uneasy feeling grows stronger every step of the way. We were going back the same way we came when I start to recognize the houses. We're about 10 minutes away. Then I hear it. The van coming down the street behind us. I tell my friend to grab a rock from the path because now I'm sure they're following us. I'm scared but I know that we're not too far from my grandparents house and we can get there faster if we run. So that's what we do. Picture two terrified 8 year old girls running down the street with softball sized rocks in their hands. I look back and see the van racing after us and I can hear someone yelling. It's the man driving and I hear the word directions. I stop because i'm out of breath and I think maybe thats all they wanted and I was probably just overreacting. Boy was I wrong. As soon as I stop, my friend does too. So does the van. I get a good look at the driver this time and he's explaining that all they wanted was directions. But I know that something is wrong and before I get the words out, the sliding door opens and a man in the back is coming towards us. We throw the rocks at him and run as fast as we can to my grandparents house. When we get inside we start crying our eyes out. My mom had apparently arrived while we were gone and I run to her and my grandma and tell them what happened. She runs outside yelling at my grandma to call the cops while she looks for the van. She sees it parked 2 houses down and she charges it like a bull. I had ran out after her so I'm standing there screaming. My mom is tiny but she is fierce and in momma bear mode. The van starts to pull away and I'll never forget what happened next. She jumps onto the hood of the van and starts beating on their window. They stop and she yells that she's making a citizens arrest and they need to stop their car. They act like they are going to and they slowly pull over and park. She gets off the hood and as soon as she does, they race off. Thank God she managed to remember their license plate. When the police get there, they ask us so many questions and I try to explain everything that happened from the moment I first saw the van. They run the licence plate number and it comes back as out of state. They say that I can go now and they want to speak to my mom alone. When she comes back inside, I hear her talking to my grandma in the kitchen. What she said makes my blood run cold to this day. The man who owned the car, was linked to a kidnapping out of state and had a BOLO out for his arrest. The police ended up arresting all 3 men and we had to go in to give an official statement. My friend, my mom and I picked all 3 of them out of the lineup and they were charged with the kidnapping out of state and our attempted kidnapping. I never went walking in my grandparents neighborhood after that and I still cringe when I see a white van. Thats when I realized there is a reason for the creepy white van stories after all.
When I was around 15 y/o I was very active on many Facebook art groups (where I live everyone uses it don't shame me) and I got to meet many people online who were often my age and ended up making lots of friends, they were NEVER from my city though, not even my own country, so when I finally found someone from my city I got kind of excited. This dude told me he was my age (spoilers he wasn't, he was at least 18 at the moment) and like the dumb kid I was I believed him, we talked for 2 months I think and he seemed chill, at least until he started to ask for personal info and pictures of me, and lemme tell ya I may be and idiot but I'm not stupid and never sent anything. My fb profile didn't have any but sadly my mom did have some pics of me and I tend to stand out because I'm very tall and have recognizable features). Now, before continuing I want to address the title of this story, why Ronald Mc Donald? well, he was very VERY obsessed with Ronald Mc Donald, he had pictures of him everywhere and would share mostly old photos of the suit, but at the time I thought it was a joke or a weird aesthetic and since I've always loved creepy photos I didn't think much of it, at least until he started to show his clear devotion to the clown, he would say things like Donald was his hero and wanted to meet him, something that wasn't probable since we don't have Mc Donald’s in my country. In his mission to get to know me he asked if I was interested in someone and I said no, then proceeded to ask me if I wanted to be his girlfriend, I of course said no, he kept insisting so I lied and said I wasn't interested in anyone because I already had a girlfriend (I'm bi and I was very open about it online at that time), he quickly switched from "be my gf" to "you're a sinner", and that's when I knew this dude was religious and homophobic as fuck, he even asked me if my dad or any men had done "something" to me for me to like girls more, that's where I decided to fuck off and block him everywhere I could, he tried to contact me from different accounts but the way he writes is very distinct so I blocked them too. He would be everywhere, I would join a group for artist-only and he would pop out of nowhere (he didn't do art) , if I left the group he would leave too, I would go to conventions with my cousin and he would be there (I knew how he looked because he did sent me pics), I tried to pass it as a weird coincidence but he didn't even like anime or anything about the conventions so it was really weird. This went for a good couple of years and I somehow managed to avoid a physical encounter every time, I'm guessing he could keep track on me because I was and still are very active on my city's art community, I never post about personal life or my face but the times I did say something like "Going to X place to help!" he would be there. Fast forward some years and I'm attending to an art related class, one weird dude is my classmate and I say he's weird because he would ship me with my friend who was also in the class, would ask very nsfw questions to us like we were a couple (we were both minors and he was 23) so I tried to keep distance. One day the Mc Donald guy comes to the building, I obviously fast walked to the other side of the building but apparently he was looking for the other dude and of course, they were friends. It seemed that the weird dude would talk about me and my friend with the Donald guy, who clearly knew who I was and was still trying to get to me. The classes always ended quite late and I had to wait for my mom to pick me up, I'm very calm and quite strong so I didn't fear being robbed because I already been in that situation and know how to deal with it, but the knowledge of the Donald guy knowing where I was 3 days of the week late at night gave me chills. I know I don't describe him like a dangerous guy but he has been keeping an eye on me since 2016, I was still a kid and I swear to sky daddy I saw him walking on the street one night my mom was late (she was always late but this time was at least 1 hour late) and I ran into a sandwich store that was in the opposite direction because it looked like he was approaching me. I finished the classes and worked there for a little project, no more than a few days but guess what, he was there! He didn’t enter the building but I could see him walking outside, thankfully those days my boss let me stay inside until my mom arrived so I felt more calm. I see him around the internet from time to time and I make sure to block him, at least I’m sure he doesn’t know where I live because I moved recently so that’s a little comforting. So yeah there’s a weird Christian dude obsessed with Ronald mc Donald who has been keeping an eye on me for at least 5 years now.
Spoiler alert, I’m a lesbian. I thought this was a pretty well known fact, but I guess no one had thought to tell my old neighbors. Actually, they just presumed my girlfriend was my roommate, until they caught us kissing through the kitchen window. I remember that day, and how it was pretty normal. My neighbors seemed friendly — a little too perfect white family, but still, friendly. The mother and I had both had a garden and we’d spend some time talking about how our plants were going. She always had a weird laugh, like a donkey trying to be feminine, but I ignored it. The laugh wasn’t the weirdest part. It wasn’t even five minutes after the kiss her husband was at our door. He was a bigger man, beefy, with a balding head of dark hair and thick eyebrows that seemed to move on their own accord. My girlfriend once said he looked like a Harry Potter character, I agreed. He started off with shouting at us. It was rather bizarre, since his shouting got so loud I had seen the across-the-street neighbor peek her head out to see what was wrong. It was mainly the generic stuff — God’s will, you’re going to Hell, how dare you talk to my children (their sons were eighteen and twenty-one, I thought that was one strange). My girlfriend, always the negotiator, managed to talk him down and back to his home. We went to bed silent that night, like speaking would remind us of what had just happened. I said we oughta move, the neighbors hate us. She said it didn’t matter, there would always be rude neighbors. I wish we would have moved. The series of events between that day and five months later, where we finally found refuge in my brother’s house was God awful. It started with my garden getting ripped out. My flower stems snapped and their roots showing. My carrots, which I was so proud of, upturned and smushed beneath a boot. Someone had taken a shovel and dug up clumps of dirt, just to make sure nothing else could grow. I’m not ashamed to admit I cried. When my girlfriend left for work an hour later, the d slur was carved over and over into the paint of our car. It covered nearly every inch of the left side door, and a few scattered across the right. Our headlights were smashed, they had let the air out of our tires. She called in sick. One night, at nearly four in the mourning, their oldest son stood at our door and rang the doorbell for fifteen minutes straight. He only stopped when my girlfriend opened the upstairs window and said she would call the police. He also urinated on our porch furniture. Every morning, I would take our dog out for a mile-long walk. He’s a golden retriever, so he needed the exercise. It didn’t take long for the youngest to follow after us, shouting obscenities and saying he would “fuck the gay” right out me. It got so bad my neighbor on my other side, a twenty-something gym nut, had to start walking with me. One of them taped a note on our door saying they would burn the house down, burn us for our sins. The police said there was no evidence for who it was. We stopped going to the police. Their sons filled water balloon up with urine and threw it at my house. Our dog had an outside bowl of water, and we found that it, too, had been urinated in. Another time it was rat poison, though that seemed like too big of an accusation, so we told ourselves we were wrong. I was continuously calling family members during this time — my parents thought the idea was crazy, it had to be some misunderstanding! Why, that sounds like it came straight from a movie, it couldn’t be that bad. It was the rat poison that did it for us. Even though we told ourselves it was fake, the anxiety of one of us dying had gotten too much. I called my brother in tears and he was there to help us pack by the next day. He also chewed the Neighbors from Hell out, which was the perfect way for it to end. (This is an expert taken from a series of CNF essays I wrote for a college class. Though it is completely true, it was written to be read as a story, and not as a retelling of an event. Just thought I’d make that clear!)
\-The LNM mods
Just to give some context, I'm currently in the UK and the town where I live is known for its drug scene, but it doesn't have a violent crime problem to speak of. I think that's why I found what happened so shocking, because I lived in London before and, while some messed up stuff did happen to me there, it was nowhere near on the level of what happened to me earlier this year. nbsp; My partner and I live together in our flat, which is in a relatively busy residential area. I work from home, however, and he's out of the flat quite a lot, so I guess it might look to an outside observer like I live alone. Our flat complex was once an old factory and we have these HUGE industrial windows, so people walking on the street have a pretty clear view of our dining room, which is where I work during the day. nbsp; It all started in July of this year. I'm ashamed to say that I can be a major rubber-necker and a lot of drama occurs on the road outside of our flat, so I look out of the windows often during my work day for some light entertainment. The best was a 2-hour break-up I got to watch unfold in the car just below our window, but that's beside the point. One day, I got up to make myself a cup of tea, looked out of the kitchen window, and saw this guy just staring at me. I was struck by how intense it was and how he didn't look away, even when it was obvious that I was looking back at him. I felt creeped out by it, but I tried not to let it bother me. We have a lot of drug addicts and other weird characters that hang out around here, so it didn't seem like such a big deal. I went back to work and, by the time I'd sat down at the table, he was gone. nbsp; About a week later, my partner had gone to visit his dad for the weekend, so I was excited to hunker down and catch up on some of my favourite shows alone. After about 30 minutes, the buzzer to the flat went. The buzzer is **so loud** and it scared the heck out of me. I was lucky my popcorn didn't go flying out of my hands. Now our flat complex has this big porch where teenagers and addicts love to hang out, because it provides shelter from the rain and about 4 people can sit down inside of it. Sometimes people lean up on the buzzers by accident when they're hanging out in the porch, so I assumed that was what happened. After a few seconds, however, the buzzer went again, and again, and again. Someone was pressing it in this rhythmic pattern. It's something I know my partner does when he's forgotten his keys and it's kind of our code for me to let him in, which is why I found it so disconcerting. At first, I was worried he might have missed the bus to his dad's house and had decided to come back to the flat. I was *nearly* about to buzz him straight in when I thought it would be a good idea to pick up the phone first and check who it was. As soon I as picked up the phone, the person standing near the intercom must have heard, because they said "Hello?" It was definitely not my partner. I asked who it was and why they were buzzing the flat so late at night, but all they said was "Can you let me in?" I asked them why they wanted to come in and they said "You invited me, remember?" While they were talking, they kept kind of laughing under their breath, and the whole exchange put me on edge. I told them I had no idea who they were and just hung up. I was half-expecting them to start pressing the buzzer again, but they didn't. After a few minutes, I crept out of the flat to have a look at who was in the porch, but they were long gone. nbsp; My partner has to get up early for work, whereas I'm more of a night owl. Most nights, I'm up until around 2am or 3am working on my laptop while he's asleep. A few nights after the intercom incident, I was on my laptop watching YouTube videos and I realised that we'd forgotten to take the trash out. This happens **a lot** and it's not uncommon for me to take the trash out at around 1am/2am. At least, it wasn't until all this happened. I put my slippers on, grabbed the bag of trash, and took it out to the curb outside the flat's main entrance. When I looked across the street, there was this guy standing on the opposite street corner. He was watching me, and his eyes followed me all the way from the front door to the curb. I noticed he was smoking, so I assumed he lived in one of the houses across the street. I remember even thinking "Wouldn't it be creepy if he tried to come over here?" As I put the trash bag down, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up and saw him walking in a straight line across the road towards me, with his eyes fixed on me the entire time. I don't know how to describe it, but the look on his face filled me with this instinctive sense of dread. It felt like someone had just turned my stomach inside out. I pulled my keys out of my hoody pocket, turned around, and **ran** to the front door. I've never felt that kind of fear before and it was like my body was compelling me to get as far away from this man as possible. I got into the building, slammed the door behind me, and rushed to my flat without looking back. I didn't want to know whether he'd followed me or not. I told my partner about the whole thing the next day and how shook up I was. We agreed that we'd be more proactive with the trash, and I've never taken it out late at night again. nbsp; Fast forward to the beginning of August, about two weeks after the trash incident, and I'd pretty much forgotten about all of it. I was still too scared to go out late at night on the road, but nothing weird had happened since then. I went to bed at about 2am, but I felt restless for some reason and struggled to get to sleep. By about 3am, I was contemplating whether or not to give up and go do something else, when I heard this scream. The sound cut right through me. There was something visceral about the terror in that scream. I knew it was bad, because my partner went from stone-cold asleep to being up in a shot. He asked me what it was, and I said I didn't know. I went to the window straight away and looked out. Down one of the side roads near our flat, I could see headlights, but couldn't get a clear view of the car. The screaming continued in bursts and, after a while, I could make out words. It was a women and she was saying "get out, get out" over and over again. I'm used to hearing all kinds of domestic arguments take place on the road outside of our flat, particularly since we're near to the University and several popular bars, but this was different. There was this raw fear in her voice that made the hairs on my arms stand up. I turned to my partner and said I **had** to call the police. nbsp; When they picked up and I explained what was happening, they seemed disinterested at first, but the operator's tone changed when I told them where it was. I think they must have been getting calls from all around the area about it. It was sometime during this phone call that I heard a screech of tires and the screaming stopped. The operator asked me to go to the window and describe to them what was happening. When I looked down, there was this black car sat on the road. One of the neighbours from across the road was speaking to the two guys in the car. I had to twist to get a good look at them, but one of the guys in the car looked uncannily like the guy who had been watching me when I was putting out the trash that time. At first, the conversation seemed congenial, but it took a turn when the neighbour asked them some sort of question that I couldn't hear clearly and they sped off down the road. nbsp; Within no less than 10 minutes, three police cars arrived and had blocked off the roads leading to our flat (our residential area is on a grid system). They were knocking on doors and asking to speak to all of our neighbours. I told my partner that we should go out and speak to them, since we saw a lot of what happened and my partner had had the foresight to write down the license plate of the black car. nbsp; When we went out, there were these two girls talking to one of the police officers. They were both shaking, and one of them looked as though she had been crying. I decided to stand nearby and wait for the girls to finish before speaking with the officer myself. What they said made my blood run cold. nbsp; They were from one of the houses that looked out directly onto the road where I had seen the headlights, so they had a clear view of what had happened. Like us, they had been alerted by the screaming and gone straight to the window. From what they could gather, the black car had cut off a small red car on the road (like pulled right in front of it) and that's what had caused the girl driving the red car to scream the first time. They thought it might have been some kind of misunderstanding, but then they watched as one of the guys from the black car got out, walked to the red car, and **jumped in** through the window. That's the point when the girl must have been screaming "get out, get out." There had been a struggle and the girls watching said they assumed the guy was just trying to steal the car, but then he forced the driver into the back seat and that's when he drove off. The two girls were both hysterical by this point and you could tell they felt guilty for not intervening. I could feel that same guilt seeping in to my thoughts as well. After the guy had driven off in the red car, the two men in the black car had gone the opposite way and turned the corner onto our road, but had been stopped by another neighbour. Although this neighbour had been alerted by the screaming, he hadn't actually witnessed what happened, so he had stopped the black car to ask the guys what was going on without knowing they were involved. That was the exchange we saw. When the guys started acting suspicious, he asked them if they would wait for the police to arrive, and that's the point when they drove off. nbsp; It wasn't until we got back to the flat that I started to put two and two together. I have a small red car, just like the one that the girls had described, and I normally come back at night on that day of the week, since it's the day I go to visit my parents. I had only come back early on this particular occasion because I needed to let a plumber in to do some work on the flat. What if they had been waiting for me, and they had gotten the wrong car? nbsp; Over the next few days, I contacted the police several times and checked the local news, but I never heard anything about the girl who was kidnapped. I still have no idea what happened to her. All I know is that they found her car abandoned somewhere not far from where she was taken, but she wasn't in it. It still gives me chills just thinking about it.
Hi everyone, I want to start off by saying that I posted this story a while ago but it was on a different account (one I've since deleted) and a lot has happened with this person since the first time I told the story on here. I tried to find the post but couldn't, so I'm posting it again because I am currently scared and angry over this situation. Anyway, let's get started. When I was a freshman in college in October of 2018, a guy I'll call Ron Jones stalked me. I met Ron through one of our mutual friends, Kris, because they were in a school club together. When I met Ron I thought he was kind of strange, but he was nice and seemed interesting. He claimed to be Slavic and had an accent to back that up. I just thought that he might seem weird because of cultural differences. I go to school in a rural, Southern area, and I figured the culture shock between here and wherever he was originally from was a lot to handle. Anyway, we exchanged numbers and texted infrequently for a couple of weeks. On October 3, 2018, a friend of mine and I went to a drag show on our campus. We weren't out super late, but it was dark when the show ended and we began walking back to our dorm. I'd been texting Ron a bit during the night because he was unable to get a ticket to the drag show and he wanted to know how it was. At some point in the conversation, I mentioned that I wanted to grab some orange juice on the way back to my dorm. Don't know why I mentioned that to him, I think I was just making conversation. My friend and I stopped in the convenience store near our building so I could get said orange juice, and Ron was already there. He said something about buying the juice for me, and I thanked him but declined. He got kind of mad and started to walk away, which was odd to me, but I let it go. My friend and I walked out of the store and saw that he was standing outside. Our dorm was actually right across from the building the convenience store was in, so he saw us enter the building. My friend and I parted ways and I walked up to my room, which was on the second floor of the building facing the convenience store. I kick myself for doing this now, but I went to my window, opened it, and yelled down to Ron when I saw that he was still standing there. I apologized for declining his offer to buy the juice for me because I felt like I had been rude (guilty conscience, I guess). He stood below my window started talking to me about random stuff, and at one point he said something that was... odd. He was like, "Can I flirt with you? I enjoy doing that," and I just laughed and said, "Uh, okay," because I had no clue how to respond to that and I just figured he was a flirtatious person. Stupid, I know. But that's not the dumbest thing I did: I ended up going outside to sit and talk to Ron for a little bit because I felt bad for being "rude" earlier (as if declining someone's offer to buy you something is rude... geez). While we were outside he didn't say anything of note, and he was acting pretty normal. It got cold out so he asked if we could go inside to talk, and I said sure. At this point in the year I'd had several guy friends over to my room just to do work and chat, so I didn't see an issue with it. And things started out normally. But they quickly got scary. Out of nowhere, Ron basically turned into a different person when we were alone in my room. He stopped blinking, he held eye contact super intensely, and he was laughing in this really low, creepy way. On top of that, his Slavic accent disappeared. That's when he told me he had lied about being Slavic, and that he's native to the state our college is in. He got increasingly more creepy, and there was nothing I could do about it because I had a single room my freshman year. At one point he grabbed me in a hug and wouldn't let go of me until I said "Let go of me, right now" three times or so. He told me he'd done a lot of bad things and that if I wanted to put him in jail he could give me the names of people who have evidence against him. He said he hates "Jews and black people" and everyone until they give him a reason not to hate them. He said a lot of weird, nearly sexual stuff to me as well. Like, he went on and on about how showering alone isn't fun and that it's better with another person and that he'd be willing to do that if I wanted to (keep in mind, this guy had a girlfriend and he acknowledged that). He even said he'd go after me if he weren't dating someone, which freaked me out. He asked if he could sleep in my room and I said no, and I used that to tell him that I was ready for bed and that he needed to leave. As he left, he said, "Do you want to know how unsecure the locks on your door really are?" He also pulled a few ID's out of his wallet, all with different names. I closed the door on him and looked through the peephole. He stood there, looking at the door, for an uncomfortably long time before leaving. After that he called me multiple times throughout the month, always at weird times. He started appearing everywhere I was around campus. The friend who had introduced us, Kris, actually started walking everywhere with me because he noticed Ron following me around and lurking around corners when I couldn't see him. Apparently he was around me a lot more than I realized because Kris began carrying a knife whenever we went places. Ron was everywhere, and he would come up to me and put his arm over me and whisper stuff like, "We need to talk," whenever he saw me. For a while he would lurk outside my dorm, but that stopped all of a sudden one day. I later found out that Kris had told my RA about Ron, and that he had been banned from my building. I hadn't done that myself because I thought I was overreacting... I wasn't. I blocked him on my phone and he hasn't contacted me since. He did apologize to me one day on campus last semester when we ran into each other, and I was actually willing to accept it and move on... Until recently. So, here I am two years later, and everything that happened with Ron has come back up again. I found out recently that he has a history of stalking women. Like, an extensive history going back at least five years. I met another victim of his who he stalked before coming to my university; she had gone to community college for a bit, and he stalked her while he was also a student there. He followed her to our university after apparently being suspended from the school after three separate stalking incidents were linked to him. The victim I met told me something worrying: Ron is currently an RA on our campus, and she was one of his residents. When she told the residential office that Ron had stalked her in the past, they told her all they could do was have her move dorms, which she did. They then said they couldn't do anything to discipline him because the stalking didn't occur at our university. She and I both reported our experiences with him to the residential office, who then tipped off the Campus Police, who then spoke to the Dean of Students. The thing is, though, when I gave his name to the residential office they had NO IDEA who I was talking about. He'd given me a fake first and last name, and I had to do a lot of searching to find out his real name. I knew he was sketchy when I saw the four separate ID's in his wallet, but I didn't ever think he'd given me a fake name when I met him. After talking to residential living, I talked to the police. When I talked to the police they didn't seem to care about what I had to say... Actually, the officer I spoke to talked over me while I was explaining the times he followed me and said that he'd heard all he needed to hear. I spoke to the Dean of Students, who asked me some clarifying questions about the police report he'd received... The police had mixed up several details of my story with the stories of other victims. Apparently more people than just myself and the girl I met have come forward with information about this person. There are even reports that he got physical with two separate people before coming to this university. Last week I saw him on campus. He's still an RA, even though multiple women have spoken to higher-ups about his behavior. If I hear from him, I'm issuing a no contact order to ensure that he stays away from me. Right now, though, that feels like too much of a hassle because we're all going home for a two-month break due to COVID education anyway. That's kind of it. It's anticlimactic and there's no sense of justice in all of this, but hopefully this story teaches you all to stay on your toes and not to think you're overreacting when someone is being sketchy. Stay safe out there, guys.
In the fall of 2015, I began college in a very small town in the middle of nowhere. It's population as of 2019 is 55,489. This town was in the middle of the midwestern state I lived in, in the middle of the great plains. The town was pretty much only existent because of the college. It was a state college, which has about 20,000 students a year. As you could imagine, the college brought in a plethora of faculty, business, and really put the town on the map.  I personally stuck out like a sore thumb. You see, even though I lived in the bible belt, I had been wiccan since I was 15 - I never identified with Jesus and God when I grew old enough to dissect the Christian faith.  A big aspect about my personality is that I am *very* accepting. I mention this because it, ultimately, led to some chaos later on. I'm the class-clown mom friend type, I'm sure you know the type. Goofy and caring, pretty much ride or die.  So I was in the middle of nowhere, at the beginning of my college career, and I was surrounded by strangers who were just as nervous and awkward as I was. Due to being in the middle of the bible belt, my friends \~really\~ loved my tarot card, medium, future seeing persona. Quickly, while making new friends, I ran into a few folks who wanted to learn how to read tarot. We lived in the same dorm community, they were nice, and I **love** teaching.  So that's how I ended up getting into cahoots with Alex, Davis, April, Sam, Rosie, Kaity, and Sky. They were friends from the year prior, so I was sort of folded into the friend-group as the newest shiniest object. After mentioning that I read tarot, the group was over the moon. One afternoon, in the basement of our domoritory, I had a tarot reading session for the group. It was a lazy fall day, mid-November. Surrounded by soda cans, kitkats, and our school work, I began to read each and every group members' cards.  With reading, you start to peek into a persons' soul. Each card gives you a sliver of personhood. I quite regularly have had to console people for the truth that lies within the reading. I often have had to play the role of the therapist, after the cards read people for filth. So it was unsurprising to me when the group sat in shock and curiosity, goosebumps prickling their arms. It was a normal response. Hours flew by, I did general readings, question based readings, love life readings, you name it. As the time rolled on, more of my talent slipped out. Soon I was reading palms, giving psychic advice, talking about my wiccan journey. I believe that what you take from the earth, you should give back. It is inherent to my belief system to do everything with love - to never mean any ill will.  Alex asked me if I could teach them about my belief systems. Then Kaity, then Davis. Before I knew it, everyone in the group had asked for an impromptu teaching.  Don't get this wrong, I loved teaching. But moreso, I craved this positive attention - my childhood was quite awful, I was very abused. I just wanted people who cared about me. These people were some of the first to really seem to care about me - who were really interested in what I had to say. So, with rose colored glasses, I began a fun little info sesh with my brand new friends.  I didn't see the warning signs. What started out as little meetings in the study rooms turned into hour long lectures where the group hung to every word I said. As we got closer, more of my horrific past was uncovered. I shared tales of my trauma, of all the times I should have died... of the beatings... of how my mom tried to murder me. I thought I had found my tribe, I was really excited and pleased to be around folks. I didn't start to see the warning signs until it was too late... Things went smoothly for a while, a routine of teaching the group, hanging out, having dinner, talking about normal things - like school and what was going on in the dormitory communities. Things felt pretty normal! I really liked it. One of the group members, Davis, was transitioning female to male, and he struggled a lot with his identity. He was raised in a pretty strict household, so his transition wasn't taken very well by his family. He also struggled with BPD, which made people in the group uncomfortable, I think because they didn't understand it. Keep in mind, mental health at the time wasn't really something that people were open about as it was the bible belt. So, Davis would occasionally act erratic - start fights, get worked up, cry randomly, etc. I am sure part of this was due to transitioning - I can't imagine how emotional and hard it would be to go through that. What really set things off was when Davis started doubting if he should fully transition or not. Davis had already been on testosterone for quite some time, was male presenting, but did not have top surgery yet. One day, right before spring break, Davis had worn a dress, makeup, and heels around campus. At the time I thought it was kind of strange, but I figured it was Davis' life, so it didn't matter to me. The rest of the group, however, started to obsess over this. It was very out of character, but, the group thought there was more to it. When Davis left for class, adorned in his dress and heels, Alex started speculating. There was a long, weird history between Alex, Davis, and Sky - one where Davis was sort of relationship-like flirting with both Alex and Sky, creating some animosity. Alex and Sky were best friends, but... Davis had sort of wiggled his way into both of their hearts.  Alex wasn't one to really discuss their feelings, so they pretended this love triangle didn't affect them, but Alex had become bitter. After Davis had walked out, Sky in tow, Alex began their speculation.  "What's wrong with him? Why is he acting like that? It's like I hardly know him."  Kaity, one for gossip, joined in.  "It honestly is like Davis is a completely different person. I don't know who this is, but I hate him. He's taking advantage of Sky."  The rest of the conversation began to snowball. It was a frustrating situation for those who had been in the friend group for a long time, I was pretty much indifferent - I didn't know what was going on and honestly, I thought that people were kind of making a fuss out of nothing. If you're uncomfortable with what's happening, then talk it out. I digress. I had been working on a term paper, not really minding too much about the conversation until April asked me: "do you think he could be messing around with some bad magic?" I shrugged. Davis had asked about love spells and other stuff that I don't really mess with - he was really into the idea that he could put a spell on someone and make them fall in love with him. I had told him that taking away free will is something you should never mess with. The universe doesn't do kindly to those who harm, obstruct, or take free will away from someone. April had been there when Davis asked. When Alex looked questioningly at her, April spilled the beans. Something in Alex's face contorted, as if you could see their heartbreak turn into pure rage. Alex excused themselves and that was that. I remember being a little stressed about the situation, I hated conflict back then.  I was spending spring break at Rosie's house. Her and Sam lived in the same town - Alex and Kaity would be there too. When I agreed to spend the break with them, it was before drama had started - but by the time we got to spring break, it was too late to change my plans. The whole break was spent listening to the conspiracy grow. The four of them had begun to elaborate on this "bad magic" idea. Rosie thought maybe Davis was possessed. I told them that I didn't think it was likely. I had a feeling things were starting to go awry, things felt weird. I had never been in the presence of a group of people who just... accused another of being possessed? Things were weird. When I shot down the possession idea, they mentioned the time Davis growled the week prior - we were playing a game online when Davis growled as a response. I had jokingly said he sounded like a demon. I still told them that it was nothing, but they would not let up. Realizing I was in trouble, I came up with a quick solution. I told them we could do some protection spells, so if anything was going awry... we would be ok. That seemed to appease them well enough. Luckily, they left the topic alone until we were heading back to campus.  "We need to do an exorcism on Davis" Rosie said, a wild look in her eyes.  Rosie had dabbled in paganism before she had met me, so she already had a solid set of beliefs and theories. The issue here, however, was that Rosie and Sam thought they could use their paganism as a tool to control those around them. I tried to correct this thought process, as it was against my belief system, which they seemed really receptive to... until they felt threatened. Davis had sent a text message to Rosie about some drama with Alex and Sky, sending Rosie into a spiral. Before I knew it, the narrative shifted into "Davis is possessed by the demon Lilith." I didn't know what to do. I told them that he wasn't. I said it didn't make sense. I was too late. I didn't know. I figured that if I got back to campus, took some time away from them, everyone would calm down.  So that's what I did. I tried to do as much damage control as I could on the rest of the ride, but then when I got back to the dorm, I locked myself away in my room. When asked, I just said I was behind on work from spring break. Things were quiet and I felt safe. I figured it was temporary insanity or something.  I was sat downstairs talking to April a few days after I had locked myself away. We were just chit chatting about what she had done over the break when I saw Rosie and Kaity rush past the sitting room. They were frantic. They waved at us when they ran past, but didn't say anything. A bit later, Sky ran in the same direction, crying. When he saw us, he rushed in.  "Davis said he's a demon and needed to be exorcised"  I jumped to my feet and started running toward his dorm.  Sam and Alex stood in the hallway. Their faces hardened when they saw me, Sky, and April walking up.  "you're not allowed in there, Davis is a danger to you." Sam said. "He admitted he was possessed."  "He's not possessed! Let me in there!"  We bickered for a while, until I said that if they were going to do an exorcism, they needed me in there.  Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.  Davis was laid on the bed, tied to the bed frame. He was crying. Rosie and Kaity were inside, setting things around the bed. Rosie held a tattered, old book in her hand. There was sage burning on a plate.  Kaity yelled something, but I couldn't focus. I just kept thinking that these people were fucking crazy. All I could see was Davis, crying on the bed.  "I'm so sorry, I didn't know I was possessed. I didn't know I was going to hurt you." Davis wailed, shaking. "We're going to get the demon out. You're going to be okay."  I just kept saying that he wasn't possessed, but nobody was listening to me. That's when I saw the knife.  It was bronze in color, with something dark crusted on it. It sat in a bowl from the dining hall. sat in a mix of what looked like salt and what looked like blood.  In shock, I looked over to Rosie, spotting a bloody gauze on her arm. It was like my world stopped. At this point, I had realized these people were crazy... I didn't think they were killer crazy. I had seen enough scary movies that I could only imagine what was going to happen. I grabbed the knife and cut through the cloth that tied Davis down, grabbed his wrist and bolted from the room. I called Davis' mom and told her to come get him. We went to my dorm until she got there, with me just trying to talk some sense into him. Davis went home shortly after. Rosie, Kaity, Sam, and Alex were blowing up my phone. April had come with me when I ran out with Davis. When he had gone home, she started to talk about how I needed to be careful, because if Hillary Clinton were elected president, because I was special. My mother had told me that she had to kill me, or else the government would get me. That I was special. April knew this, apparently she believed it too. I just nodded, telling her I needed to go to sleep.  After she left, I started filing paperwork to transfer schools. I moved 2 hours away, blocking everyone in groups' phone numbers. I couldn't believe everything that had happened, but looking back I started to see that the signs were there all along. The passing "you're like a witchy jesus" or blind faith in everything I said. The most memorable moment was when I told them that the sky was actually green. I was just joking around, being a sarcastic asshole, but April and Alex just nodded. When I said I was joking, April defended them, saying "well technically the sky just reflects the earth, so it kind of is green." Hindsight is 2020. I accidentally started a cult, creating a small hellhole where everyone blindly believed everything I said, and thought I was the modern day jesus.  SO, to my former cult members, let's never meet again. Also, please get help. 
This happened a long time ago, when I was about 4-5 (I'm 15 now). Looking back at the situation, I really think I should have seen the red flags about this guy, but since I was really young and stupid, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I thought he was just a kind guy. The whole thing happened in the mall, in plain sight in fronts of hundreds of people. I had gone with my mother shopping, girls' day out, you get the gist. At some point, I get lost in the mall. Typical, everyone has a story like that, right? So far no red flags at all. I remember seeing a guy with a VERY Southeastern accent. He was dressed like a junkie, but in my 5 year old mind I thought he looked fine. So, since I was a lost 5 year old girl who didn't know any better, I walked up to him and asked him for directions, if he had seen my mommy, etc. He ignored my questions and when he saw me, his eyes lit up. He immediately started showering me with compliments, some of them were even innapropriate to say to a 5 year old kid. He gave me a pink and black bracelet, and told me how well it looked on me. Of course, I was oblivious to the situation, and ignoring all the red flags. So, at some point he offers to take me to his fake private jet and fly me to an exotic island to relax and play with the dolphins, basically made it sound like a child's paradise. All I had to do was get in his car. Of course, since it sounded like a dream come true, I trusted him and almost went in his car with this creep. I kid you not, at the EXACT moment I was about to leave the mall, some dude with a uniform stopped him dead in his tracks, and asked him where he was going with a 5 year old girl (you could easily tell we weren't related, he had a dark skin tone and I was very pale, and add that he was dressed like a junkie, it probably set off an alarm in the uniform guy's head). The guy responded with his raspy Southeastern accent "this is just my daughter's kid, I'm taking her home." We were clearly not related, and so the uniform guy asked me where was my mom. I told him she was still in the mall, from that point on there was some arguing between the two men. I didn't get the most of it, but I ended up with the well dressed guy, and the junkie cursed him out. We went to the lobby of the mall and found my mom there, telling the worker behind the desk my description. She had clearly picked up by this point that I was gone. It turned out that the guy in the uniform was a security guard at the mall, and had picked up on how wrong the situation was. When my mom saw me with this guy, she picked me up and hugged me. This story is in fact very old, but I recently got reminded of it because one of my friends told me that they were planning on going to Jamaica for vacation, and the memories just came flooding back. So, security guard who noticed how wrong the situation was, thank you. To the creep that almost kidnapped me, let's never cross paths again.
This story takes place around 2009. I had just moved to South Carolina from the PNW region. A little bit of a backstory— I had just turned 21, was working a full time job in the medical field, and had absolutely no friends, since I was new to the area. One night I got bored. I decided I was going to “put myself out there”. I drove from my tiny town to Columbia, SC. It’s about a 40 minute drive, but I knew that’s where all the good clubs/bars were. I was specifically looking for gay-friendly spots. I found myself downtown looking for a club that was no longer there (though, the internet said it was). Disappointed, I talked with this lady outside a club across the street. She told me about a chill, laid back bar with karaoke in West Columbia. Sounds great I thought. She gave me directions and I headed that way. I passed by a gas station on my way to buy a soda and ask the lady if she knew whether or not I was in the right area. It appears I was. I drove about 5 or 6 blocks until I made it there. Now, I’m not the life of the party and somewhat introverted and was quite nervous my whole time there. I talked with a couple for a bit that was from the area. I ordered a margarita and smoked my cigarettes watching a Katy Perry drag show. This man walks in. About 5’9, roughly 200 lbs, dark skin, goatee, wearing a white hoodie, jeans and a red hat. He sits next to me and winks. He orders his drinks then asked me for a cigarette. Sure, I said. I asked him how he was doing and if he was from around the area. His answers were short and I’m feeling kind of awkward at this point, so I just take it as “he’s not too interested”. I turn my stool and continue watching the drag show. This is when the vibe completely changes. I feel his warm breath in my ear whispering “meet me out back by my car”. With that, he gets up and leaves. Now, I’m not very sexually experienced at that point in my life and certainly not going to blow some stranger in his car in the parking lot. He didn’t even have much to say in the first place. I stayed for about 20 more minutes. It seemed like there wasn’t much of anyone else there my age and I didn’t seem to be making headway as everyone there seemed to be with someone and I was alone. I figured that was about as much as a night out as I was having. As I’m leaving the bar and entering my car, I see headlights flash from behind me. A figure arose from the car. It’s that guy! He throws his arms up. He starts running toward me. I’m not fucking around. I put my 1992 corolla in drive and sped it on out of there. I remember all the lights were green which I thought was great, seeing as I was able to get away from that area fast. Oh no, he’s right behind me. He continues to follow me. I come up upon that gas station I was at earlier in the night. I see a cop car parked outside of it. So I pulled in and parked. Of course, dude at the bar did too. He parked right beside me. I got out and went inside to tell that police officer he followed me from the bar and I was feeling uneasy from it. He went outside and found the guy start to pull out of the parking spot. He waived him down. As a police backup car pulls in to the gas station, they walk over to get a statement. Turns out, the guy had an expired license and a warrant out for his arrest. When they frisked him, he had a hunting knife on him. I remember the disturbing look he gave me as they cuffed him. I couldn’t believe it. I left and I was completely lost, again. This time I’m distraught, so it I took me forever to get home. Had I got in the car with him, who knows what could have happened. Guy at the bar, let’s not meet again.
In high school I had the glamorous job of scooping ice cream at a local and well-known chain. I had worked there for about three years but this story occurred at the beginning of my senior year. It was possibly a Monday or Tuesday and on weeknight closing shifts there were only two people on duty: a manager and server. I was a server and my manager (who was also a girl but in her early 20's who I'll call Jen) was in the back counting the money from our shift while I was at the front of the store starting to clean in order to close soon. It was about a half hour till closing time when I noticed a really nice car pull up just in front of the store. I remember being impressed and went back to cleaning. The customer came in about 15 minutes later. He was a white man in his early 30s with brown hair and a nice smile. He sat at a table and pulled out a portfolio with papers and began writing on them. At that point I was a little irritated that he had chosen an ice cream store at 8:30pm on a Monday night to get some work done when there was a Starbucks literally next door. I continued to clean and a few minutes later he approached the counter seemingly ready to order. His body language was immediately off-putting as he leaned on the case of ice cream, getting as close to me as he could without actually climbing over the case. I got a weird feeling right away and suddenly I was very aware that I was a 5"3, 105 pound 17 year old girl alone with this man. My manager Jen was in the back office and unaware that a customer had come inside. I politely asked what I could get for him. I don't remember his exact order but it was something odd and uncommon; like a weird mixture of flavors and toppings. I turned around to make his order and felt his eyes staring into my back. I turned around slightly to get an idea of where he was standing and there he was, still leaning over the case with his forearms on top and smiling at me. He tried making small talk about ice cream, if the store was usually not busy at that point, even calling me pretty. I quickly made his weird order so my back wouldn't be turned to him and so he could hurry up and leave. I handed him his order and rung it up at the register. His total was probably between $5-$6 yet he tried to hand me a $20 bill as a tip. I told him I couldn't take that much money so instead he smiled at me and stuffed it into the tip jar on the counter. I thanked him and glanced at the kitchen where Jen was standing in the doorway. She was out of the customer's view but waved me over to come to the back. I walked away from the customer who sat back at his table with his papers. Before I could tell Jen that I was getting a weird vibe from the man, she told me she didn't feel right about him and was going to call another manager, Ryan, who lived about five minutes away. Ryan was a 6-foot tall college student so we’d feel a little more protected with him in the store. I told Jen to do that just in case and that I would try to get the customer to leave since we were a few minutes away from closing. Within those few moments Ryan came in the front door and looked the customer up, then down and went in the back to talk to Jen. At that point I think the customer put two and two together and realized that Ryan was there to keep an eye on him. With Jen and Ryan in the back watching me, the customer got up and collected his papers. He walked over to the case of ice cream and said, "Margaret?" I jumped and looked at him, wondering how the hell he knew my name. He sat a small piece of paper on top of the case, gave me one more smile and left. As soon as he walked out, Ryan locked the front door and looked at the piece of paper the customer left. Scribbled in pencil was the man's contact info - his name, cell phone number, email address, even Twitter username. We ended up calling the police who took our stories, but they said the man didn't do anything illegal but if he ever came back to call them again in case he tried something. The entire encounter was so bizarre - from his super fancy car, working on papers in an ice cream store late on a weeknight, the way he stared at me, his strange order, tipping me $20... but the most unsettling part is how he knew my name. I've had friends who have heard this story tell me that I must have had my nametag on. In fact, I regularly got in trouble for not wearing my name tag and that night was no exception. And even if I was wearing my nametag, it had my nickname on it, not my full name which somehow he knew. Not to mention the fact that I'd never seen him before in my life so he wouldn't have known me another way. My managers speculated that maybe he was a weird sugar daddy or possibly even a sex trafficker trying to scope me out. Ultimately the entire situation felt very off and I've never felt my instincts kick in like that and haven't since. I kept myself on high alert until I moved away to college. I'm 24 years old now and haven't seen him since. But every now and then I think about that man and wonder what his true intentions were. So creepy ice cream shop customer, let's never meet again.
This story happened around 4 years ago , back then I was 18 and had just graduated high school . I decided to volunteer for a month in a southern asian country before my university starts since volunteering was something I always wanted to do . I managed to find a place to volunteer at and was supposed to live for the first week with family friends then I'd start living at my work place . Thing is my work place couldn't house me due to construction and having another female volunteer coming soon , so I had to find a hostel to stay at , and that's my biggest mistake (also my dumbass wanting to smoke some weed) . I went on the internet and started looking for a hostel , sure enough I found one in the center of the city in a relatively safe area , also the hostel had many great reviews from foreigners so I thought it's safe . I visited the hostel and was greeted by J , he was the nephew of the owner and was responsible for greeting foreigners and showing them around . Jin was in his mid twenties , average looking dude , probably around 5ft8 (I am 6ft3 ,will be important later) . After I make the arrangements for my stay there and agree to come the next day , he invites me to go with him on a walk to show me around the neighborhood which I agree to . During our walk he tells me about himself , he lived in the UK for a bit , tells me about his family and asks me if I smoke . Back then I was a "cool" kid fresh out of highschool , so I ecstatically told him yes since I was trying to get some weed but didn't know how , he told he can get it for me and when I come tomorrow he will have some for me . The next day I go to the hostel and he tells me that he couldn't get it so I have to go with him in his friend's , George, tuktuk to get it , in hindsight that was a big red flag but I was a dumb kid who really wanted to smoke so I said yes . George looked like a cartoon villain , all his face features were sharp and narrow , had the little von dyche beard to go with it , basically a 5ft6 jaafar from Aladdin , I'll call him george . We all get in the tuktuk and drove to the slums of the city to meet the dealer (I think the area was called Wanathamulla , not sure) . Anyways we get the weed and they tell me we are making a stop at George's house and smoking there for a bit , fine by me , I had no reason to suspect them since they were nice and polite with me . We reach his house (still in the slums) ,it was a small room with a bed and three chairs , nothing else , no tables or decore or anything . I sat on a chair , Jin sat on my right and george sat on the bed rolling out some joints for us . We start smoking and talking , they started asking me about why I'm here , how old am I and stuff like that . Suddenly it started becoming a bit too personal , asking me what my parents do for a living , how much they make , and the one that really caught my attention "who are the people you live with (family friend) and do they know where you are and are they gonna worry about you if you don't call soon or something" . I was stones then but the moment they said that I started sobering up and realizing that I'm in a messed up situation , I told them that I'm supposed to call them in a few hours and that they knew which hostel in staying at . Suddenly another guy came and just stood at the doorway completely blocking it , he was my height but much bigger in size than me , I was trapped between them and had nowhere to go . Luckily they couldn't do anything to me yet since I told them I'm supposed to make a phone call to the family friends . Starting to get nervous I tell them that I'm too baked and can't even move or smoke so kept passing up on my turn to smoke , I just lay there acting as if I'm high off my mind . They started speaking in their language but it was clear to me they were speaking about me , Jin told them about all the electronics I had and that I paid my full stay in cash . Now George God bless his soul thought I wasn't aware of my surroundings , so in perfect English (Jin told me he doesn't speak English) started mocking me , kept saying nice phone , and asking me if I know how to swim , I just looked at him and smiled and told them it's time to go because I was tired . We walked out and I told them I needed to go to the market real fast and if they needed anything , they kept telling me that they'll get me whatever I wanted themselves but I insisted that I wanted to go and that they should send one of them with me , they sent the big guy . Now the market was across the street from a bus station and the buses don't stop at the station , they just slow down and you hop in and hop out , so no was my chance . I waited until I saw a bus approaching , sprinted like my life depended on it (it did) and hopped in , they were screaming at me to come back and started running after the bus . The moment the bus reached the neighborhood of the family friends I just hopped out and walked around the neighborhood (I had another let's not meet encounter but that's a story for another time) until morning came . Morning I went to work and told them that a tutuk tried to kidnap me (minus the weird part) ,so they escorted me to the hostel where I took my belongings and work allowed me to stay with them . When I told my family friends about what happened , they told me it's a common scam here and that they were planning to steal my belongings and dump me in the river when we left the house , that's why they asked if I knew how to swim and if someone was expecting me . So Jin and george let's never meet again
This is a convoluted story, so bare with me as I try to convey everything I can recall about what led me to the conclusion that my ex housemate could have potentially been a serial killer, or serial killer in the making... It was the summer of 2015 when I moved in, and at first appearances my housemate/landlord Mike was somewhat normal, if not a bit socially awkward and dysfunctional. When I was signing the papers he was adamant that I should never go into the basement; which I thought was odd, but I really needed a place to stay, and, well, people have their little quirks, so I just chalked it up to that at the time. As I got to know Mike, and our cohabitation continued, I learned more about the depths of his dysfunction... firstly that he used Meth; now I don't automatically judge people based on vices, but I was surprised at the extent of his use. He was probably the first person I knew who used Meth and balanced a full time job, enjoyed a decent amount of success... The reason this is important to the story is that when he would be around the house, drinking and using Meth, he would start to run off at the mouth. He would often "joke" that if I smelled Lye coming from the basement, not to think anything of it. I think it was probably the third time he said this that I asked why he keeps saying that, and he said "I use chemicals to clean up after the bodies" with a wiley grin on his face. I tried to chalk that up to a bad sense of humor, but it didn't sit right with me. He was also very particular that I let him know of my coming and going, and my work schedule... I remember him being shocked and uncomfortable one day that I ended up taking off of work, because he didn't realize that I was home. I remember that day because there was a lot of clanging, and what sounded like muffled shouting coming from the basement, his car was in the driveway, but he was not in the main house or his bedroom. Other days he would play very loud music that bumped through the whole house, sometimes he would even play NPR talk radio at those volumes... in retrospect I think he may have been trying to mask sounds. He would make remarks about sex workers, saying "You can do whatever you want, you can choke them or beat them to death and nobody cares"-- I took exception to this, I told him I thought that was messed up... but when he would get tweaking, he'd always come back around to alluding to the same kind of violence, talking about how he was a normal white guy who owned a house and had a good career, so the police would never suspect him. At this point, I start to think that it has gone too far to simply be a joke. I was in a weird position, because money was tight at the time and my options were few. I tried to convince myself that even if he is messed up, he is probably just engaging in outward fantasism... I knew that he would acquire the services of sex workers on occasion, but again, did not judge that activity at face value, but started becoming concerned... Then, at one point when I was doing laundry; I caught whiffs of decomposition... The house we were in was in SouthEast Portland, it was relatively new, having grown up in Upstate, NY, I know that animals can be trapped in walls and die, but this was the garage, and there was no animals scurrying in the walls... This was strange, and telling to me. I considered carefully what I would do, and decided I would confront him about the smell... I decided to poise the question in a somewhat suggestive way, by expanding on his "jokes"-- I told him that he needs to do a better job cleaning up the bodies because I smelled decomposition from the garage. I will never forget his reaction, his eyes widened, and he shot me a sharp glare... somewhere between fear and anger... he stumbled over his words and eventually responded "What? Really?" I said yes, really.. and there was a few seconds of awkwardness before he said "Thanks for letting me know" and promptly went into his bedroom and shut the door. a few days after that he went into the upper crawlspace in the garage, while I was again doing laundry... he called for me and was trying to convince me to come up into the crawlspace... my body locked up and it was like my instincts were screaming at me that if I went up there I would not come back down, I gave some excuse that I can sparsely remember that I had to be someplace, packed up my laundry, threw it in my room, and left. He spent a lot of time in the padlocked basement without a doorknob, the only way in was thru the backyard, I wish I would have gone down there in retrospect, to either confirm or dismiss the suspicions once and for all. In the last couple months I had lived there I was privy to more graphic comments about women, and sex workers, explicit talk of sexual violence, and he was using more and more... He once showed me a video he made (he is a graphic designer and artist as well) which featured heavy bondage themes, interspersed with distorted audio of women screaming, and this strange leering figure in a Plague Doctor costume... It was one of those situations where any one of these things alone may be innocuous, but as they accumulated it became suspicious to me. It was October of 2016 that I left there, taking off to Oceti Oyate camp during the Anti-Pipeline protests with Standing Rock Lakota... A mix of feeling called to action and having nothing to lose, as I wanted to get out of that house in the worst way. My last night there (I did not give notice that I was leaving) he was drinking and tweaking again... started in on the same conversation, loosely describing murder and sexual violence in the tone of some sort of edgy joke ... I told him he would be caught eventually, not even holding back my suspicion anymore... He reiterated that he was the last person police would suspect, and asserted that they wouldn't catch him. He said this in a very serious and concise way, dropping the pretense he had been using before. I left the next morning... This haunted me for months, then a year, then a year and a half... I felt as though I hadn't done anything, the guilt was eating away at me, so I called Portland Crime Stoppers, and put in an anonymous tip describing what I had described here... When I did, the operator started going back and forth putting me on hold because the call had piqued the interest of the police Sgt who was assigned to the call center, so they were asking me detailed questions about his vehicle, his house, the methods he described, etc... it seemed like they took interest. I gave them as much information as I could remember, and left it at that, feeling just a little better that I had at least tried to do something about it... Fast forward to recent times, I told my mother about all of this, and she became interested, asking what house this was, and she ended up pulling it up on GMaps, she put up the street view, and I noticed that there was a large enclosed trailer in the driveway that wasn't there when I was, I could theorize why it might have been there, but cannot put together a practical reason for it, or why he'd be using it, unless he was moving or using it to haul things to discard. Admittedly that is pure conjecture, but I couldn't help but wonder... I doubt that I will get closure, or have my suspicions validated unless he does finally get caught and arrested, and I read about it. I have grown up poor, and been around the low-life a lot. I have interacted with many sketchy and unsavory people in my time, but none of them have ever made the impression that Mike made on me. Make of it what you will, but I hope I never meet him again. (Edit: fixed a typo and redundant sentence) (Edit 2: You are entitled to your opinion, you are entitled to think that I am over-reacting, or that I didn't do enough, but I'm not going to accept these insults and verbal abuse, if that's how you approach me I am just gonna downvote and block you. Please keep it respectful.)
This story involves someone who was by proxy close to my family, whose relative is still close with us to this day, so I made a new account and am posting from a different IP. This all happened a long time ago, in 1994. I was only 8 years old, and my world view was as narrow as you'd expect any child's to be. Aside from this memory I am about to share, that year was marked by a nail biting series of penalty kicks that ended in a nervous Roberto Baggio (aka the savior of Italy) kicking the final shot over and above the net in a crushing defeat to Italy and his own career. For the remainder of the year I was glued to my Game Boy playing World Cup USA 94 trying to recreate the game with a better ending for Baggio. Of course, the graphics were bleeding edge at the time. We had just moved from my childhood home in a bad part of town to a new home in suburbia. My dad's small business had finally started making money after 3 years of losing money, and my parents wanted to give us kids some space to stretch out and play. At the time I only had an older sister (11). I was convinced the new house was haunted, but kinda thought that was cool. The house sat on 3 acres of land, bordered by woods and was pretty far tucked back from the rest of the neighborhood. My parents wanted to double the house in size and add a nice kitchen for my mom who enjoys cooking for guests. They went through the motions of getting the addition permitted, and tried to find a contractor but didn't like anyone they met. Then an employee of my father recommended her brother, Steve, who was a young contractor (early 30s) who just got his license and was hungry for work. It was summertime and my sister and I didn't have school, so my parents would leave her to watch me while they were at work. Twice a week my grandma came to pick up my sister for dance lessons. I would only be alone for 90 minutes or so, and I was good about keeping myself occupied, so nobody ever thought it was a problem. On the days that we were together, Steve began work on the house, and aside from the occasional hello, he would come and work a little at a time. It started off well, with a solid few weeks of work, but then he started coming less and less. The times he did show up, he'd spend 10% of the time working, and the rest of the time split between dancing around with headphones in, and jumping on my trampoline. Yea, he danced a lot, I didn't really understand why an adult was dancing so much while he was supposed to be working, but that also didn't really bother me since my sister was a dancer. But my trampoline... that thing was my pride and joy, I had to vacuum the house and rake leaves for months to save up the $240 to be able to afford that thing, and there he was, wearing his heavy steel-toed boots while he jumped haphazardly. I wasn't the type to start conflict so I begrudgingly let it slide. One day though after he spent a longer than average jumping session on it, I went outside to inspect and found a massive tear on the edge of the trampoline, and that was that. Little HighUpSam had enough of Steve's boots. I finally complained to my parents that he ripped my trampoline and then it all came out - he only came for a few hours, a couple of times a week, and mostly just hung out and danced and played on the trampoline while my sister and I sat in the back room. I didn't understand fully what all this meant, but I remember my parents calling him to yell at him. As they yelled I felt a wave of guilt wash over me, I knew it was hard work, and my favorite thing about the trampoline was that it was big enough for everyone to share it. I didn't want to be a jerk, so the next time he came over I approached him to try to apologize. I had practiced what I was going to say. I was going to tell him I was sorry that I told on him, but I worked hard to buy the trampoline with my own money, and he could still use it, if only he would please take off his boots before jumping on it. As I approached him though he threw his hammer on the ground, pointed at me and started screaming at me loudly. I don't remember what he said, I was so shocked and definitely didn't expect that reaction, so I ran away and my sister, who had heard the yelling and saw me running back, called my parents. Later that night my parents let us know that they fired Steve, and that he wouldn't be coming back. They were on the search for a new contractor to replace him. That next week, my sister and I would hear a car pulling up, idling a bit, and then pulling away. We looked out every time and it was Steve's red truck. It didn't seem strange for some reason, maybe he was finalizing some plans to hand over the job to the next guy? A child's mind is something else... One day my grandma came to pick up my sister for dance, and minutes after they pulled away, I had my nose buried in World Cup USA 94. I was 30 seconds in to my latest Italy v Brazil match when I heard the rhythmic crunching of leaves outside my window. They stopped. Remember, I thought the house was haunted, so in my mind it was a ghost, or a skeleton, or some possessed doll. I freaked out and lay frozen in my bed. Then I heard sounds on the window frame, like something clawing to get a grip on the handle, and trying to open them. Then the crunching footsteps started again and moved to my other window, followed by the same scratching sounds. At this point, I put the game boy down and ran out of my room and into the living room - which connects to the foyer. As I was running, I saw a figure move across the front windows, and realized it was Steve. PHEW. Not a possessed doll! He smiled at me and tapped on the glass, and said, "Hi Sam, can you and me just talk? I feel bad about what I did." I stared at him for a second, not quite sure what to do, and starting to feel uneasy. He followed with, "Come on, just let me in for a second, I want to make this right" Something felt off. His eyes seemed... off. His smile seemed... off. So I replied, "I'm not allowed to let you in, I'm sorry" And just like that ::snap:: a switch flipped in his head and he started pounding on the window angrily. "DON'T PLAY GAMES, YOU BETTER LET ME IN RIGHT NOW!" His face turned red. His eyes went wide. It almost seemed like he was drooling. Confused, I turned and ran back into my room and locked the door. "HEY! IF YOU DON'T OPEN THE DOOR IM GOING TO BREAK THIS WINDOW! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" I screamed that I was calling the police and telling them that he was here. A bluff... everyone had a cordless phone in their room except for me. But I didn't know what else to say. And just like that, I heard him pound on the glass one last time before hearing his truck drive out the driveway. Shaken, I left my room and called my mom. A few days later, she told me that he would no longer be bothering me. I thought she had done her mom thing and gave him a stern talking to. My mom was terrifying, a short Italian woman who spit fireballs (and wasn't afraid to hit you with a wooden spoon), so that seemed the obvious conclusion. When I was 19 and home from college one night I asked my parents what ever happened with him. They told me according to his sister (their employee) he had fallen down a drug spiral (likely meth) and lost control. A few days after the incident at our house, he had been accused of assaulting another young boy and the police found incriminating photos. He jumped off of a local bridge and ended his own life before he could be arrested. Thats when it all hit me. My memory as a child was horribly skewed. He was not just trying to talk to me, and wasn't mad at me for not letting him in. Looking back as an adult, it was clear that Steve had some issues he was working through. Being gay in the 90s must have not been easy, and it makes me sad to think about what kind of person he might have been if society had accepted him. But what he did to the other boy is absolutely unacceptable, and there is no way that can be justified no matter how he might have tried to. It might've been me that day. I was lucky to have dodged him.
When I was 13 I broke my leg in a nasty bicycle accident. I ended up in a plaster cast from my hip to my ankle for 8 weeks. As it was coming up to Christmas, my younger brother wanted to go to the theatre to see the Christmas show. I was 13.. moody and accompanied by a bright pink cast everywhere I went. I was not feeling it. My dad, never one for going to the theatre offered to take me to Pizza Hut instead. It was a rare opportunity to spend time with my dad, who was often working very long hours. He worked as a police officer, which at the time, I didn’t really take an interest in what he did... We had a great evening at Pizza Hut and we got back into the car to go home with full bellies and some left over pizza. I remember babbling away to my dad as I had been the whole night, enthralled I had my dads undivided attention. After a while I noticed he wasn’t really responding anymore. We were fairly near home but still on main roads before we turned off towards our housing estate. At first I thought he’d just lost interest but I glanced across and noticed he was permanently looking in the rear view mirror. I asked him what was up and he said, “the car behind us has followed us all the way from Pizza Hut”. I glanced behind and commented that we were still on main roads, I couldn’t see that this was an unusual route for this guy to take. He said I need to see whether he is, I don’t want to lead this guy to our house. I rolled my eyes, my dad was always paranoid about stuff like that... we couldn’t even tell friends we were going on holiday because he was convinced the house would be broken into while we were away! We were coming up to a residential area before ours that I knew from doing a newspaper round. I suggested the street coming up on the left, as it looped around in a horse shoe shape through a housing estate and brings you back out on the same main road we were on, just further up. Nobody would take this road to come out onto the main road again. My dad turned off... and so did the car. I will never forget that feeling, that sinking feeling as I watched the car sharply turn behind ours. The car placed its full beams on. I let out a gasp and looked to my dad. He’d gone into work mode. He had completely shut me out. He accelerated down the street and as we came to the main road I saw there were many cars still on the main road. He pulled straight out on to the main road, meaning the car coming on the main road needed to brake sharply and held down their horn at us. I kept my eyes on the road ahead breathing deeply as my dad weaved in and out of lanes. A part of me was completely terrified and a part of me was still convinced this was not really happening.. that he had exaggerated or mistaken this. He wasn’t really following us. I dared to look in the side mirror and saw it was a different car behind us. I felt myself relax a little. We turned left at the coming roundabout, giving very little room to anyone and a few moments of holding my breath thinking we were going to hear the sound of metal on metal. The street we had turned on to was slighter quieter than the road previous. I slowly glanced into the side mirror, it was still a different car behind us. I sighed relief and thought this had really been my dads imagination. Suddenly, the rear view mirror became completely illuminated again and I awkwardly turned in my seat to see a car pull out sharply from behind the car behind us and pull in quickly behind ours again. I looked to my dad again. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and told me to call someone in particular in his Phone and put it on speaker. My hands were shaking, I could barely press the buttons. A cheerful voice answered and before he could say anything else my dad quickly summarised what had happened. There was a pause and I could here voices speaking in the background, radios, beeping and answering through radios. My dad barked at me to keep naming the streets we were on to the guy on the phone as my dad randomly turned down streets, trying to keep to main roads. I’m randomly calling names and trying to remember to say the direction we were heading.. The car was so close behind us and completely blinding any view behind us. All I could think was please don’t hit us, if we crash I cannot run. What the hell can i do? My leg had only just been plastered. I knew I stood no chance. I suddenly wondered if they were getting close enough to take a shot at us? This for me was unthinkable.. It was in England.. that is not the norm..! Why the hell would someone want to shoot us! We continued to weave down streets and random turns as I was tossed around the front seat clutching on to the mobile in my trembling hands. The voice on the phone shouted, turn into the Tesco car park that’s coming up on the left we have three response vehicles coming from the other direction. My dad sharply turned into the car park, skipping the red light, I shut my eyes.. again waiting for the sound of metal on metal. As we swung into the near empty car park, the car behind us in close pursuit.. blue lights surrounded our car from what felt like all directions. The sound of sirens was deafening. My dad got straight out of the car and ran behind the car.. I screamed still thinking someone could have had a gun and tried to look over my shoulder to see when my door swung open and a police officer was crouching into the car to help me get me out. My arms were completely jelly I could not even use the crutches to help me stand. Another police officer came and between them they helped me as I hopped to the back of the police car. They were kind and tried to distract me as I was trying to see what was going on and where my dad was. I couldn’t really see from my angle and I also couldn’t turn properly due to my leg. They did their best to reassure me and one had clearly just been through the nearby McDonald’s drive through offered me his tea. I just sobbed. Begging them to tell me what was going on. My dad after some time came over to the car and told them to take me home, he had checked and my mum was back home with my brother. As the police car turned around in the car park back towards the entrance we could see the police surrounding the vehicle and three men in what looked to be their late twenties were handcuffed leaning over the car whilst a sniffer dog and two police officers were taking things out of the car... one of which was a baseball bat. When my dad got home later that night I asked him what it was about.. who the hell were those men and why were they following us? He was very reluctant to tell me anything. He did admit, it was because of him that they were following us. He explained that he was in a drugs team that dealt with (how I understand this as an adult) the interception of large shipments of drugs that were being transferred across the country and sometimes.. people lost a lot of money when they were caught. I just stared at him.. I had no idea what to say... he just shrugged and said.. “sometimes... people get upset about that...” Dear the drug lords whom my father took your drugs or money from.. I’d rather not meet 😳
This happened in college, maybe seven years ago. At the time I was living with one of my best friends, and we were very into the bar scene and partying and such. We lived in a city that was very much inundated with college kids, so it was never hard to find a party, and I am ashamed to admit it but probably every other night I was out partying my ass off. So this story starts on a night very much like every other, she and I got all dressed up and went on a bar crawl. We ended up at this club, it was one of the more popular ones in the area, and we meet up with my ex roommate. The three of us are having a great night, but periodically we all were interacting with this one guy. None of us remember his name, but he seemed normal enough, just... around. He sat next to us on the smoking porch and bummed a cig from me, he bought my friend a drink, he was dancing next to us, we even all had a little flippant conversation together, although I can’t for the life of me remember what it was about. But he was there, in the periphery, all night. Around 1AM the three of us decide that we’re drunk enough and done dancing, and my ex roommate invites me and the bestie to her place to smoke some weed. None of us have cars at this point, but it’s a nice night and she only lives a couple of miles away, so we start walking. The downtown streets quickly turn into a semi-residential/semi-warehouse district area. Not the best part of town, or the most populated, but not a bad area by any means and usually the streets are fully empty. We’re maybe about halfway to the house when we notice there’s someone behind us trailing along and getting closer. We really don’t think anything of it until we pause to light up some cigarettes and he catches up and we realize it’s the guy who’d been hanging around us at the bar. He’s kind of stumbly, clearly drunk, and he greets us like old friends. We don’t want to be rude, but it strikes all of us as kind of weird that he’s there to begin with. But we shrug it off cuz he’s drunk and seemingly harmless. I should say right here he’s a real scrawny guy, on the taller side but thin with a baby face and big big eyes. He just looks generally harmless and drunk. He asks if he can bum a smoke and walk with us until he gets where he’s going, which isn’t far, he’s just pretty drunk and not sure he’ll make it, and he’s clearly very unsteady in his feet so we say sure, why not. So we’re walking and chatting and we’re getting closer to our destination, but he doesn’t make any indication of where he’s going. So finally I ask him, “Where do you live anyway?” And he gives me this funny look, like I’d asked something really stupid and he says, “Oh, I don’t live anywhere near here.” This kind of creeps us all out and we sort of stop where we are, and I’m like “Okay well then where are you going?” And he goes, “Oh, I’m following you.” At this point I think there’s been maybe like a misunderstanding in his mind so I respond with something along the lines of, “Okay well no offense but we don’t even know your name, you’re not coming with us.” And he gets this look, like hurt but also angry and a little manic and he gets kind of loud and he says “But I told you ALL my name! I told each of you my name! How do NONE of you remember my name??” At this point my ex roomie steps in and goes, “Look man, I know you’re drunk but you need to calm down.” And the guy stops and gets real calm real fast, and he gets this really serious look and he says, “No, no I’m not drunk. I’m fine. I just knew you’d trust me more if you thought I was drunk.” At that point I’m like fuck NO I’m out, but my roomie doesn’t believe him and she says something like, “No you’ve been stumbling this whole time of COURSE you’re drunk.” And he shakes his head and in a completely calm tone, with no slurring whatsoever he goes, “No I’m sober. I just wanted to see if you’d let me in the house.” And my friend goes, “Why?” And the guy gets this HUGE smile, and his big eyes get even wider and he says, “I just wanted to see how close I could get to killing you.” At that point I’d had enough and I put on my authority voice and I tell him that that is enough and that we’re leaving and he needs to go the other fucking direction before I call the cops. He just shrugs and says, “Fine.” And we scurry away and leave him leaning up against a stop sign, just smoking a cig and watching us go. As soon as we round the corner we all break into a dead sprint and run for a few blocks, then stop and freak out. We’re in the middle of a panic whisper huddle, when my friend looks over my shoulder and lets out this little scream. We turn around, and there he is. It’s dark so we can’t really see his face, just his silhouette against the street lamps, but that was enough to know it was definitely him. He’s striding down the road a few blocks down, hands in his pockets, not a TRACE of a stumble, and he’s not exactly running but he’s walking at this real brisk pace, and he’d be on us in less than a minute. Luckily, we’re only about a block away from my friend’s place, so we start booking it there. We’re almost at the front door when I realize, SHIT, we don’t want him to know where we’re going, not the three of us alone. That seems dangerous as hell. Fortune shines on us, as up the block I can see the tell-tale signs of a garage party, and we book it over there instead. We come up to the lawn and there’s a bunch of dudes out front and we’re breathlessly trying to explain ourselves, but when we turn around to point out the guy, he’s no where to be seen. The partiers sympathize and let us hang for a few hours and a few of them even walked us back to the house. Thankfully we never saw the dude again, and needless to say my friends and I lost our taste for partying for quite awhile after that. Drunk/not drunk dude, let’s not meet again.
I was on a date in Camden with a girl who from photos I wasnt overly excited about but in the flesh made my eyebrows shoot off my head. She was really pretty and smart and funny. We had quite a few cocktails in I think it was the blues kitchen before going to the gay bar in Camden which has since closed down. Think it was called The Black Cap. The date is going well and we meet these people who join our table and the guy tells me at the bar my date said she wanted me to kiss her. I did and it turned out that guy was just helping us out by moving things along. My date was really shocked and told me I was bold but she liked it. She came back to my hotel room with me, which was a ten minute walk away. The room was kind of small but cool and space age in style. We were both drunk and made out a lot. The she started crying about problems she was having with a friend who was really sick and her job was really stressful. Full on sobbing. She left in embarrassment even though I was worried about her leaving like that but she said she would be OK. As she left I saw a large man in a black thick leather jacket in the corridor. He was staring at my date as she left and then stared at me as I closed the door. I was pretty wasted so after checking my date got on a bus I had a nap and was woken up by banging on the door. I ignored it but then it kept going so I got up and staggered to the door and opened it a crack. I recognised the leather elbow and arm as the door was shoved open violently. I was drunk and the jolt of the door caused me to fall over. Luckily the room entrance was small and around the width of the door so my back was against the wall by the door while my feet touched the other wall. My body kept the door closed as this man kept shoving against the door. I managed to get it closed again, locked it and went to sleep as I was still drunk. When I woke up in the morning I thought I had dreamt the man and the door. But when I looked down at the side of my ribs, hips and thigh I had dark bruises. I was really lucky and I am so glad that room was tight on space because if it hadnt been that guy would have got in pretty easily. So creepy leather clad man who tried to break into my hotel room, lets not meet. Edit just wanted to add I am female. Average height, average body weight. Really fucking weedy arms.
# Today is a very special day- it's /r/LetsNotMeet’s 9th birthday! To celebrate 9 years of truly horrifying encounters, the mod team has put together a thread of some of the top stories that have been posted to LNM over the years. I’d like to add an extra shoutout and thank you to /u/federalplague and /u/avidtraveller123, whose excellent post compilations of the scariest LNM stories were consulted for a portion of this list. These are some of the top stories on LNM, from the very beginning to now! Please enjoy reading through our little timeline of /r/LetsNotMeet. :) We would also like to extend a special thank you to all of you who have shared your stories and come together as a part of the LNM community over the years. We wouldn’t still be here without all of you, so please enjoy some of the stories that have graced the front page of /u/LetsNotMeet over the years. Now, without further ado, onto the list! # /u/LetsNotMeet 9th Birthday Post Compilation*: (\*List is arranged by most recent to oldest, by year.) ^(\*As a reminder, as the OP is no longer active on that account,) /u/blue_tidal ^(has stated that they do not endorse fan videos or narrations of their story and do not wish for people to use their story for profit (i.e. monetization or merchandizing.) # LNM 9th Bithday Banner Contest: One Week to Go! Friendly reminder that there is about **one week left** to submit an entry for the LNM 9th Birthday banner contest!
So I recently heard about this thread and thought I’d share something that has always stuck with my friend and I. I worked at a beauty store in Texas that sold hair, makeup or nail related. I had a lot of regulars so the fact that I saw the same person over and over was nothing new but I did have one hairdresser that always struck up a conversation every time he was coming to “stock up”. The first couple times he’d have me follow him around and asked my opinion(he really did “stock up” as the saying goes) but that term became a misnomer after he started only talking about my hair. I naturally have very huge loose curls and it upset him that I wasn’t treating it right. He only even said he was “amazing with natural curls” but he never actually gave advice. I was 19 and didn’t realize that that really is a weird thing to do. Soon the visits were only conversations and constantly asking me to let him do my hair for free and trying to entice me so I finally just took him up on the offer. I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was but I at least knew to not go alone nor tell him I was bringing someone. I have never been good at reading situations so I would slightly switch up on people to see any micro expressions that hint to a ulterior motive if I don’t have a good feeling. He immediately switched the meeting place as we drove there from his “salon” to his house and ignoring my stabbing gut feeling I just kept going. I remember really not wanting to go in once we arrived. When he got to the door his eyes instantly went to my friend and as I thought he looked irritated and I was going to use that as a way to head out but I didn’t even think of a scenario where he would take to her hair as well. I instantly was only trying to find a natural way out as he’s greeting us in. He asked us to brush our hair and I noticed in my peripheral that he was adding something to our drinks when he thought we were focused on getting my brush. My friend was actually texting me on her phone so I could make something up while I reached for the brush. I set the brush down to check my text when it vibrated. He immediately tried to make us uncomfortable if we didn’t take the drinks but didn’t realize he was staring at my hair in a trancelike state. I instantly put my phone to my ear and held up a finger to his face that was closing in, now holding my hair. I started acting panicked and my friend knew instantly that it meant “time to go”. I didn’t even reply to any question he fired. I just kept up this fake conversation with my “mom” asking “is dad ok? Are you ok? I’m leaving right now just tell me where.” By the time all of that was uttered we were out the door briskly walking down the hall to the elevator and his door stayed cracked until the ding of the elevator when he immediately slammed the door so hard we felt the vibrations. I didn’t feel safe till we were in the car and driving on hwy 121. We rode in stunned silence till I got to her house to drop her off when she finally asked for a cigarette and to sit for a bit. I don’t know what he had planned whether it was just some actual innocent obsession with hair and his way was just too awkward and shady or if there was something more devious planned but we never talked about it again and stopped going to hairdressers altogether and we share a knowing glance when we hear something that reminds us of that moment when we’re together. All I can say is we definitely agreed that day before parting that we did not want to meet him again.
Sometime during my high school years, the exact year and time escape me at this point, I found myself in a nearby town on a date attempting to impress a girl whom I had been secretly crushing on for quite some time; we will call her Ana. Ana and I had just had a really nice evening and we're winding down getting ready to go home. This takes place in rural southeast Oklahoma so we had about another hour or so of travel time together in order for me to get her to her house and I was quite looking forward to the conversation and anything else that might transpire on the way home. The night ended with our hearts racing and us struggling to catch our breath, but not in the way you might expect from two hormonal teenagers on a Friday night. #x200B; After our dinner and a movie, basically all there was to do in the small town, I stopped at a local Loves gas station to fill up my truck with gas. I didn't have a credit card at the time so I pulled up to the pump, left Ana in the truck, and went inside to pay for my gas. On the way inside I noticed this old beaten-up Ford F-250 with two, dare I say, rednecks staring at me. The beaten-up ford wasn't an uncommon sight in rural Oklahoma, but the constant staring made me uneasy. When I returned to my truck and filled up Ana informed me that they had been staring at her too and that they were giving her the creeps. I told her they were probably just bored and messing with us and we didn't think much of it. I pulled out onto the street, pulled my truck into the turn lane, and began to turn on Highway 3 which would take me all the way to Ana's house. The light was red and taking ages to turn; everything in small-town Oklahoma seems to move slower than a snail in molasses, and as we are waiting we notice a truck pull up next to us. At first, we pay the truck no mind, but something was off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something offputting. We turn and look and, to our dismay, see the same beaten-up Ford F-250 with, now, three people in the cab all intently staring at us. Us being the zealous teenagers that we were decided to show these guys what we are made of, and as the light turned green we rolled down our window, flashed a big smile across our faces, and gave them the biggest middle fingers that we could to show them just what we thought of their endless staring. We then hit the gas and continued on our way home. #x200B; A few moments pass by with Ana and I laughing at what we just did to these idiot creeps but eventually, the moment fades and we begin talking about something else. We get down the road a few miles and I notice a set of headlights coming from behind us, this road wasn't super busy but we had just come from a larger town so there wasn't anything offputting about the lights at this point. However, after a few more moments pass we realize something is really wrong. The headlights begin flashing and blinding us, the car begins swerving and eventually pulls over into the left lane to try and get beside us. We quickly realized exactly who this was. I'm by no means a car guy but I recognized the shape of the hood of the truck. This was the beaten-up F-250 that we had just flipped off a few miles back and now they were pissed and coming for us. At this point in my life, I was about 5ft 8in and weighed about 115lbs soaking wet, I was a little guy and I knew that I stood no chance against 3 larger guys. I was gonna get pummeled into oblivion, or worse and we had no idea what they were going to do with Ana. I slammed on the gas and began traveling as fast as I could down the windy backroads of SE Oklahoma trying to come up with an idea to get us out of this mess. #x200B; As we sped down the highway I began to look for common landmarks that I knew on Highway 3. I didn't see them. I knew that we had been traveling for quite some time down this road but it didn't seem the same. We slowly realized that we weren't on the right road. We had taken the wrong turn, blinded by our hubris we turned on a narrow country road that was certain to lead us to our death. We didn't know what to do. Of course, when I told this to my parents they said things like "you should have called 911" or "you should have driven to the nearest police station" however, we didn't think to call 911 and we didn't know where the police station was because we were lost. So we took matters into our own hands and continued traveling as fast as we could down the small windy backroad. We had a few near misses with the truck as they were attempting to rear-end us, or at least make us believe they were, but finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, we saw our shining beacon of light. I can't remember the specifics but somehow we got far enough ahead of them that we began to think we might lose them. Out of the corner of my eye, we spotted a small local church. Ana checked behind us and couldn't see their headlights so I slammed on the brakes, killed the lights in my truck, and in the pitch darkness drove off of the road, through the lawn of the church, and behind the building. We sat there panicking and wondering if they had seen us. It was a risky move. For all, we know we could be stuck and if they saw us we might not have a chance to escape. We sat and watched as the beat-up truck passed down the road at incredible speed. They hadn't seen us. We breathed a sigh of relief as we waited to see if they turned around. After a few moments passed we pulled out of the parking lot, kicked it into high gear, and got back to town as quickly as we could. We both learned a lesson in flipping off shady rednecks that night and, to my knowledge, we haven't done so since. #x200B; Creepy rednecks in the busted up F-250, lets not meet again.
I notice that a lot of stories here feature creepy men, so I thought it would be interesting to share mine (that features a creepy woman). This happened when I was 12 years old and in Year 8 in Australia. A friend and I played after-school hockey. It wasn't a popular sport so our games took place at another school which was incredibly far away and pretty much in the middle of nowhere. The area didn't have any train stations, so we relied on 3 different buses to get there, and again to get home. The games usually took place pretty late and ended around 7/8 pm when it was dark. All the other girls in our team got picked up by their parents, but we always bussed it together home. We didn't feel it was dangerous because there were two of us and being classic 12-year-olds, we thought we were mature enough to be independent. Because we had to change buses three times, and we lived so far away, by the time we got to our 2nd bus stop it was usually pitch black. The 2nd bus stop was desolate, far out from the school, in front of some kind of abandoned building; and basically a bit creepy. The stop was small and wasn't sheltered; it was just a steel pole with a bus painted on the sign. On this particular night, it was raining as well, so we felt extra miserable standing out in the cold. Australian buses are also notoriously unreliable, so it wasn't unusual for us to wait an hour at this bus stop. That night it definitely felt like we had been waiting there over an hour when a car pulled up in front of us. A woman was in it, she rolled down her window and asked where we were going. I told her \*\*\*\*\* \[the suburb we lived in, which was an hr drive away\] and she said she could give us a lift if we wanted. If it had been a man I would've been immediately suspicious and legged it, but because she was a young-ish woman (looked about 40), it didn't raise any red flags in my mind. I remember thinking that she must be understandably worried about 2 young girls standing out in the rain at night. I smiled and thanked her and said it was okay, we would wait for the bus. She hesitated and then drove away. Around a few minutes later she came back and pulled up in front of us again. She told us that her daughter was in a play at \*\*\*\*\* and that she was going there anyway to pick her up, so are we sure we didn't want a lift? My friend was almost about to get in, but I hesitated *(maybe thanks to my parents drilling me about stranger danger*) and I said Thank you, but it was alright, we'll wait. She was a bit pushier this time and asked us if we were sure quite a few times and mentioned her daughter again, but she eventually drove away. At this point, I think my intuition was telling me that it felt a bit weird she hadn't mentioned her daughter earlier. Another few minutes later she came back AGAIN. This time she said that she had just driven past our bus further down the road and that it had obviously skipped our stop, so she offered to give us a lift to try to catch up to it. I wouldn't put it past Australian buses to skip small stops, but it also sounded unlikely to me. By this point, I was super suspicious. I didn't really have time to think so it was a bad gut feeling, rather than any logical reasoning *(In hindsight, I question how she knew which bus number we wanted to catch and also how she knew the bus' route so well that she could follow it and try to 'catch up to it'?)*. With all politeness / smiles gone, I straight up just said no. I could tell my friend (who was about to get into her car before), was also starting to feel the heebie jeebies because she backed away from the road. The woman hesitated for a while - it lapsed into an awkward silence and I remember she kept glancing at her back seat. I remember holding my hockey stick tight and playing in my brain how I was going to defend myself. It honestly felt like forever before she finally drove away. A few minutes later the bus came and I had never been so relieved in my life. By this point, we were absolutely soaked. To this day I still don't know whether she was just a worried, good samaritan or a potential kidnapper. I flip between the two and I honestly can't decide. My friend also thinks it's a mystery and we don't know if we were just being paranoid.
Okay, so this was about 2 and 1/2 years ago, I think. I’ve blocked it out because it was honestly so scary to me. My best friend and I were just driving around town around 11pm. Just taking random turns with no real destination. We were stopped at a stop sign and waiting for the truck to pass so we could go. As the truck passed we turned left so we were behind it. But this is where it all starts and our anxiety and fear raised. As we were behind the truck it pulled off to the right in front of a church. My friend and I continued to drive, thinking nothing of it. The church was on the block with 2 houses next to it.. (I think. I can’t exactly remember) We were about pass the church when the truck got back onto the road. We thought it was a little weird but ignored it. We stopped at the stop sign then went right, so did the truck. Then we just started to get a weird feeling. At the next stop sign we went straight. At the next block we turned right and went up the block, only to turn right again. The truck was still right behind us. We drove straight then drove down the road just before turning right again onto the block the church we had just passed minutes earlier was on. He had now taken three same turns, almost a full circle. So we took one more right to make a circle, and of course, there he was right behind us. At this point my friend and I are freaking out. As soon passed the church once again. My friend hit the gas. We blew through the stop sign. This time turning left instead of right. We were about 3 blocks from the main road and we blew every stop sign, as did the truck. Nobody was on the roads at this point in the night. As we finally got to the main road we didn’t stop at the sign and turned left, hitting the gas. We were going 80mph on a 55mph road. We looked behind us and there was the truck. Her and I were freaking out at this point, almost in tears. So this part is weird to explain... She took a right off onto a road to a small neighborhood and then we could’ve turned left or right but without thinking we hurried and took a left onto a road with about 4 houses on it. But the road we had turned onto continued to loop left, back to the main road. When she took that right the truck continued to drive on that road. We were almost relieved. ALMOST. When we realized the road we took would take us back to the main road we stopped. From where we were if we looked left we could see the main road a-crossed a small field. And low and behold we saw the truck driving slowly up on the main road. We could see the truck pull off the road and shut all of its lights off and sat there. It occurred to us that he knew the was only one way out. He was waiting for us to come up that road. We turned off our lights and hurried and turned around and drove straight, we weaved through all the houses and came out of the neighborhood on the other side. (This town has like two mains roads, it’s hard to explain) As we got to the other side we got on the other mains road, heading north. Because while he was following us we were heading south. We eventually got to Walmart where her car was parked so we could head to our houses. (She always drives my car because I don’t like driving) We just cried in my car before we got out and said our goodbyes. I live like a half hour away and she was only 10 minutes from her house. I was so terrified I would see that truck again. We don’t talk about it much. The fear that we felt was so weird. I haven’t felt anything like that since... We don’t know why the truck started following us and we probably never will. But these days we never know what goes through a sick persons head when they see two 16 year old girls driving around at 11 o’clock at night. So uh... guy in white truck.. Let’s Not Meet
Hey everyone. I check in from time to time, recently left these for another Redditor. This post isn’t to gain karma, trust me-it’s just to share stories a few might not have read. Do share your faves below. Happy reading everyone. Stay safe-Happy holidays Happy New Year.
I have been debating on posting this. Not because I have been scared but simply because this is my first post since joining Reddit. Please forgive my writing as sometimes my wording and punctuation could be better. I’ll start off by explaining the area so you can get a good picture of where this occurred. We lived in a small neighborhood. All of the surrounding streets dead end into a half circle park. Behind the park are some woods and a rail road track. When we were younger we all played in the front part of the woods. We never ventured too far back. This was our play area for years. Never had an issue or scare. This area was a pretty and well lit wooded area. Anyhow, one day my brother Jimmy, my best friend Sarah and my brothers best friend Ian, were all building a damn in the middle of the small creek that ran through the park and the woods. The boys decided they were going to head back to Ian’s house for some snacks. Sarah and I said we would stay and finish our “camp” area. As we are moving rocks around I get a very odd feeling come over me. A strange feeling that we are being watched. I immediately think it’s the boys trying to scare us and just continue with what we are doing. Sarah and I load up some big rocks and head back to the creek and put them down at the dam. I get that feeling again and as I stand up I see something straight in front of me about 30 feet away. I can’t clearly make out what it is yet because it is behind a bush but I do see that it is a pattern of red and blue. I know that’s nothing the boys had on so at this point I am focusing trying to figure out what it is. As I am scanning up the bush I start to realize it is a clown. I shit you not, my heart started pounding immediately. The clown and my eyes lock. He is wearing a blue/red hat with a reverse pattern red/blue jumpsuit. I grab Sarah’s shirt and immediately pull her upright and she notices the man right away. He is smiling with a full face of make up and has a huge knife. We both say nothing and start running as fast as our legs can take us. He begins to follow. We can hear twigs snapping and ground crunching. But we are booking it. We run through the front of the woods through the side of the park and up her dead end street. Ian and Jimmy are two houses up from the end and see us running and are screaming what is going on. While running past we scream a clown and they start laughing. We are still running screaming for our lives and finally make it to the middle of the street where Sarah’s dad Danny, is now running out the front door because he hears us screaming. We meet Danny right at the beginning of the neighbors house and we are trying to explain what we seen and he says “girls stop it now! This is ridiculous. What are you talking about?” We try to catch our breath. By this time Jimmy and Ian have caught up to us. We are crying and pointing and telling Danny again that we seen a clown and knife. Jimmy and Ian are laughing and Danny is asking if they played a prank on us. About this time an old yellow pinto type of car comes from the dead end at the park and pulls right up next to the sidewalk of the yard we are in. Sure enough.. plain as day.. it’s the fucking clown. No hat this time. But knife in hand and telling us to come here. Danny starts shoving us all toward the house and he himself is scared and running now. The car drives off down the street. We get inside and Danny calls the police. We had to give statements and police patrolled the neighborhood and the park for a few weeks. We were never allowed to go in the park again and a few months after that the city started to clear out the woods. Cut down many trees and made a walking area that you could see through all the way to the train tracks. My friend and I used to talk about this many times up until her death. No one would believe us had they not seen it as well. It was just so scary. I think they only got to see him because who ever it was had to go down the dead end street to leave the neighborhood. Either way this man was not afraid of us, nor the small group of people that gathered from our screaming. He very bravely stopped right in front of us as her father tried to comfort us and calm us down all while flashing his knife. We are lucky to be alive I feel. Had it just been one of us left in the woods, which sometimes occurred I don’t think there would have been a group of four of us any longer. Sarah’s dad stopped drinking that day. We all have a fear of clowns.
I used to work as a housekeeper for this company that would assign me to different houses in the area that were hiring. I had this one job at a house that was just a few towns over one night. I was reluctant to go since it was late, but I knew an old back road that would cut the driving time in half. It used to be an old logging road, and there's tons of them here in Oregon that can be handy shortcuts to places. One downside was the road was small, windy, and if you got into a crash you'd basically be in the middle of nowhere surrounded by forest. I'm not sure it was completely legal to drive on either. So anyways I was driving down this road, groggy and tired, when I felt a small collision on my trunk. I cursed and pulled over to inspect the damage and talk to the driver, who had seemingly come out of nowhere. He pulled up behind me. I got out and walked over to him and asked if he was okay. I was about three feet from the car, and I could see him sitting in there, but he wasn't getting out. It was winter and night so everything was pitch-black and I could barely see anything, but I knew there was a figure there. It was freezing cold and I was getting creeped out, so I told him since there was barely any damage, I was just gonna go. As I was heading back to my car, I heard his door open behind me. I turned around and saw him standing there, he was tall and had on a large black coat and baggy jeans. I stepped towards him, and noticed something that made my heart sink. His hands were white-skinned, but his face looked dark. I squinted and realized he was wearing black makeup on his face. This scared me even more because I was thinking he was wearing blackface, and for the record I'm black, and he had followed me out here in the middle of nowhere to harm me. I turned and started for my car when I felt cold tip of the gun press the back of my head. I was ready to cry at this point, thinking I was gonna die alone out here because of my skin color. I ended up trying to reason with him, but I could barely choke out my words as I told him he didn't have to do this. Something surprising happened. The guy started to cry as well, and just then he jumped in his car and sped off. Maybe I should've tried to see the license plate, but at that moment I just got in my car, drove home, and called my parents. I never, ever in my entire life thought I'd narrowly escape from being the victim of what was possibly a hate crime. I'm glad this guy had a change of heart, or whatever you want to call his reasoning for sparing me.
My story takes place in November 2004. I remember that specifically because George W. Bush had just won his second term as the US President. I was around 9 years old at the time. I am 25 years old now, yet this memory has always stayed vividly at the forefront of my mind. I can remember it like it was yesterday, and it still makes me so uneasy to think about. I’ve never spoken about it to anyone until now. It was a regular school day for me. It was the Friday before Thanksgiving break and our school gave us a whole week off for it. I was particularly excited for that weekend because my parents were allowing my best friend to stay over for the weekend. It’s all I could think about that day. I was a pick-up student. This meant that for me to leave the school, a relative or guardian had to be on their records with a signature in order to pick me up from school. I was too anxious to ride the bus, and I was much too anxious to walk home alone - despite living in a friendly, small town. That day, my grandma was supposed to pick me up from school. Both my parents were working late, so I was going to go to her house and my mom was gonna pick me up there after work. Well, you might be able to tell where this one is going to go. By the time school was out, my grandma is nowhere to be seen. I waited in the lobby for 30 minutes. By this point, it was empty... besides the janitor mopping the lobby floor. I was getting nervous my grandma forgot to pick me up, so I went up to tell the office lady that my ride never showed up. I was a nervous kid, and I didn’t know what was happening. The lady was really nice. She sat me down in the office, and tried calling my grandma. No luck. She tried calling my parents, who said grandma should have been there already. My mom said she reminded her this morning, and would try calling her. She was at work for a few more hours and couldn’t come get me yet. It was probably 4PM at this point, I had been at school an extra hour and I was really scared. I was all alone with the office lady, and I could tell she was frustrated. Everyone had already gone home, and she couldn’t get on with her week off because of me. At one point, the janitor walked into the office. It instantly smelled like cigarettes when he walked in. He stared right at me. He was a tall, husky man. Long, greasy brown hair, with a bit of a screwed up face and lopsided nose. That was the first time I had ever seen this man. I never had seen him round school before. Considering the small town I was from, it was weird I didn’t recognize him. His presence instantly made me nervous. I’ll never forget what he looked like. He struck up a conversation with the office lady. I remember this part clearly. He asked her what she was still doing here. She told him, and then nodded in my direction. He looked at me intently, and sat down next to me. I can still smell the cigarettes to this day. “Hey kid, bet you’re excited about Thanksgiving break. Bet you’re excited for family time. Me too. Listen, your grandmas place is on the way to my house. I know her, and your grandpa too. I’d love to give you a ride over there, I know right where it is,” he said to me. He continued, “I know it’s scary to feel lost. But I’d love to help you out.” He smiled at me. I looked over at the office lady. She looked gleeful that she wouldn’t have to wait another hour with me for my mom to get there. She said, “Why that would be great. My husband is waiting for me to get home now.” He stood up and said, “great.” Without my permission, he grabbed my hand, pulled me out of my seat and said, “let’s get going then. Grandma must be worried about you.” I shivered... I thought about what he said. He had said he “knew my grandpa too.” I didn’t have a grandpa. He had passed long before I was born, and divorced my grandma many years prior to that. I sat back down and shook my head without saying anything. He looked at me blankly, and the office lady looked disappointed. He walked out without saying anything. 5PM rolled around, and my mom finally showed up to get me. Turns out my grandma had forgotten to set an alarm and was sleeping the whole time. When I went to my moms car, I saw him again in the desolate staff parking lot, smoking a cig. He looked in our direction, got his truck and drove off. The thing that gives me shivers to this day is... he didn’t drive towards my grandmas house. He took a left out of the school, which would have taken you out of town and towards the city. The complete opposite of where he said he was going. I never saw him at school again. I had never seen him before that. I have cried thinking over this so many times. I remember I had nightmares for years where the office lady made him take me with him so she could go home sooner. I attribute this to my development of anxiety and paranoia later in life. So Mr. Janitor, let’s not meet again.
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hello is me again Its been a few days since I made my first post and I've found some info about what this thing could be, one it could be a skin walker two its some demon I've looked though the internet with keyword mimic, and nothing much came up maybe a few YouTube series about the concept but nothing to help me out, but the thing this thing can do is mimic voices and I've got a strange call from an unknown number. I let the phone ring for awhile until I picked up, immediately the guy spoke in a raspy whisper. Hello what ever you do don't listen to its lies don't interact with family friend at midnight don't let anybody in your home past 10PM.. then the line went silent I let out a small wtf and then walked back up to my room to watch tv, then I got other call from my friend telling me that the thing is back and is walking around the building calling her name as usual in my voice, I tell her to just lock herself in the office and don't draw attention I also instructed her to record the thing, she agrees then hangs up. and I've forgot to mention that the cam feed she sent me was corrupted thank god she sent me the file before that happened. anyway we are keeping this to ourself and never told anybody else, well its passed my bedtime its 11PM right now so I'll update you all if anything else happens. #x200B; Knock Knock. What was that. as I jolted awake from my sleep it was the front door I got creeped out from the knocking as I checked the time not even an hour passed by it was 12AM as I went downstairs to get some water, I went to check the door's peep hole and then I saw her my friend. all tho it was strange she didn't let out a sound not even a hello just stared at the door, until I remembered vividly the strange phone call I heard don't let anybody in passed 10pm, I quietly went back upstairs to check the cameras and just like my suspension predicted the camera was glitching just like the cam feed back at the office, that's when I call my friend up and tell her about what I seen she then told me that she also sees me on the cam waving at her, we both begin to panic as we don't know if these things can get in, CRASH.... the line goes dead as I heard my front door break down from its hinges, SHIT! I said in frustration as I heard it running up the stairs I ran and locked myself in a dark bathroom hoping it won't find me, I don't know what's happening or why its happening is this why people went missing here cause of these things if that's the case then im not going to be apart of it, all I can think off is if my friend is alright, morning came as I woke up in the bathroom with 88 missed calls from my friend, I got up straight away and called her the phone rang for a straight minute before she picked up. what the hell dalton I was worried sick I've been trying to call you right after the line went dead and after I got off work. I then talked and told her that one if those things broke down my door as I walked downstairs, to my shock the door was fine as I heard her laugh through the phone, I said what's so funny? she then talks, what do you mean broke down the door I'm right outside and your door seems fine. I ran to the window and sure enough she was outside in her car I felt relief and got dressed. as soon as I went into her car, she told me I looked pale that if I'm ok I then answered her saying ya just a long night, we then went to Dennys for breakfast as I didn't want to go to work today, we chatted well eating and I asked about her night, she told me as soon as my line went dead the thing in the building left like just disappeared I told her about my night and how that thing broke into my house and the fact it looked just like her, she then tells me why didn't I call her all night or day as I forgot what time it was 2PM I slept for more then the time I was suppose to, I told her I must have knocked myself out by falling or something the night was just a blur all I did was run as fast as I can into a dark bathroom, I didn't tell her about the phone call, then she told me that a home next door to hers was invaded and then the family that lived in it vanished like no trace of blood or anything just gone, I asked her do you think this has something to do with the creatures we encountered, she then said maybe, with no emotion once so ever like it was not to new news to her, I then asked her what was her favourite show as she spoke with food in her mouth huh its from why are you asking. I then breathed a sigh if relief, nothing its just that I was making sure you were still you I can't stop and think that we have clones? monsters of us trying to kill us. she then told me about her first time moved here she saw a little girl and boy who looked like twins she thought it was weird what the parents did every little time they went out they would drag them back into the house, one day she went over and asked if they could play at the park the parents were not home so they played but the girl didn't all she did was stare at the sky until my friend saw a black warm crawl in on her neck or inside her neck she then screamed and ran. the next day police were at the house and pulled out the body's of all the family one by one but the girls body was never found. that story chilled me to the bone I tell you was ready to shit my pants. I told her that's enough we should tell somebody, she replayed saying Who dalton the police or family tell them that oh the boogie man is after us? they will never believe us. we need actual proof not some glitchy camera footage with you flat out naked, I then said what then we wait until we get mentally worn out then they kill us? we then finished our food and I asked to be dropped off back home not cause I was tired It was cause I wanted to do more research and found out analog cams don't have anything that could cause glitching or blurs so I ordered one and some film for it which in total was 100 dollars with the cam and film. I then typed into my laptop missing people in my area dating from the 90s to the 2000s just like the story my friend told me about her childhood and her neighbours both went missing around the same time of the day 2PM other article popped up saying missing girl found dead in the woods this girl being the same girl that went missing in the 90s but her body being way more decayed then what her family were found in. I decided to make a wall chart connecting all the events tell I figure it out, that's when my tv started to static with an ear shattering noice I quickly went to turn it off. this happening in the middle of the afternoon? like ugh I don't know I feel like I'm going insane is this real all a dream I don't know I'll make other post but ya I just need a platform to tell my story, btw if you don't hear from me in a week or days then don't listen to anything I say or post from now on I have a felling whatever that thing will get me and take my place.
"Every day I come to the park and feed the birds, watch couples holding hands while kids ride on bikes followed by their dogs barking giving chase as a form of play, this is my sacrifice, my youth, my happiness, my sacrifice... But you know that already don't you?" Frank turns to the man sitting beside him who's feeding the birds also as he smirks and turns to Frank. "I know it all so well, you've said the same thing for the past sixty two years and sadly I must say, it's the same swan song I love to hear". Frank smirks himself and picks up a handful of seeds and scatters them on the ground. "Yeah, the same song I never get tired of singing, but you know what I see here? What I really see?" The man turns to Frank. "What do you really see Frank?". "I see the sacrifice of my youth, the life I could have had, the wife I would have spent my time with, the smiles I never worn, the chance to eat cotton candy and fly kites like these good people here..." The man looks down hanging his head and crosses his fingers into one another. "I figured you'd say that..." Frank drops the bag of seeds to his left on the bench and wipes a tear from his eye. "I see the life I never got, but what do I really get? Lonliness stamped on a badge of bravery, friends long since gone, a pain I can't shake and a hole in my heart that won't ever be filled... Ya know, someone once asked me, would I do it all again?... No I wouldn't". The man exhales heavily and slowly stands to his feet. "I know you wouldn't, you spent your life killing, giving orders that you passed down to hundreds of men that lost their lives in the war, you're one of the killers Frank..." Looking down. At his black polished shoes, Frank begins to cry softly remembering his friends he fought in the war with. "I never got the chance to smile for real, it was always just a mask to wear just so the rest of the world wouldn't see my sacrifice..." The man stretches for his hand. "Your sacrifice is recorded frank, it won't ever be forgotten, I promise you that, it will be remembered and echoed through life itself, to remind you of how guilty you are for killing so much and sending others to their own demise, that is your legacy Frank". Stretching out his own hand and takes grasp of the man's arm and pulls himself to his feet. "Where am I going?" The two slowly walk away from the park bench and into a darkness that appears not to far from them, Frank takes one last look back at the bench to see his body hunched forward and motionless and the man replies. "Hell..." The end.
A quick description on my family, we were always seen as a perfect family. My mom was at home while my dad worked as a doctor after getting his doctors at Harvard Medical School. They had me and my younger sister, Alyson and trust me, they got us to get good grades. My parents wanted us to go to college and become successful just like them. The only thing that was unusual was that my parents always tied and locked my sister in her bedroom every night. I found it quite frankly weird but never asked any questions because I didn’t want to seem rude. They always told me not to question my elders. My parents were going out for my dads birthday party in San Francisco and trusted me enough to not get a babysitter and to follow the same routine for my sister. Usually my parents had my aunt babysit us and do the whole bed thing, but she died a couple of months ago so there was really no other way. Now was my chance, I was gonna find out the truth. “Now honey, remember to tie her to bed before 9:30 PM, and lock the door.” My mother said to me before following my father, out the door. Then she turned to me with a straight face, “And do not, I repeat do not unlock that bedroom no matter what. Call us on the phone im the living room if an emergency.” That sent shivers down my spine. She never look unhappy, never the less scary. I turned the lock to the main door and then looked at my sister. The clock read 4:45 PM. Only 5 more hours. Once the clock hit 9:25, I told my sister to go brush her teeth and head to bed. Once she told me she was in bed, I ran upstairs to tied her to the bed. When I went into her room, I froze. All the walls were scratched up, the windows nailed shut, and all the furniture were gone. Except her bed. Just a single bed in the middle of a room. Of course this socked me because I’ve never gone into her room before. “Okay Ally, go ahead and lay down.” I told my sister. She laid down and I tied her up. How the hell could she possibly be comfortable? I left her room after but did not lock the door, I wanted to see if anything really happens. I went to my room shortly after and watched some TV to pass the time. Around 11:00 PM, I started hearing growling. I brushed it off as it could’ve been my Rottweiler, Peanut, growling at someone walking passed out front door. Then 12:00 AM hit. The growling grew louder and then I heard a door open. My sister’s bedroom door. What the fuck was she doing walking around 12 in the morning for? I could hear her go downstairs and thats when the growling stopped. Everything went silent. Then I could hear Peanut start whining. I got up from my bed and slowly opened my door. As I was walking down the stairs, I noticed a trail of blood go from the living room to the kitchen. Right next to the end of the stairs was the archway to the kitchen. I peaked my head into the archway to see Alyson eating something. Something bloody. “Alyson what are yo-“ I stoped dead sentence as Alyson turned around for me to see Peanut in her hands and mouth. She killed him and was eating him raw! I ran upstairs and locked myself in my room. I grabbed my cellphone and hid under the bed. I called my parents phone and waited for them to pick up. A minute went by and no response, so I called again, and again. I called 10 times and no response. Fuck. I was out of luck, then my phone buzzed. A random number? “Hello?” I asked “Oh god honey I’m so sorry. Both of our phones were dead, what wrong?” My mom responded “Mom I forgot to lock the door and now Alyson was just eating Peanut what do I do?” I asked “My god Blake! I knew you were to stupid, I want you to run to one of the bathrooms in the house and start running any faucet.” My mom responded “Wait why?” I asked “Just do it!” My mom said, now she had a deep, horrifying voice. “Okay, okay, sorry mom. But when will you be back?” “Well San Diego isn’t far from home so about a couple of minutes.” My mom said. San Diego? I thought it was San Francisco. Maybe they just changed plans. “Okay love you, please hurry.” I hung up. I ran to the closest bathroom which was the one in the study room, right next to the living room. Lucky Alyson wasn’t there. I ran the tub and the sink and just waited. Thats when I heard someone walking towards the door. “Who’s there?” I said. “Blake? Blake it’s mommy, you can come out now. Everything is safe.” Oh thank god it was my mom. I was going up to unlock the door. Then the living room cell began to ring. It went to voicemail and that was when I heard my mom on the phone. “Hey Blake, it’s mom. Sorry I didn’t get your call, I lost my phone. Me and your father are leaving San Francisco now, It’ll take a couple of hours so please follow these rules. 1. Don’t pick up any unknown numbers, Ally can trick you. 2. Dont make any noise especially through the pipes, she can hear pretty clearly. 3. Lastly, do not listen to any voices, they aren’t us.” The message ended. I fortunately didn’t open the door yet. “BLAKE OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR NOW!” I could hear what must’ve been Alyson but sounded demonic. She banged on the door for hours and all I did was sit down near the door and waited, crying and sitting in my own pee. Thats when I heard a huge gunshot. It rung in my ears. The door opened and there was my parents. I hugged them tightly and said I was so sorry. They didn’t say anything but just cried. “Mommy, Daddy what happened to Ally?” I asked “We have no clue. Even my team couldn’t come up with an answer.” My dad said. “It started when she was around 5, she would just bite us then it turned into eating alive animals. Then around 7 she tried to kill us. We didn’t want to scare you so we didn’t tell you. Im so sorry honey.” My mom explained “Well we have to make this look like an accident” my dad said. We all cleaned up the scene and made it look like a suicide. We also wrote a letter about how Ally felt pressured and wanted to end it because of it. Everyone believed it and now that’s a little family secret, well until now. I feel guilty and Im sick of lying. I need to come clean. The voices are growing louder and I wanna put my self out there before I leave this earth. Goodbye, tell my mom and dad I love them.
We lived in this house that our father had bought on a deal that he and my mother couldn't pass up on, it was a three storey house with a full wide basement and a garage the size of the half the house, plenty of room for my sister and brother to play and also a driveway big enough for my basketball net where I would play with the friends I made in the neighborhood. There would be times they would call my house the "killers house" or "murder house". I heard all the stories and so did the rest of my family but we never been into that whole thing since we were all grown as atheist, ghosts and all those kind of things never scared or bother us, after a year of not seeing or hearing anything happen in that house, what was there to be afraid of? One night as we all sat down at the livingroom eating our dinner while watching tv, everything seemed to be pretty normal, we laughed, horseplay on the couches while our parents sat with their devices in their hands watching us jump on one another and my father would jump in and toss my younger siblings on the couch, and just by one loud sudden crash that came from the master bedroom, the laughter stopped just like that... We all looked at eachother in silence as my father slowly got up and nudged his head towards me "grab the bat" as he grabbed an iron fire poker, telling my siblings and mother to stay downstairs while we went to inspect what was happening. As we approached the bottom of the stairs we heard another crashing sound followed by a loud scream coming from a male's voice, my heart stopped as my father just seemed to grow furious thinking it might have been a robber who climbed the side of the house and crept into the window looking for something to steal. More sounds of things being thrown across the bedroom hitting the wall along with a grunting and an almost painful gasp. We climbed the stairs ready to swing our weapons at any moment at whoever was in our house. When we got to the top of the stairs, my father in front, he looks at me and nodes his head while mouthing the words "on three, one... Two... THREE!!!" We charged into the bedroom expecting to find a burglar but all we found was smashed picture frames and my mom's collectable antique shelf. We walked around the shattered glass peeking into the bathroom and behind the curtains but nothing was found, my dad looks at me and shrugs his shoulders while I poked my bat around the floor pushing glass aside and then it happened again... But this time... From the living room where my mother and siblings were. We hear their screaming while the sound of glass smashing is heard throughout the entire house, my dad and I ran down the stairs as quick as we could while at the ready to swing at the "intruder" but no one was there to be seen... We find my mother holding the kids huddled in the dining room corner as my dad and I looked to see the tv smashed and the glass coffee table smashed outward, like something literally went under the table and smashed it which was weird. "Who was it?! Who was in here!?" My dad asking my mother who's shaking vigorously with a pale look on her face not saying a word. Seeing the look of anger on my dad's face was something else, he wanted to catch who was doing this but I started to think to myself that maybe this person or thing couldn't be caught, I look at my dad and his anger turns to confusion as he turns to look at me, I knew at that moment we both thought the same thought of what was really happening here. I turn to look at my younger brother who is just crying harder than he ever has while my little sister was calm as still waters, I kneel down trying to calm my brother down as I see my sisters hand raise up slowly, I turn to look and see her pointing at the far corner of the livingroom and I whisper "what? What is it?" I stand up grabbing my bat and see my dad scratching the back of head looking confused, I see just over his shoulder and look toward the corner between the window and where the tv was and I gasp, not a normal gasp but... Well it felt like the breath was taken right out of my lungs when I seen it. I nudge my dad's leg with my bat and he turns towards me "what! What is it?" And I point my bat toward the corner of the livingroom, he looks over his shoulder and by then... It was visible to all of us. A tall man standing in the corner of the room, like a shadow, its entire body reach from the floor to nearly the top of the ceiling giving off a dark shade of shadow, my dad drops the fire poker and quickly grabs my siblings and mother and pushes them towards the front door which was just around the corner where they stood, I try and catch my breath as I see this shadow figure swiftly dart across the room and makes a sort of a loud sighing sound. My dad grabs me by the shirt and pulls me toward the door but just as we were about to run outside to safety, this thing lets out a loud exhale of breath and grabs my brother by the wrist, I could see his hand lifting and soft of being pulled as I see his feet on the floor being dragged toward this shadow as he resisted while screaming at the top of his lungs. I quickly use my whole body weight and sort of tackle my brother under his arm as my dad pulls open the door with all his strength and we manage to run outside to the driveway. My brother crying so hard he can't catch his breath while my father and mother holding my siblings trying to comprehend what had just happened, I stood up and look through the livingroom window and see this shadow, tall shadow darting from room to room as it screams and smashes what picture frames that hang on the wall. I turn toward my family as this thing suddenly stops at the window and looks at us, I look back and could barley see it but the dark shaded outline of it is still visible, my sister steps besides me and holds my hand, still calm as ever... Eerily calmer than she should be. She looks up at me with no expression at all and tugs on my hand "Tim hates us..."
hey! i’m trying to start up a tiktok platform all about the paranormal, specifically about personal, inexplicable, weird or scary experiences. i’d really appreciate it if you could share some, in as much detail as you would like, and i’ll be sure to credit you if and when i share it! if you don’t feel comfortable sharing publicly and you’d like to remain anonymous, my email is [email protected]. (please include your tiktok handle so i know who to credit!) if you’re interested, my tiktok is @heretic.or.heathen. thank you for taking the time to read this and stay safe out there! 👻🔪x
SHADOWS' LAMENT By Matthew Ryan (FIRST DRAFT NOTES : I wanted to write a short, dark, fairy tale that would flow off the tongue and rhyme. In this short form it is definitely more like a poem. I will definitely be working on another draft as well as a longer version. MY INSPIRATION: I was definitely inspired by The Brothers Grimm - back before fairy tales became fun, fantastical, stories of morality aimed at children they were actually quite creepy and not meant for children. I decided to take this project to the Eras that came before “…happily ever after.” DEAR READER: Please be as critical as you can be. I’d like your honest thoughts on this piece of work. Again, this is a short - first draft. You may notice some repeating of words because I really wanted to get my first Reddit Story up as fast as possible. CONTACT ME: If you’d like to assist in possibly helping out w the graphics eventually w this project or another. I’m always looking to Co-Author a project - I can talk horror, literature, and creative ideas all day. PLEASE ENJOY!! I can’t wait to see what you think. I can’t wait to post some more short material for you guys and gals to critique.) In an asylum forsaken, where shadows did creep, A psych ward stood, secrets buried deep. Its halls whispered secrets, its walls oozed with dread, A realm of despair where the sane feared to tread. Young Emily, brave and curious, stepped through its door, Her lantern a beacon 'midst shadows that roared. She sought to unravel its eerie unknown, To face demons and specters, all twisted and prone. The corridors twisted, a labyrinth of gloom, Where whispers grew louder, a symphony of doom. In flickering light, a ghostly nurse wailed, Her eyes pools of darkness, her presence unveiled. Next, a sinister warden, a demon in guise, With keys made of bone and a wicked demise. He cackled and taunted, his laughter a snare, As Emily raced on, her heart pounding with care. A nursery appeared, spectral babies in cribs, With eyes that glowed red, like malevolent fibs. A lullaby echoed, both haunting and sweet, Yet its melody masked the impending defeat. Shadow figures danced, cast by moon's eerie glow, Whispering secrets of pain and woe. They beckoned to Emily, their fingers like claws, Her courage waned, but she'd dare not pause. In a room full of mirrors, reflections all wrong, Her own twisted visage sung a siren's dark song. A demonic doppelgänger grinned wickedly there, As Emily's soul quivered in utter despair. As dawn's light approached, Emily reached the grand hall, Where a figure stood waiting, both sinister and tall. He wore a dark suit, his face veiled in gloom, A deal to be made, sealing Emily's doom. With a voice like a serpent, he promised her power, Riches and fame, every longing would flower. In fear and temptation, she nodded assent, Unknowing the trap, the demon had sent. The twist, my dear reader, the lesson not learned, Was the folly of craving, how hearts can be burned. Emily thought power would bring her delight, But the shadows consumed her, a never-ending night. In that modern-day asylum, the lesson was plain, Desire's sweet whispers, like an alluring bane. Beware the dark promises, tempting and cruel, For in seeking great power, you may play the fool. And so, in that psych hospital, darkness did thrive, A tale of temptation, where shadows connive. Emily's fate sealed, her soul lost to the dark, A lesson for all, though it comes as a stark, A warning, dear reader, to heed and beware, Lest your deepest desires lead you to despair. (THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMMENTS/LIKES/ADDS - MUCH MORE MATERIAL COMING SOON)
This is my first story ever, I hope you all like it I live in a small town in the mountains and not just your average small. There are just over 100 people in my "city" and I have seen maybe 20 of them. It's about a 30 minute drive in any direction to reach any sort of real civilization and there is only one road that connects us to any neighboring area. I just recently got a job working overnight in one of these cities and things have been going ok, but there is one thing to note. The drive to work is fairly dangerous. Living in the mountains has its ups and downs (no pun intended) but the biggest problem about being so secluded is that they don't take care of the roads. There are massive potholes and big stretches of bumpy patched pavement. Additionally there is no shoulder to pull off to if you have an emergency, just ditches and large drops. To top it all off there is a TON of wildlife that just walk into the streets at night. From raccoons to possums, coyotes and deer there's never a night where I don't have to stop for something crossing in the dark. This turns my 30 minute drive into a 40 minute one easily. One night as I was getting ready for work I was struggling particularly bad with my ADHD. I was leaving things all over the house and struggling to remember to finish tasks that I needed done before I left for work, like my laundry with my work uniform that was still sitting in the washer. My coffee that had finished dripping about 10 minutes ago that I had forgot even existed and my eggs that were now beginning to burn as I sat there staring at the pan the whole time just lost in thought. I was finally able to get everything sorted. with my clothes now drying, I sat there drinking my cold coffee and eating my slightly burnt eggs while doom scrolling social medias and getting lost in my mind once again. I finished my meal and put my shoes on hoping the worst was over. I threw my dishes in the sink, grabbed my keys and headed out the door to my car. I know I had to be careful now, spacing out and burning my eggs is one thing but if I do it while driving it could have way worse consequences. The last thing I needed was to hit a deer or drive myself off a cliff simply because I wasn't paying attention. I sat in the drivers seat collecting my thoughts for a few minutes and trying to reign myself in while trying some meditation techniques I saw on Tik Tok. Once I was confident that I could make the drive without losing myself I started my car and took off out of the driveway. It was weird driving while at full attention, I noticed houses that I had never paid mind too, a few churches that I had completely missed before and even a rock quarry that I had no idea existed. I had somehow completely blocked all of these things out before but it was kind of nice, it felt like a brand new road. By this point I was about half way through the drive and I hadn't drifted into my mind even once. I was feeling pretty good, maybe I should try meditating more often. Then it dawned on me..... I left my work uniform in the dryer...... I was so worried about losing focus while driving that I forgot THE most important thing I needed for work. I only had one option at this point and it was to go home and get my uniform. I had to drive for another 5 minutes or so before I could turn around but on the bright side I was approaching my favorite part of the drive. It was a long flat stretch of road that ran right through the center of a small town called Evans that was surrounded on all sides by tree covered mountains. The long flat road reminded me of where I grew up, it was the flattest place you've ever seen but I loved it. The drive Through Evans was very calming to me and coincidentally it was the only place to turn around after I left my house. I continued driving and before I knew it I was approaching Evans. I also realized that I had spaced out for the full 5 minutes leading up to it. I was disappointed with myself, I was doing so well the entire drive but forgetting my uniform at home must have just threw me off. At the very edge of Evans closest to my house there was a small mechanic shop that I pulled into to try and meditate a little and turn around. I was doing too well at keeping my focus, I can't let it end now. After a little bit of deep breathing I started heading home and all I could think about was how stupid I was for leaving without my uniform. Then it dawned on me, I was spacing out again and I had literally just stopped to focus myself. I stopped the car just outside of Evans to do some deep breathing once again and I noticed something strange. I was at the bottom of a very steep large hill that I have no memory of at all but I have to have been here before. I literally can't have avoided it. There is only one road that leads to my house and the only other way to work takes me an hour out of the way. I know my attention is bad but to have missed this massive hill for months seemed impossible to me. I sat there taking in this hill for a while, it was lined on both sides with trees and there was a single street light at the base. There was something odd about this place though, it was almost pitch black past the light. There should have been more light than this, it wasn't a full moon but most of it was illuminated and I could see everything else around me pretty well with just the moonlight. I didn't have time to sit at the bottom of this hill all night though, so I started to drive thinking about how stupid I was for leaving my stuff in the dryer and before I knew it.... the hill was gone. I looked in my rear view mirror and sure enough, the hill was already behind me. What in the hell is going on?! There is absolutely no way I drove straight up that thing and missed it again. I made a mental note of a tiny disheveled hut I saw in my rear view as I was driving away so I could remember to stop on my way back and get a better look at this place. There's no way I'd forget that dump of a hut, it was practically destroyed. I was so focused on the run down hut that I was home before I knew it. I bolted into my house to throw on my uniform and rushed back out to my car. As I made my way back along the road all I could think about was the hut. The house, The churches and even the rock quarry took a backseat to this hill. I was so focused on it that I tuned out everything on the drive there that I noticed earlier. I continued down the road and before I knew it I had arrived at the small town of Evans..... No, there's absolutely no way this is happening. I drove straight past the hut and the hill again like it wasn't even there, but I was looking for it the whole time. I slammed on my breaks and came to a screeching halt right out in front of the mechanic shop and pulled in to turn around. I stopped for a second to focus up, something weird is happening and I needed every bit of my attention to figure it out. As I sat there replicating the meditation techniques from this morning that seemed to help the front door of the shop opened. Out of the shop walks this scruffy older man who begins heading up to my car. I roll down my window to see what he wants, he tells me he's the owner of the shop and he asks me if everything is alright. I didn't want him to think I was some sort of lunatic for being obsessed with this massive hill that I was sure everyone else knew about but me so I told him that I thought I left something at home and I stopped to turn around and get it. He stares at me with a look of confusion before telling me that he already saw me turn around once and he thinks it's best if I just keep going. An immediate wave of fear hit me, was he watching me?! I nervously agreed with him and told him to have a good night as I drove off in a hurry. I stopped at a gas station up the road, partially to get gas but mainly to wait out a few minutes before turning around. I know I was going to be late to work but I just NEEDED to check out this hill. After filling my car with gas and sitting inside it for about 10 minutes I hopped back on the road and headed for the hill. I normally don't speed but I didn't want the shop owner to see me going back so I was flooring it. I glanced over as I passed his shop and there he was...... watching me tear past his shop headed back in the direction of the hill. I felt like a little kid disobeying his parents and getting caught, I was mortified but I kept going anyway. It was too late to turn around now and unless I did it in the middle of the road which I didn't like to do the only other place I could do it was my house. My mind began to race frantically thinking about the shop owner watching me. I could feel myself begin to space out so I hit the breaks and came to a stop..... and there it was, the hill that I so desperately wanted to find. I stared at this hill for a minute or two, I was overwhelmed with paranoia at the thought of getting out to explore it. I was so worried that I decided to turn my car around. I pulled over as far as I could but more than half of my car was still in the street. I proceeded to get out but I left the engine on and the door ajar just in case I needed to leave in a hurry and made my way toward the street light. I stopped about twenty feet from the light and just stared past it. The yellow glow of the streetlight barely penetrated the creeping darkness that shrouded the hill. I pulled my phone out to turn on the flashlight and as I was pulling up the app something caught my attention. I could smell something strange, it was like roses, ceder and honey but there was something foul about it like a tinge of rotting meat hanging in the air. I started to get a little light headed and my stomach became queasy but I tried to shake the feeling. I turned on the light from my phone and began to make my way past the light and toward the hill. Almost immediately after the passing the street light the dim yellow glow had faded. The darkness was so intrusive that the light on my phone was virtually useless as well. I continued onward trying my best to take in my surroundings but I could hardly see anything further than thirty feet away without shining my phone directly on it. After walking for a bit I began to realize just how steep this hill actually was, my legs were already burning and I had only made it about two hundred feet up. I pushed forward regardless but the deeper in I went the stronger that weird odor was and the more nauseous and light headed I became. I wanted to make it to the top of the hill and check out that hut I saw as I was driving home but I don't think I can make it all the way up this thing. I gathered what little constitution I had left and kept pushing forward. I was maybe five hundred feet in now and by this point I was already spent. My legs were starting to buckle and the smell was so intense that I was choking back the urge to gag. I was approaching a bend in the road that I was desperately hoping was the top of the hill. As I began to round the corner I could see that there was no end in sight. I couldn't keep going, I decided to stop and look around for a bit before turning back though. As I stood there taking in my surroundings I could see something move at the edge of the road not far ahead. Instantly I remembered the shop owner and how he had been watching me. Had he followed me up here, and if so how did he get ahead of me without being seen or heard? There's no way, it couldn't possibly be him. It has to be one of the animals out here just crossing the street. I turned my phone toward the edge of the road expecting to see a deer or at worst a coyote but when the light found my target It wasn't anything I had ever seen in my life. Whatever this thing was it was MASSIVE, I stood there staring completely frozen as a cold chill ran up my spine. I could feel every hair on my body stand up all at once as my legs began to shake. My brain was telling me to run but I couldn't, I was paralyzed with fear and all I could do was stand there and stare at this thing on the side of the road. With the light from my phone I could just make out what I was looking at. Whatever it was it was kneeling down facing away from me and appeared to be eating something. It had the shape and build of a large muscular dog but it was easily 7 feet tall and about as wide as my car. There was no visible fur on it, just pale milky white skin with dark patches that I thought was dirt at first but after a moment it looked more like rotting bits of flesh. I could hear the crack of bones and the ripping of meat from whatever it was eating. My eyes wandered down to the ground in front of this thing to see what was unlucky enough to be its meal for the night but I wish I hadn't. I could just barely see it but on the ground in front of the creature was a human body, completely mangled and lying in a pool of blood. Pure unadulterated terror enveloped me and I could feel a lump in my throat as I bent over and the entire contents of my stomach violently rushed out onto the road. I let my head hang there as the taste of vomit slowly dissipated before it dawned on me that not only had I made my presence know by loudly spewing chunks in the dead silence of night but I had also looked away from this thing that was chowing down on a body not even 40 feet away from me. I slowly lifted my head and as I did I could see this creature was no longer preoccupied with it's previous meal and was now sitting down facing in my direction with its front side in full view. It had a long thick neck that held up a very large canine shaped head that sported long oily black human hair with no eyes or ears and it was covered in the same pale rotting flesh as the rest of its body. There was something even more odd, I could see lumps on the top of it's head near the hair but I couldn't make out what they were. As I stood there hunched over taking in this living nightmare it began to tilt its head down exposing the bumps on its skull revealing a face.... a human face. The expression on it was imprinted into my brain in an instant. I had the most haunting smile I had ever seen, it was an unchanging and almost pained expression that was being masked with a fake jovial smile with closed eyes that reflected this same sad yet joyful look. I began to stand upright very slowly in an attempt to not antagonize this..... monster..... and as I stood fully upright I began to back away as carefully as possible but as I took my second or third step I could see the creatures blood stained canine jaws begin to snarl exposing a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. It rose to it's feet and began to lift its head back up before crouching down almost as if it were going to pounce at me. It was in this moment that I had noticed that this thing didn't have paws at the end of its front legs but instead it had human shaped hands with long slender fingers. It cocked its head back before jutting it back out and letting loose the most ghastly noise I have ever heard. It was a low deep roar at first but was almost immediately accompanied with what I could only describe as hundreds of hollow human screams. Before it even had the chance to finish its hellish scream I dropped my phone, turned and bolted down the hill for my car. I was sprinting with everything I had in me, powered by fear and the sheer steepness of the hill I felt like I was flying. My heart was pounding harder than it ever had in my life, it was as if someone was playing a drum on my chest and all I could hear was my heart beating in my head. My mind was racing faster than my legs going over and over the shop keepers words "it's best if you just keep going" like he knew this thing was up here and thinking about my car that I had left running just in case. All I had to do was make it to my car. For a brief moment I had forgotten about what was chasing me...... was it chasing me? I glanced over my shoulder for a split second to see if maybe somehow I lucked out and it didn't follow. I was wrong...... so so very wrong. Not only was it behind me but I could see its haunting unchanged expression from the face on the top of its head staring me down as it was gaining on me. I could feel a rush of adrenaline as my legs began to move even faster and I could swear that for a moment my feet weren't even touching the ground and that I was actually running on air. Then I began to feel my legs begging to struggle to keep up with my momentum and I began to stumble. I had to do something, I can't keep this pace up and if I fall this monstrosity would be on me in an instant. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I turned toward the guard rail at the side of the hill, regained my footing and leapt over the edge. The ground disappeared from beneath me and then I realized just how far the drop actually was. There was no going back now though and I stood a much better chance of surviving the fall than I did of outrunning the nightmare entity that was chasing me. The ground began to close in as I attempted to prepare myself for the impact. I relaxed my body and tried to land in a way where I would roll and hopefully not break my legs. As I hit the ground on the side of the hill I threw myself sideways but instead of rolling I smashed into the ground and began to rag doll. After a couple seconds of being thrown end over end I smashed sideways into a tree and came to an abrupt stop as the wind was knocked out of me. I laid there gasping for air and frantically scanning the road, praying that the beast hadn't followed me and I was in luck. It hadn't even crossed the guard rail but instead it sat down on the edge of the road and stared at me with that closed eyed face almost as if it were taunting me. After lying on the ground next to the tree that I had just become best friends with I was finally able to catch my breath. Evey inhale was agony though and I was pretty sure I had broken some ribs if not all of them and I was covered in cuts, scrapes and bruises but I was alive at least. I slowly clambered to my feet, keeping my eyes fixed on the terrifying monster on the road above me I began to make my way towards my car. I inched along in the woods as the behemoth stood up and followed me, keeping pace with my every step like a predator stalking a dying animal and that's exactly how I felt at this moment. I staggered along the forest for what felt like hours, my eyes locked with my aggressors and even though they were closed I could tell it was staring back at me. Eventually I could see a dim yellow glow out of my peripheral vision and I knew it was the street light, I was almost to my car! There was the problem of my possibly broken ribs though, I couldn't outrun this thing before and there is no way I could now. Maybe I didn't have to though, this thing hasn't left the road the entire time and I was starting to think it just couldn't leave the hill at all. Or that was the hope anyway. The closer I got to the end of the road the more nervous I became. What if I was wrong and this thing only stayed on the road because it couldn't fit between the trees or maybe the drop was too big. It didn't really matter I guess because if it wasn't bound to the road this atrocity would come for me the moment it had the chance. I was only about forty feet from the street light and could hear my car running. The trees that may have been the only thing keeping me safe ended at the street light and from there it was about fifty feet to my car. The engine was on and the door was still open so all I had to do was hop in and floor it. I stopped a few feet from the edge of the woods and waited for a minute, partially from fear and partially to see what this abomination that was stalking me was going to do. It still hasn't looked away from me and it was still following my every step. After a couple of minutes of waiting it began to sit down and without a moment of hesitation I took off running. This was my best chance and this thing was certainly just going to wait me out. I sprinted out past the tree line as the pain from my ribs almost made me collapse but I had to keep going. I looked over to the road fully prepared to see this thing barreling down at me but it hadn't moved an inch...... it just sat there with its pale grim face following me..... but I wouldn't dare stop. I finished the sprint to my vehicle, jumped in, threw the car in drive and slammed the pedal down to the floor. With my tires screeching I looked in my rearview mirror and it was still sitting there just outside of the glow of the street light watching me drive off. With the living nightmare now out of view I was safe again and speeding towards the town of Evans. I was in pretty rough shape and needed to go to the hospital but I fucking made it! I let out a sigh of relief before yelling and cheering, slamming my hands against the steering wheel with joy. I MADE IT! I MADE IT! Evans was in sight and I was so ecstatic to be out of that hell but then I remembered the owner of the mechanic shop which was just up ahead. I looked over as I was blazing past and there he was. Standing outside the front door he was watching me drive by and before I was out of view I could see him gesture. With one finger over his lips I could tell all he did was say "Shhhhh." From that day on I took the only other road from my house to work and even though it added an extra 2 hours to my drive every day I refused to go back. I never saw the small town of Evans, that mechanic shop, the owner or that hill ever again.... and if I'm lucky.... I never will. -T.R.
I just want to let it be stated before I start that Jethro Jenkins, better known to me as Junkin, was one of the best friends I ever had, and it makes me sad he's dead, but that's not why I decided to write this essay. What I want to write about is who Junkin was and the meaning of his death, because most people will say that life is about finding your talent or about doing better than others or finding comfort in things, and that's about as far removed from Junkin's philosophy of life as you can get. I just wanted to let that be known so that it can be kept in mind as I tell the rest. I first met Junkin during the trampin days. He wasn't a tramper though but a railroamer, by which I mean a free hopper, someone who got around the country on trains without paying, or what today you might call a vagrant or a tramp or a bum. He didn't have any things except those on his back and in his trampin sack, which he called Gizmo, and he sure as hell didn't want them. He had one book, the Bible, and a harmonica which he played when he was alone. I was young then, orphaned you might say, hunger pained and cowering from just about everything, and Junkin helped me get on my own two feet. He taught me how to look for food, where to find shelter, how to keep warm and dry, and how to avoid the realnasties. He did this because he loved people, not because he got anything material out of it, and he helped a lot of people in his time. Some of them went off their own ways but a lot stayed, riding the rails with him awhile or meeting up once in a meantime to hear Junkin give his speeches, which he called sermons, and which reached quite a popularity during the Depression. The sermons were largely lessons from the Bible, except Junkin didn't tell them like a preacher but like a friend, and he always emphasized that the worth of a man was measured not in what he achieved but what he could have achieved but didn't, because achievement was always measured against fellow men, and to be better than your fellow was a sin. I said earlier that many people believe life to be about finding what you're good at and doing it. Junkin called this the False Idol of Talent. He believed that rather than be worshiped, talents should be suppressed because they were weaknesses through which the Devil made you lust for domination and the humiliation of others. Talent offered false triumph, by which he meant triumph over others, rather than the true kind, being triumphant over your own imperfections. I tell you this not because I want to spread Junkin's philosophy but because you need to understand it to understand the significance of the two events in Junkin's life I'm about to tell you about: the raising of the Capital Railway Company, and the death of Jethro Jenkins, both of which were decidedly not as reported in the Kansas City Chronicle by the liar, Will Morrissey. The raising of the Capital Railway Company was the most shameful moment of Junkin's life. It involved a strike by the railwaymen of the aforementioned company, one of the three largest in the country at the time, and the decision by its leadership to break the strike by sending mercenary troops in armored train cars to open fire on the workers at every strike location in America. It was to be a brutal, coordinated and decisive attack that would not only end the strike but strike the fear of Capital into the hearts of all future labor leaders. Needless to say, this did not happen. According to the account of Will Morrissey and others of his ilk, what kept the bloodshed from happening was a sudden and mass failure of the company's railway equipment. They would have you believe that by some mix of socialist sabotage and sheer bad luck, none of the armored cars reached their destinations and all were destroyed. That is not a misreading. That is the news itself, which you can read in the Kansas City Chronicle, archived on microfiche at the Kansas City City Library, and similar newspapers from around the country. What actually happened is this: when Junkin heard about the mercenaries in the armored train cars, for the only time during which I knew him, he lost his temper. He took his harmonica and went off to sit by himself and play, but instead of the peace usually caused by his music, there spread across the sky an anger and a vengeance. We all felt it. It was like a rain of drought, or a fog of ash, or a stumbling at night into a field of cabbages where each head of cabbage was a man's head, wilting, and with rotting voices they all hissed the same horrible word, "Wrath," upon whose upward force all of the Capital Railway Company's railway cars rose into the sky above America, and don't ask me how but *we saw them all*—before plummeting back down to Earth, utterly destroyed. When next I saw Junkin, he was on his knees weeping and praying to God to forgive him for the despicableness of having lost control and given in to the Devil's temptation. The Capital Railway Company never recovered from the catastrophic loss of most of its assets and soon after collapsed. The second event I want to tell you about may seem less dramatic, but to me it is much more significant. It is the death of Jethro Jenkins (reported by Will Morrissey in the Kansas City Chronicle under the headline "Vagabond Dead After Beating Over Empty Sack" with usual disregard for factual accuracy.) It transpired outside a railway yard where Junkin and I had been scavenging for discarded parts. We were sitting then, sharing a stale quarter-loaf of bread when three realnasties confronted us. They had sticks with nails hammered through them and were threatening to use the nailed ends on us. After demanding our bread, which Junkin willingly handed over, they told us to give up everything else we had. The problem was we had nothing else except the rags on our backs, the boots on our feet and Gizmo, in which Junkin kept his harmonica and Bible, and Junkin told them so, but either they didn't believe us or were otherwise offended because one of them whacked Junkin on the head with his stick. I got up, but Junkin motioned for me to sit. "Fellows," he said, "why do you turn to violence? You've come to us for a sharing and we've shared with you everything we have. You ask for more, but we've nothing more to share." "What's in the bag?" one of them barked. "The Good Book and a harmonica," said Junkin calmly, wiping blood from his cheek. "Do ya believe him?" one of the realnasties asked the others. "Don't," answered another. "Bet sure as Hell they got money and pornographies in there," said the third. "Toss it here," said the first realnasty, meaning Junkin's bag. Junkin did. The realnasty tore through it, then in disgust threw first the harmonica then the Bible into the dirt, and spat and stomped on both. Then, as if he knew what was about to happen, Junkin turned to me and, smiling, said, "Be at peace with it, Norm," and before I could grok the meaning, one of the nail sticks got him in the head, followed by another in the ribs. He fell over, wheezing. The realnasties grabbed him by the hair and pulled him across the dirt, leaving a trail of upturned earth. There was a fury in these men, a fury I cannot properly describe but that caused a chill in me because it was alien, daemonic. They surrounded him and beat him without mercy, and all the while I didn't raise a hand to help him, and he did not raise a hand to help himself, and after a period of the pounding of the nail sticks he didn't move and I knew that he was dead. The realnasties stood over him a minute, breathing heavily, covered in his blood and in their own hot sweat, before scattering. There was a thick dust in the air and they disappeared into it. When they were gone I crawled towards him and cradled his pulped body in my shaking arms. He had been one of my best friends. He had saved me, and God I loved him. He, who had raised a railway company into the air and wrecked it, had let himself be killed, and in the former was his shame and in the latter his supreme triumph over his own sublime abilities. He was a man, if that is what he was. At some point I looked over at where the realnasties had torn open Gizmo. The harmonica was still on the ground, shattered by a realnasty boot, but the Bible had disappeared. Although I am not one to propose interpretations I couldn't help but feel that something then had changed, and if there'd been a God, and He was present, now, though He may still endure, His spirit no longer dwelled among us. Sometime after his death I learned that Junkin's legal name was Jethro Jenkins, that he was the firstborn son of an oil magnate and heir to a family fortune that he renounced one day by leaving his home and never coming back. I will leave it to you to decide whether that means anything, everything or nothing at all. I will also leave you with this: *A bag is judged not by what's in it but by how much it can carry. Whether empty or full, its capacity does not change. Some bags are small and filled with money. Others are empty but large enough to carry the entire world.* Once I saw a bag lifted by the wind. Light, it danced. And the wind—the wind carries us down the road.
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My name is (dalton) I live in a small town, I work at a tech company that fix's electronics and restores old footage my friend who works as a night guard at the location she asked me to keep her name anonymous for reasons you will surely know through out the story. anyway I woke up like any other day got dressed ate some breakfast and off to work like usual I get greeted by my boss and my coworker (Daniel) who has a habit of sleeping on the job, so I do my job fixing xbox's from phones to vintage tv's, I over heard some employees talking about one night their friend heard the other coworker calling them from down the hall, the same vary coworker laughed at the guy and told him he was at home. that story sent some chills down my spine but hay its a little scary story anyways it was getting late so I made sure to wait until my friend arrived to give her the keys to my office since I left her a beer in my mini fridge. it was 9:30PM when I arrived home and that's when I see something shoot past me at a speed which a speed monitor couldn't see I quickly went in my house thinking it may have just been my imagination I went up stairs to my room took my pants and shocks off to go to bed Since I need to get up at 7AM for work. that's when I get a text from my friend saying. WHAT THE HELL DALTON! is this a prank. I text back saying what? what's wrong. She texts me a messages saying. . . . Don't play dumb with me that's you on the cameras. I text back saying. what? me on the cameras I'm at home. and then she sends me the video feed, I tell you the fear I felt when I saw what was standing there right in front of my face was Me? me being a guy who is not scared of anything I was shaking I couldn't move my eyes trained on this thing then I begun to think about the story I heard about voices from down the hall, like it was damn near midnight and this is what I have to think about until I remembered my friend was in there with it I then tried to call to no answer its now 11:40PM Im idk tired scared shitless out of my mind ill update you all if anything else comes up tell then this is my story of how my day went. #x200B; #x200B;
it’s 12:39 am in the morning and I’m just watching Sam and Colby videos in the dark with my dog in my room idk how to describe this feeling but I just felt like someone or something was staring at me i turned on my flash and looked around no one was there I already knew it was him watching me so I turned off my flashlight and acted like I was paying attention to my phone but I was looking at the closet from the side of my eye then my dog starts barking from under my cover(he likes to sleep under covers) I looked really fast and I seen like a black mist move really fast towards the closet and disappeared I jumped up and ran out of my room really fast like I’m not finna sleep with that thing watching me everyone is sleep except for my sister she was outside with her friends but now ima just sleep in the living room and just watch Sam and Colby till i fall asleep 🥲👍🏼 bye.
I know it’s probably not the right time on reddit but every day for the past month someone has shown up at my house watching from a far just standing there and I have called the police but they can’t do anything without evidence and he is outside my home in a bush right now I don’t know what the fuck to do.
My older sister Eve has always had a obsession over cats, but all of that changed in a single night. It all started when our family was driving on a highway and we noticed a grey kitten with white fur on its belly, chest, paws, and chin. We all noticed the stray kitten and it seemed hurt, so we found an area to stop and we quickly grabbed the kitten, it was hard because the cat was a fighter but we got it. We noticed the cat was female and we brought her I to the vet, we found out the cat had only a few injures it shes fine, it turns out her mother just abandoned her kitten. So we ended up keeping her, my sister named her streets because we found her on the streets. Streets was a very viscous cat but she eventually succumbed to me and I was the first person she trusted. My sister demanded me to teach her how to tame the cat and after a few tries, streets clanged to her and they were best friends. After two years of them getting along and being besties, my sister has been having nightmares recently about a ragged up cat in the closet. I always had to check for her but obviously nothing was there and I reassured her she’s fine. But one night my sister had enough of it and went to sleep in my mom’s room. Streets was in the room alone with me. Streets isn’t a lap cat but she layed next to me. One thing I found uneasy is that streets kept staring at the closet but I brushed it off. Until eventually I heard a sharp scratching noise at the closet door and I open my eyes, I see the closet door shut and streets staring at me meowing. After a brief moment of the cat meowing, the door opens swiftly and I see a tall black figure in the closet. I immediately cover myself in my blanket and start shaking. I peek from under the covers to take another look and the figure was piercing over my bed. But it wasn’t any old figure. It was a black tall cat that was standing on its two feet, long sharp claws with stained blood, dark eyes with white soulless pupils, raggedy messed up fur, and the scariest sharpest teeth that reminded me of the Cheshire Cat from Alice and the wonderland. It’s tail was ripped off with major blood. I couldn’t believe my eyes, I immediately pull myself back under the covers and pray and punch myself hoping it’s just a dream, but no hope. I feel my foot being dragged under the bed along with the terrifying cat, it’s mouth opens wide and before I knew it I was being eaten alive, then I wake up. The pain felt so real and before I knew it, my older sister Eve was piercing over me holding Streets and in her other hand, a knife.
I checked my surroundings for more vamps. I quickly pressed myself against the wall as another set of footsteps descended from the end of the adjacent corridor. Sneaking a peak, I found an orderly carrying a metal platter with a small styrofoam cup, some pills, and a sandwich on it. The girl's age read only 20, but I was on edge. She still could’ve been a fledgling vampire for all I know. Technically anybody in the double digits could be a vampire. They just aren’t super mega old like most I’ve encountered so far were. I couldn’t trust *anyone*. She looked friendly enough with her long brown hair tied back into two French braids and eyes which radiated kindness. She continued walking, staring down the activities room doors absentmindedly. I could only guess who the pills and food were for. Taking a gamble with what little essence of a plan my brain had cooked up, I revealed myself right as the orderly stopped in front of the double doors that led into the most important room in the building. “… Hey there!” She stared at me with wide doe eyes, pressing her lips into a small line. Obviously I’d caught her off guard and startled her. “C-can I help you, sir?” She stuttered out. “How did you get in here?” I shot her a nervous, toothy, smile. “Listen, I’m reaaaal sorry to do this. You look like a nice lassy, you really do, but-“ I wound my fist back, getting ready to knock her lights out, when I noticed the scared look on her face. A few thoughts crossed my mind. How many punches to the face would it actually take for her to go down? How much pain and damage had to be done before she was knocked unconscious? I was already hesitant to hit the woman in the first place, but it was necessary to my plan. Quickly, I changed my plan to what I thought was a slightly less brutal one. “-Hey what’s that over there?” I asked as I pointed behind her. Following my lead, the orderly twisted her head to look at the empty corridor behind her. As much as I didn’t want to get violent, especially with a woman, I needed her out of the picture. And her clothes. While she was still turned away from me, I lunged forward and took the tray out of her hand and set it haphazardly on the floor. Then in her stunned confusion, I grabbed her shoulder and twisted her so her back was to my front, then put her in a chokehold. I felt dirty as I covered her mouth with my hand to keep her screams muffled. She squirmed in my grasp and clawed at my arms, desperately trying to get me off her. Unfortunately for her, I was stronger and within a minute or two she was out. I didn’t put enough pressure on her throat to do too much damage, but she would be out for a little bit and wake up with a sore throat and a nasty looking bruise. Looking around to make sure the coast was still clear, my eyes landed on the only other door in the hallway. I grabbed the orderly’s wrists and quickly dragged her, surprisingly heavy body, closer to the door. I crossed my fingers and toes, praying that this door to whatever room laid behind it was unlocked. Mara blessed me with some good luck as after a quick jiggle of the doorknob, the door popped open, revealing a small janitorial closet. I gently disrobed the nurse out of her scrubs- not looking at or touching anything because I’m not a perv- and set my delivery driver costume neatly on her torso. If she woke up in there at least there’d be something for her to change into. I did a quick costume change then grabbed a broomstick and stuck it under the doorknob after gingerly kicking the orderly’s legs inside the closet. The white scrubs the orderlies had to wear must’ve been unisex or something because they fit surprisingly well. They felt light and breathable, like silk pajamas. My only problem was that I had two feet on the other girl, so the pants went up a little past my ankles. Anything, though, was better compared to the tightness of the delivery driver costume. Collecting myself, I swept some hair out of my face and ran my hand through my hair. Hopefully I won’t need to do anymore evil deeds for the rest of the day. I scooped the metal tray off the ground and walked towards the Activities Room doors. The small golden plaque mantled above the wooden double doors that read “Activities Room” only confirmed I was in the right place I hadn’t gotten close enough to the doors before to see that plaque, so it was nice to know I hadn’t royally fucked up and I was actually worthy of being on Nate’s team. Now all I had to do was go in there and rescue the last Chosen so our team could go and kick some vampire ass! Taking a deep breath in, I shifted my left hand under the middle of the tray and knocked softly on the door three times with my other hand. “Hello?” I asked softly, not wanting to startle whoever was in the room. “Is anyone in there?” I was about to knock again after not hearing anything but I paused when an even softer voice said from the other side of the door, “Come in.” I opened the door and realized why they sent human orderlies in there instead of vampires. The activities room was a huge open space with one wall basically being floor to ceiling windows. In contrast to the dark corridor on the other side of the large oak double doors, bright light from the early afternoon sun lit the activities room up like a Christmas tree. There was a brown leather couch set and coffee table in the middle of the room. A large pool table was in the back left corner, adjacent to a ping pong table in the back right corner. In front of the wall of windows was a large wooden easel and half painted canvas. Next to it was a plastic foldable table full of art supplies. Paint brushes, colorful tubes of acrylic paint, oil paints, and a watercolor palette were littered all over the surface of the table. A stack of empty canvases of all different shapes and sizes laid in the corner. Next to it was another stack of paintings all with similar compositions, but they were facing the ceiling so I didn’t get a real good look at them. The canvas itself was full of different vibrant shades of greens, yellows, pinks, and purples. Even though it wasn’t finished I could tell it was a painting of a garden. A garden that I’d visited before. The Garden of Mara. It was then that I noticed all the paintings hanging around the room. They were all almost identical, except that put together the canvases showed a greater painting all together. It was almost a full panorama of the pavilion that sat in the middle of the garden. Emily grabbed an apron with a million paint splatters covering it and tied it around her front. A little name tag reading “Emily” was pinned to it. Emily picked up a white plastic palette and started to paint again. “You’re not Gloria.” She said in a slow, monotone voice. I set the tray I was carrying down on the glass coffee table then went back and locked the doors. I couldn’t risk any vampiric interruptions.“Gloria is feeling a bit under the weather at the moment, so they sent me.” I lied. Something felt… off about this whole situation. As I got a better look at Emily, I had a sneaking suspicion why. She wore a light gray sweatsuit under her apron. Her blonde hair was tied back into a messy bun. A million freckles were speckled all over her rosy cheeks and nose. Her eyes were glassy and gray with a far off look in them. Immediately I could tell she wasn’t fully there. I grabbed the pill cup that sat in between the styrofoam cup of water and sandwich on the tray I’d brought in. The cup contained four small white round tablets and one long light blue pill. None of them had the standard imprint codes that identified what the medicine contained. Just what kind of drugs were they giving her? When I looked back up after concluding my examination of the pills, Emily was standing in front of me, her palm held out to me expectantly. “My pills?” She asked with a raised eyebrow as she stared at the small cup in my hands. My eyes darted between the pills and her glassy gray eyes. “Why don’t we try something different today?” I offered her the sandwich and cup of water instead. She shrugged her shoulders, indifferent to the change of routine, and graciously took the water and chugged it. She ignored the sandwich and went back to her easel. “Do you know your name?” I asked after dumping the pills in the sink that was used to wash the paint brushes. I turned the faucet on and watched the drugs dissolve in the water and flow down the drain. “Mhm.” Emily said absentmindedly as she continued to stroke her paint brush against the canvas. She paused and then turned to me and pointed at her nametag. “This thing says my name is Emily. Who else would I be, silly?” She then continued to paint the canvas, ignoring my existence as she got in the zone. I took another look at all the paintings around the room. “What are you painting?” I asked, already knowing the answer. It took Emily a minute to formulate an answer, like she was trying to find the right words to say. “*Home*… I think. I know I felt safe there. Warm and loved. I felt at home there.” Home? That’s an odd way to look at The Garden of Mara. But then again, when I think back to when I visited in my dreams it could be described similarly to how Emily saw it. It definitely was a safe and comfortable space. No wonder Wesson, the God of Death, wanted back in so badly. Emily waved her brush around a large blank spot in the middle of the canvas. “You see right here? This is where M’lady will go. I’m not so good at painting people so I’m going to do her last.” After hearing Emily’s explanation the once white blob in the middle of the canvas resembled the outline of a woman. By the outline and with deductive reasoning, I concluded that Emily was talking about the Goddess of Life, Mara. It seems like she didn’t know her name either since she referred to her as “M’lady.” “You’re a good artist.” I said, marveling at all the artwork Emily had created. “Your paintings are beautiful.” Emily continued stroking her paintbrush along the canvas. Currently she was touching up a section of pink flowers I couldn’t place the name of. Instead of thanking me for the compliment, Emily started airing her grievances to me. “They won’t let me paint a mural on the walls and only let me use the canvases. Those only let me create windows. If I could paint my mural it would be like I was back there.” I nodded my head and made a non-committal “hm” to show I was listening to her. Emily then pointed to the stack of painted canvases. “Those are my failures, too ugly to even be seen. The only good thing about them is the practice I got. One day though, despite them, I’ll paint my perfect mural on the walls. One day I’ll go back home.” Even though she was drugged out of her mind, I admired Emily’s determination and outlook on life. She had this indescribable aura about her that made me realize why Mara chose her. I could sense it would be even greater if she was at full mental capacity. I asked her one final set of questions before I determined it was high time we got out of there. “Emily, do you remember anything other than The Garden? Do you know where you are right now? Why you’re here?” She set her paintbrush down and turned to face me again. Emily looked up to the ceiling as she tried to remember. The glossy look in her eyes deepened as she seemed to be looking beyond the ceiling at something incredibly far away. “I-” It looked like she was about to cry as she breathed in a pained gasp of air. “I need to finish my painting.” “Emily,” I said as I got off the couch and grabbed her shoulder. She shrugged me off and went into a trance-like state. She wouldn’t answer any more of my questions and just continued to paint. Suddenly, a loud bang came from the locked double doors. Emily didn’t seem to mind it, but I readied myself for another vampire attack. Another loud bang came from the door. I grabbed one of Emily’s spare paint brushes and broke the wooden tip handle off, making a makeshift wooden stake. If earlier had been a fluke, and I really couldn’t control vampires, I didn’t want to be empty handed when facing another fanged bloodsucker. One third and final bang came from the doors before they burst open. I put myself in a fighting stance, bracing for the vampiric army I expected to storm through those doors and rip me to shreds. Instead, a disheveled Nate stood out of breath holding his side. “Nate!” I shouted in relief, throwing the makeshift stake across the room and enveloping him in a tight hug. I thought he might’ve become vampire chow by now. Boy was I glad to see he was alright. The memories of my previous vampire encounter and the implications that came with it got pushed to the back burner with how excited I was to not be alone again. Still, a feeling of unease coursed through me. Something was telling me to air on the side of caution. I decided not to divulge the new developments of my abilities to Nate. “Oh, hello.” Emily said in that same quiet and mousy tone when she first let me in the Activities Room, addressing Nate. She then went back to painting as if nothing ever happened. He had this complete look of surprise and awe on his face as he looked me dead in the eyes and pushed me off of him. He analyzed the situation and kept looking between Emily, me, and the paintings all over the walls. Nate quickly broke through his shock and looked behind his shoulder. He then closed the double doors he’d kicked open. “Quick, help me push the sectional over here!” He ordered as he raced towards the largest and heaviest couch in the room. Following Nate’s orders, I grabbed one end of the heavy sectional and helped him carry it to the doors. We pushed it right under the door handles so it would be difficult to open the door from the other end. Just then a bang came from the other side. Then another. “Care to explain?” I said as I grabbed my makeshift stake again and eyed the doors like they were going to explode open any minute. “Pissed off a couple of vampires. They followed me here. They probably brought reinforcements as well.” A sarcastic, “Great,” slipped out of my mouth as I rolled my eyes. “What’s with her?” Nate asked, gesturing to Emily. “Drugged to high hell. I doubt she even knows she’s a Chosen, much less how to use her ability in the state she’s in.’ “Great.” Nate said, copying my sarcastic tone from earlier. “Are those-” “Paintings of The Garden? Yes. She thinks it's home.” I answered. “It will be home to all of us if we don’t do something!” Nate shouted. I had an epiphany. “We can’t take them all, just me and you. We need Emily and her ability to get rid of them for good. If I can somehow get her lucid then we might have a fighting chance.” Nate took a cautious step back from the door and started looking for an alternative escape route. “How do you plan to do that?” “Uh,” I said, thinking out loud as I patted myself down, trying to find something that would do just what I needed it to. My hand landed on my pocket and a crazy idea popped into my head. It was crazy enough it might just work. “With this,” I said as I pulled my Epipen out of my pocket and held it up like it was our saving grace. Remember when I said I carry it with me in my pocket everywhere I go? Just as I announced my plan, Nate’s eyes landed on the wall of windows. “I dunno, Henry. Don’t you think maybe she’s been drugged for a reason? Let’s just break the window, get to the van, and let her detox on the way back to the motel.” “Yes, I do think she was drugged for a reason,” I answered, looking at Emily. “That reason is what is going to get us out of here alive.” I dismissed Nate’s plan and readied the Epipen. A boost of adrenaline was hopefully just the thing to break Emily out of her drug induced trance. “Do whatever it is you think will work then,” Nate said, annoyed as he punched one of the window panes, trying to break it. “ Meanwhile, I’ll be over here waiting and ready to save your ass again.” When his punch didn’t break the glass, Nate tried to kick it. “Hey, what are you doing?” Emily yelled in protest as I took the paintbrush out of her hand and spun her around. My one hand was wrapped around her waist and the other was at the ready with my Epipen. “Don’t worry, Emily. It’ll pinch and sting for a little bit, but then everything will be just fine.” I said, reassuringly. She looked me deep in the eyes, seemingly understanding what I was telling her, right as I jabbed the epipen in her thigh. She didn’t even flinch or register that she’d just been stabbed with a tiny needle. I stuck the empty pen cartridge back in my pocket. I waited for something, anything, to happen to Emily. She just stood there, like some kind of zombie statue. A minute passed and her eyes still remained just as cloudy as before. An intense bang came from the window behind us. Nate had picked up a love seat and was currently attempting to use the legs to break the windows. It was a little effective as a small crack in the glass had formed. “A little help here?” Nate grunted in frustration as he threw the chair at the window. “Give me a minute!” I yelled, desperately. Emily still had that long far off look in her eyes. I looked between her and Nate, who was still assaulting the windows with living room furniture. Another idea popped into my mind. It was a long shot, but it could work. If it didn’t, then I’d help Nate finish breaking the window which now had multiple cracks in its glass. Still holding Emily’s waist, I pulled her even closer to mine. Our faces were mere inches apart and I could feel the air coming out of her nose on my cheek. I looked into her gorgeous gray eyes one more time, before I shut mine and pushed my lips into hers. It was a short and sweet kiss, but at the same time it felt electric. Like a million lightning bolts danced across my skin. I felt a sudden change in her body language as I pulled myself off of her and opened my eyes. The aura she emitted earlier had increased tenfold, and the look on her face was a scary one. Her once glassy eyes were clear as day with heavily dilated pupils. They were somehow a darker, more alive shade of gray than before. Her cheeks were blushed a deep red and a nasty frown was on her lips. Emily scowled at me. A sudden spark flashed in her eyes as her anger increased and she slapped me across the face. I took a surprised step back and rubbed my sore cheek. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She turned around and rested her hands on the easel. She looked back at me with a menacing look as she wiped my kiss residue off of her lips with her sleeve. I stepped forward to try and explain myself, but another spark lit in her eyes and her palms glowed an amazing hue of red. Then suddenly the easel erupted into flames. Emily screamed as she lurched back, accidentally falling into me. She pushed me off of her as she looked at the big flaming easel in the corner. Emily’s scream grabbed Nate’s attention off the window and over to us. “Holy shit!” He said, dropping the chair in his hands. Her halfway completed painting burst and sent hot embers flying throughout the room. One landed on the back of my hand. Instead of an intense burning pain shooting through my skin, I felt… nothing. I watched in awe as the ember burned brightly on my hand before eventually dying out and crumbling to ash. Emily looked in awe as I scraped the ash off my hand and whipped the debris off on my white scrubs. “That didn’t hurt.” I said, amazed. “We’re immune to each other's abilities.” Nate said as he gestured to a bunch of embers that landed on his own skin and clothes. They all fizzled out and crumbled to ash. Even Emily was immune, but that was a given since she is the one who caused the fire to begin with. Nate looked over at the sectional which had small flames littered throughout its upholstery as if to prove his point even more. “What the hell is going on?” She screamed as she looked down at her hands, scared of herself. That glassy look from earlier returned as she seemed to remember something. “Mom?! Dad?! What did I do?” I grabbed Emily’s shoulder and rubbed it gently. This seemed to break her out of her trance and she looked up at me. “Hey, it’s okay. See? We’re fine. Let’s all calm down and focus on getting out of here.” She wiped a tear out of her eye and a determined look crossed her face as she nodded in agreement. “This window is about to crumble. Just one more hit and we’re out of here!” Nate yelled as he picked up the same love seat from earlier. “NO!” Emily and I shouted at the same time lunging for Nate, trying to stop him. The one thing you never want to do, especially in a house fire, is open any windows or doors to the room that's on fire. It’s called the fire triangle since there are three things needed for a raging fire to start. Heat, fuel, and oxygen. There was plenty of fuel in the room with the wooden easel, all the canvases, and various wooden brushes and furniture littered throughout the room. The heat from the first fire was already going. If Nate managed to break the window then the over abundance of oxygen that would flow into the room would tip the scales and cause the fire to burn more and potentially cause an explosion. Emily and I were too late in our warning as Nate had already thrown the chair with all his might. First the sound of cracking glass filled the room, before the glass shattered completely. Nate braced himself and I grabbed Emily and shielded her in my arms. The sound of hot wind rushing next to me rang in my ears as a loud explosion echoed through the room. Something large crashed into my back, causing a rippling pain throughout my entire body. Emily fell out of my grasp due to the hard impact. The wind got knocked out of me, but I would be fine. I looked up and everything was covered in flames. It was weird standing in the middle of a burning blaze and not dying. I managed to find Emily again and Nate joined back up with us. Nate let me use him as a crutch and the three of us left the Activities Room for the last time. The couch we used to block the door had been blown to smithereens. The vampires that had been piled against the back side of the door didn’t stand a chance. As we left, one vampire who had their lower half torn off in the blast scrawled down the hall for help, his organs leaking out and leaving a black blood trail behind him. He reached out for us, hissing and baring his teeth, but he was too weak to do anything. His skin started glowing brightly before he disappeared all together. He was only 102 years old. “Gnarly.” Nate said. “What was that thing?” Emily gulped. I forgot for a second that she was out of the loop. I then remembered the orderly from earlier and raced over to the closet I’d locked her in. I removed the broomstick and her body fell out when I opened the door. She must’ve regained consciousness and put the delivery driver outfit on but passed out again after the explosion. It looked like the force of the blast caused a whole bunch of cleaning supplies to fall off the shelves and on to her. I checked her pulse. She was alive, but barely. I grabbed who I think Emily called Gloria and slung her over my shoulder. Another roar of fire shot out of the Activities Room door, singing the hair off of Gloria’s arm as I just managed to dodge it. Two things became apparent at that moment. One, humans could be affected by Emily’s flames. Two, the fire was now spreading out of the Activities Room and spreading down the corridor to the rest of the hospital “Human?” Nate asked as I hurriedly hobbled back over to the group. I nodded my head. “We need to get the other humans here to safety. There’s at least another one here somewhere. Nate, do you know where the others are?” He nodded his head. “When we didn’t go back to the van, the vamps figured we were up to no good. They gathered all the humans as hostages in the cafeteria. There were six of them, but as far as I know, two of them were drained and turned.” "Wait, they can turn other humans?” I asked, bewildered at such a possibility. “Vamps? As in vampires?” Emily added in, incredulously. “Yes.” Nate answered both of our questions at the same time. “Just who the hell are you guys?” She asked, looking for answers, trying to make sense of everything. Nate and I shot each other a look before answering her question in unison. “We’re Mara’s Chosen Few.”
Vincent Farley lived out in the country working at the local sawmill in his community, he never missed a day of work and was always on time. Unfortunately, one night he stayed up late drinking with some friends and went into work with a hangover and still feeling the effects of the alcohol since he had never been drinking before. While he was working one of the hurdles, he lost his balance and stumbled and fell face first into one of the spinning blades. Vincent was now cut from his forehead down to his chest. Still alive but losing blood. He staggered towards the exit and went out the door walking down the long dirt road looking for help since he had volunteered on a weekend, and no one was at the mill but him. In the distance he could see a beige colored farmhouse. Surely someone was home and could call for help. Vincent stumbled up the steps using outiside paneling to hold himself upright. Raising a trembling hand, he knocked on the wooden screen door before falling onto the porch. Inside the loud thud from outside alerted the couple who lived there. Rosey opened the front door letting out a terrified scream. Before her was the injured and bleeding Vincent. Looking over her shoulder to her husband, her voice quivering she yelled “Call the doctor!” By the time the doctor arrived it was too late. Vincent had already passed. What surprised the doctor the most was a man with that sort of injury should not have made it as far as Vincent did. Too bad he had lost too much blood. After some time, Rosey and her husband began to hear noises of someone walking up the steps onto their porch, knocking on the screen door then falling with a thud. Flicking on the porch light she peeked out the window just to see nothing there. “Must be Vincent” Guard mumbled as he looked at Rosey from over the top of his newspaper. She paled at the thought of her home becoming haunted, but she knew her husband was right. After all this was the last place Vincent had been before he passed away and he was only looking for help. Help that came too late.
In the heart of a moonlit night, the eerie howls of a ferocious werewolf echoed through the dense woods. The government's elite agents, led by the fearless Agent Kane, were on the hunt for this escaped subject from a classified research facility. The werewolf's power and agility had left a trail of devastation in its wake, and the agents were determined to bring it down before more lives were lost. As the agents followed the creature's scent through the twisted trees, the tension in the air was palpable. Each step they took was heavy with anticipation, their senses heightened by the looming danger. Agent Kane, a battle-hardened veteran, led the way with unwavering resolve. Her team moved in a tight formation, their weapons ready, and their eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. Suddenly, a bone-chilling growl echoed through the woods. The agents froze, their hearts racing. From the darkness emerged a massive werewolf, its eyes glowing with an unholy light. This creature was unlike any they had encountered before, standing at least eight feet tall with muscles that rippled beneath its fur like steel cables. Its snarling maw revealed razor-sharp fangs that dripped with saliva. With lightning speed, the werewolf lunged at the agents, its claws slashing through the air. Agent Kane's reflexes kicked in, and she narrowly dodged the attack, narrowly avoiding the creature's lethal strike. The battle had begun, and the woods erupted into chaos as gunfire and snarls filled the night. The agents fought desperately to keep their distance, their bullets bouncing off the werewolf's thick hide. Its strength was astonishing, and it dispatched agents with terrifying ease. A single swipe of its massive paw sent one agent hurtling through the air, crashing into a tree with bone-crushing force. Another agent fired a flare, illuminating the battlefield in an eerie crimson glow. As the agents regrouped, Agent Kane's mind raced for a strategy. She remembered the ancient legends of silver being a werewolf's weakness. With a signal to her team, they unleashed a barrage of silver-laced bullets, finding their mark and eliciting agonized howls from the creature. The werewolf's ferocity didn't waver, but the wounds slowed its movements, giving the agents a brief respite. The battle raged on, the forest echoing with the clash of steel and the roars of the werewolf. One by one, the agents fell back, nursing wounds and catching their breath. Agent Kane stared at the creature with grim determination, realizing that this would be their final stand. The full moon cast an eerie glow on the scene, bathing everything in an otherworldly light. Summoning every ounce of her strength, Agent Kane rallied her team for one last assault. They encircled the wounded werewolf, their weapons poised for the finishing blow. The creature's eyes burned with a mix of fury and desperation, and it lunged once more. A fierce battle ensued, with agents attacking from all sides while dodging the creature's lethal strikes. In a heart-stopping moment, Agent Kane locked eyes with the werewolf. Time seemed to slow as she realized the creature's intelligence, the spark of humanity still buried within. With a final surge of determination, she lunged forward, plunging a silver blade into the werewolf's heart. The creature let out a mournful howl that echoed through the night, its body convulsing before collapsing onto the forest floor. The agents stood in breathless silence, surrounded by the wreckage of their battle. The moon's light bathed the fallen werewolf in an ethereal glow, and the woods seemed to hold their breath. As the night wind rustled through the trees, Agent Kane knew that their mission was complete. The escaped werewolf, a symbol of both horror and tragedy, lay defeated. The government's secrets remained hidden, but the cost had been high. The agents began to tend to their wounded comrades, their hearts heavy with the weight of the night's events. And so, under the watchful gaze of the moon, the agents emerged from the darkness, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. The hunt for the escaped werewolf had come to an end, but its echoes would linger in their memories, a reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. As the night grew quieter, a sense of eerie calm settled over the forest. The fallen werewolf lay motionless, its once ferocious form now an imposing yet tragic figure. Agent Kane approached the creature cautiously, her heart heavy with a mix of triumph and sorrow. She had seen firsthand the creature's strength, but also glimpsed the humanity that had been overshadowed by its monstrous nature. Gently, Agent Kane retrieved the silver blade from the werewolf's heart. As she did, the moon's light seemed to wane, as if acknowledging the end of the battle. The agents gathered around her, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and relief. They had faced a creature of nightmares and emerged victorious, but not without scars – both physical and emotional. In the aftermath of the battle, the government's cleanup teams arrived, securing the area and removing any evidence of the supernatural encounter. The agents shared weary glances, knowing that their actions tonight would never be fully acknowledged, their sacrifices hidden from the public eye. Yet, they found solace in the knowledge that they had prevented further harm from befalling innocent lives. Days turned into weeks, and the forest slowly reclaimed the memory of the battle. Agent Kane and her team returned to their everyday lives, forever bound by the secrets they shared. The memory of the escaped werewolf lingered in their thoughts, a reminder of the lengths to which the government would go to harness the power of the supernatural. Agent Kane spent restless nights contemplating the events of that fateful night. She had witnessed the creature's final moments, seen the spark of humanity in its eyes. It made her wonder about the true nature of the experiments conducted in the hidden facility. The line between science and monstrosity had been blurred, and the consequences were far-reaching. In the end, Agent Kane couldn't shake the feeling that they were merely pawns in a much larger game, tasked with cleaning up the messes created by the government's insatiable pursuit of power. She knew that there were more secrets hidden in the shadows, waiting to be uncovered. As she stared at the moonlit sky, Agent Kane made a silent promise to herself. She would continue to hunt down escaped subjects, not just to contain them, but to uncover the truth behind their creation. The battle with the werewolf had ignited a fire within her, a determination to expose the government's mistakes and prevent further tragedies. And so, under the vast expanse of the night sky, Agent Kane's resolve remained unshaken. The hunt for the escaped werewolf had been just the beginning of a new chapter in her life, one that would lead her deeper into the darkness, where government secrets and supernatural forces collided. With each step she took, she knew that the path ahead would be treacherous, but she was prepared to face whatever challenges lay ahead. As the moon continued its journey across the sky, casting a silvery glow on the world below, Agent Kane stood resolute. The hunt was far from over, and the secrets waiting to be unveiled were as daunting as they were dangerous. But with her team by her side, and the memory of the fallen werewolf driving her forward, she was ready to confront whatever darkness awaited her on the horizon. Weeks had passed since the night of the battle against the escaped werewolf. Agent Kane had returned to her routine, her resolve stronger than ever to uncover the truth behind the government's experiments. She continued to dig deeper, following leads and unearthing connections that seemed to stretch into the darkest corners of the world. However, something had changed within Agent Kane's team. Unbeknownst to her, the escaped werewolf's DNA that had been collected during the battle had subtly merged with their own blood. Over time, the changes had been gradual, almost imperceptible. But as the moon reached its zenith one fateful night, the transformation became undeniable. Agent Kane had gathered her team for a mission that she believed was crucial to exposing another layer of the government's secrets. They were deep within an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by crates filled with classified documents. The moon's light filtered through the broken windows, casting an eerie glow on the scene. As Agent Kane discussed their strategy, she noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. The team had begun to change. Their eyes glinted with an unnatural luminescence, their muscles tensing as if itching for a fight. And then it happened – with a bone-chilling howl, they transformed into werewolves, their humanity consumed by their monstrous alter egos. Agent Kane's shock was palpable, her mind racing to comprehend the impossible. As the transformed agents lunged at her, Agent Kane's training kicked in. She evaded their attacks with a mix of agility and desperation, her mind struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. These were her teammates, her allies, and now they were merciless killing machines with a thirst for blood. The warehouse erupted into chaos as Agent Kane fought for her life. She darted between crates, narrowly avoiding razor-sharp claws and powerful swipes. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath ragged as she desperately sought a way to escape the onslaught. The once-trusted members of her team were now unrecognizable, driven by an insatiable hunger for violence. Outside the warehouse, the moon hung in the sky like a malevolent witness to the carnage below. Agent Kane's mind raced for a solution as she continued to fend off her transformed teammates. She realized that they had become a part of the same experiment they had once hunted their DNA tainted by the escaped werewolf's essence. With a surge of determination, Agent Kane managed to separate herself from the pack, using her surroundings to her advantage. She retrieved a weapon modified with silver ammunition, hoping that it would prove effective against the monstrous creatures her team had become. Her movements were fueled by a mix of fear, sorrow, and the knowledge that she had to survive at any cost. The battle raged on, the warehouse echoing with the sounds of growls, howls, and gunfire. Agent Kane fought with every ounce of strength, her mind racing for a strategy that could bring an end to the nightmarish conflict. She knew that she had to find a way to reverse the transformation, to save her teammates from the fate that had befallen them. In the midst of the chaos, Agent Kane managed to land a precise shot on one of her transformed teammates, striking a vital point. As the creature let out a pained howl and reverted back to its human form, a glimmer of hope flickered within her. With newfound determination, she focused her efforts on incapacitating the others, using the silver ammunition to weaken their monstrous forms. As the moon began to wane, the battle reached its climax. Agent Kane stood amid the wreckage, surrounded by the unconscious forms of her teammates. The warehouse was filled with the stench of blood and the echoes of the night's horrors. With a heavy heart, she contacted the authorities, requesting immediate medical assistance for her comrades. The aftermath of the battle left Agent Kane shattered. She had faced not only the government's experiments but the betrayal of her own team. The lines between trust and deception had been blurred, and the wounds ran deep. As the sun's first rays broke through the darkness, she stared at the fallen werewolves, each one a reminder of the fragile boundaries between humanity and monstrosity. Agent Kane knew that her journey was far from over. The escaped werewolf's DNA had brought forth unimaginable consequences, and the secrets of the government's experiments were still buried deep within the shadows. With a heavy heart and a newfound determination, she walked away from the scene, ready to face the challenges that awaited her in a world where nothing was as it seemed. As the sun rose, its warm rays gently dispelling the darkness, Agent Kane retreated from the scene of the harrowing battle. Her steps were heavy, her mind awash with a maelstrom of emotions. Betrayal, grief, and a burning desire for justice fueled her every thought. The events of the night had shattered her trust, her sense of camaraderie with her own team now twisted into a painful memory. With her transformed teammates receiving medical attention, Agent Kane turned her attention back to her investigation. She knew that the roots of this sinister experiment ran deep within the government's hidden machinations. The DNA of the escaped werewolf had been a catalyst, but there was more to the story that remained hidden. As the weeks passed, Agent Kane delved deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of power. She uncovered a web of deceit, a trail of breadcrumbs leading to shadowy figures with ulterior motives. It became clear that the government's experiments were not just about harnessing supernatural abilities, but about control, manipulation, and unchecked power. With each revelation, Agent Kane's determination grew stronger. She realized that her mission had evolved beyond exposing the government's mistakes – it was about dismantling a system that allowed such horrors to thrive. Her experiences had shaped her into a fierce force, a lone wolf willing to face the darkness head-on. Her investigation led her to a hidden research facility, a place that had been instrumental in the creation of the werewolf transformation. As she infiltrated the facility's depths, she encountered armed guards, elaborate security systems, and a sense of foreboding that hung in the air. It was a high-stakes game of cat and mouse, a battle of wits and skills that would determine the fate of countless lives. As Agent Kane delved deeper, she uncovered chilling records that detailed not only the experiments that had transformed her teammates, but also the government's plans to unleash them as uncontrollable weapons of destruction. The escaped werewolf had been merely a test subject, a precursor to an army of supernatural killing machines. With her heart pounding, Agent Kane realized that she had become the last line of defense against the impending catastrophe. She had to expose the truth, not just for her own survival, but for the sake of humanity itself. Armed with this newfound knowledge, she confronted the facility's leaders, determined to put an end to their nightmarish plans. The confrontation escalated into a battle of epic proportions, reminiscent of the conflicts she had faced before. The facility became a battleground, a clash of ideologies, and a fight for the future. Agent Kane faced off against her adversaries, using her training, resourcefulness, and sheer determination to overcome insurmountable odds. As the moon rose once again, its silvery light casting an ethereal glow on the chaos below, Agent Kane emerged victorious. The facility lay in ruins, the plans of the government's shadowy figures thwarted. But victory came at a cost – scars, physical and emotional, that would forever mark her journey. Agent Kane stood amidst the wreckage, her gaze fixed on the moon. Its luminescence seemed to reflect the duality of her existence – a symbol of both hope and darkness. The battle against the government's experiments had taken its toll, but she had emerged as a force to be reckoned with, a beacon of defiance against the darkness that lurked within the corridors of power. And so, as the night slowly yielded to the dawn, Agent Kane made a silent vow. She would continue to hunt down the government's mistakes, expose their secrets, and fight for a world where humanity's potential wasn't twisted into monstrosity. With the scars of her past serving as a reminder, she walked away from the ruins, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, armed with the unwavering resolve of an agent who had stared into the abyss and refused to be consumed.
Im not dressing this up in any sort of way, this "story" is just my recollection of the events. I dont remember the exact date but my grandmother got sick around the time we were looking for a house, so my mom decided to find one closer to her. We got a decent deal on some property that had a house on it. The house wasnt very big and it was literally the most disgusting place id ever walked into at first but after 2 weeks of cleaning and painting, it felt clean enough I could relax. Shortly after we got moved in, my granny died, and we discovered a horrible mold problem with the house. It wasn't entirely in our name yet, so we just continued paying the bills until we could do something different... Again... There was a tree in the front yard that leaned towards the house and small limbs and twigs would fall from it often, and i always said I felt like the tree would fall over eventually. Well, dad calls the people who cut down trees and they said it wouldn't fall for years and we had nothing to worry about. The house had a crawl space type of thing in the roof of it, but it was also nasty and moldy and we just never got around to going up there (we were only there for 5 months total). It was also hard to reach due to the only access point being near the porch, and the ladder wouldnt extend down far enough due to being blocked due to the home-made hand rail. The mold kept getting worse and my family started getting sick. Eventually we moved out. The last day we were just coming back to clean up the yard and we pulled in to find the tree had fallen onto the house, and in the trashed pieces of the house we found bones. There was definitely a full skeleton, at least at one point. About 4'8" and it mightve been a full body at some point but it definitely wasnt now. It wasnt a clean skeleton, though. We called the police and I wish i had more information after that, but we moved 30 minutes away and havent heard anything since.
I was approximately in pre school (3-5) now I am 19, I remember this day very vividly. I remember leaving pre school when my mom came to pick me up. There would always be snacks by the door for when you leave, so I grabbed some and we got into the car. My mom drove a mini van and I was in the back seat staring out the window after I ate my snack. I don't remember where we were going, but as I was staring at the wheel of a bus I became stuck in a loop. All I could see was the wheel on the road constantly, It felt like hours of seeing the same thing over and over. While this was happening all I could remember is being confused and scared. There was nothing I could do to make it stop, I was frozen. Eventually I came out of it, we were back at the pre school picking up my younger brother, when I asked my mom "Where are we?, what happened?" she told me where we were and told me Ive been acting weird. She told me she was trying to talk to me while we were driving, I was giving her very random responses. We never talked about it after that and I have never explained to her what happened. I have never told anyone about this experience but thought I would since I cant figure out what happened. Did It even happen was I in a dream? Was I drugged? Did I glitch out of the matrix?
I’m a nurse at a palliative care unit in an old hospital. If you’re a nurse at one of these units like me or know a nurse, please read until the end. I could use your help. Throughout my years working at this hospital, I’ve seen a lot, especially being in a palliative care unit, you see a lot of things other people wish they wouldn’t. For some of us, at some point, we just have to accept things as they are. The unit I work in has nine beds in nine different bedrooms, all spread along a long corridor. At the start of the corridor is the lift and, coming out of it, you’d find the cleaning room on your right, where we keep all the cleaning equipment and products, and the nurses’ room on your left, along with the entrance through the stairs. Because of the building and patient safety, and so we can access the other floors easily if in need, the administration forbade us from locking the stairs doors. This isn’t ideal, because some of our patients, in their delusions, can go across our room’s door unnoticed and will be a danger to themselves, so we always keep the doors closed by tying a bedsheet around the door handles to keep them together. This is important, so you know why what comes next started out so strange. The nurses’ room is where we’ll spend most of the night shifts doing all kinds of activities, including resting and actually sleeping. Usually, late at night, my routine would include checking on all our patients, checking on all the doors and windows to make sure they are all locked properly, checking on the doors to the stairs and then spend most of the night checking patient files. This night in particular, I had finished with my rounds and was checking on all the cameras. When my nursing auxiliary came into the nurses’ room, she asked me if anything else was needed or if she was ok to sleep for a while. I told her she was fine to go to sleep, so she took her shoes off, laid down with her back to the room and me, facing the wall, and went to sleep. I was reading a new patient’s file, who was coming into our unit soon, to know what to expect and how to behave around him, when I started hearing footsteps walking up and down the unit’s corridor. At first I ignored them, thinking I was just tired, and that my ears were playing tricks on me. It wouldn’t be the first time. As they persisted though, I started wondering what was going on. I took another look at the cameras, but each and every one of the bedroom and corridor feeds seemed completely normal. The steps, though, kept coming all the way to the nurses’ room, stopping about two steps away from showing at my door, then turning around and walking back all the way to the opposite end of the corridor. I waited to see if anything changed, but when it didn’t I stood up to go check. That’s when one of our patients, the one in room number seven, started calling us frantically. My auxiliary nurse was still asleep, so I walked carefully out of the room, peaked out of the room and looked around. There was nothing there, and the footsteps had stopped, so I rushed to the patient’s room. When I got there, he was shouting frantically, huddling against the bed’s headboard with what seemed like renewed energy, shouting at me to tell the man in the top hat sitting on the chair in the room to go away and leave him be. Usually, with patients like these in this state of stress, we just go along with their delusions to calm them down. If there are nurses watching, which I hope there are , you’ll know what I mean. In this case, with him screaming in the room, I turned towards the chair and started talking to this imaginary man in a top hat, telling him he needed to go, that the visiting hours were done and that he needed to leave right now or we’d have to call security. After this, the patient calmed down, thanked me effusively for sending the man away, and lay back down to rest. I went back to the nurses’ room and back to studying the new patient. As I walked back in, my heart stopped. All I felt was panic gripping my heart inside me. As I stood there, not knowing what to do and looking at the surveillance cameras, there was a big shadow, standing right in the middle of the frame of the camera recording the end of the corridor, right in front of the bedroom I had just been in. I took one step back and leaned backward to check if I could see anything there, and there was nothing. I gave the cameras another quick glance, and the shadow was still there, standing terrifyingly still in front of this patient’s bedroom door. This time, though, when I turned to look directly at the corridor again, this thing was there. For a moment, it felt like everything froze in place, and I just stood there, looking at it like a fool. Then, slowly, it turned towards me, a pair of strange, dark red eyes showing. It stood like that for a bit, screeched at me and flew into the patient’s bedroom, slamming the door behind it. My auxiliary nurse jumped awake at the slam of the door and started frantically asking me what was going on. I was out of breath by now. I told her what I had just seen and what had just happened and she couldn’t believe me. I asked her to come with me to the patient’s bedroom, and she agreed, starting to become curious. We walked slowly through the corridor, passing every door carefully. I was afraid that anything would come flying at us. When we got to the bedroom this thing flew into, I pushed the door without going in, to check for any kind of danger and immediately felt a breath of freezing air hit me in the face. The air con was on in every room and set to twenty three degrees, so this was not normal. Nothing came flying at us, like I was afraid would happen, but there, right by the patient’s bed, there was this shadow. I could tell it was a man, tall and strong with a top hat over his head. I asked my auxiliary nurse if she could see him, not expecting a no. However, that’s what I got. She couldn’t see anything standing there, and definitely not as clear as I could. Slowly, the shadow turned towards me again. This time, it didn’t scream. This time, it slowly dissipated. Immediately I calmed down. Not only could I not see it anymore, I also couldn’t feel it. This sense of calm came over me and the patient seemed ok, so we left the room, and went back to the nurse’s room. My colleague went back to sleep, but I didn't rest until I checked the rest of the unit to make sure everyone was safe. After that, I couldn’t help but stare at the cameras every minute for the rest of the night. Eventually, our shift was over and would become the shift with the most intense experience I ever had. The next day, when night time came and I did all my rounds, I went inside room seven to check on the patient. When I came closer to him, I realised he had passed away. This was my first experience with the shadow man in the top hat, but it wasn’t the last and it’s still ongoing. I’m the only one who can see him around the unit, which freaks everyone out. Every single time I see him, it’s under the same circumstances: I walk into a patient’s room and there’s his shadow at the feet of their bed. I wait for a little while, until he turns to me and dissipates. One or two days later, the patient passes away. This is a real story and it’s something I have to live with almost every day now. I’m not sure if this thing is killing people or announcing their deaths, but if you are a nurse in a similar unit or know someone who is, please share this with them and comment what you know about it. I need to know what this is, how to deal with it and if anyone else has experienced the same as me, even if it’s a different looking entity. I can keep you updated on here, if people are engaging and want to know more. Let me know if you want any updates, and I’ll make sure to bring them. If you’re dealing with something like this yourself, know that you’re not the only one. Maybe this will help you feel less afraid.
Day 1: This is my first time EVER having a diary. I always thought it was weird, but now, I get why people use these. It's a nice place to vent all your feelings without getting sent to a mental hospital. Well, now I can say it without getting yelled at. There's always been strange smells coming from my attic. Like something was rotting. And my parents are always out getting ropes, and bins, and... Having parties. I'm not really allowed to participate in these parties. They happen pretty late at night. Day 2: Same old, boring day. Honestly, nothing new happens. My parents go to the store to get ropes and new 'friends'. God, sometimes I wonder if they kill them! Hey, I probably shouldn't joke like that. That's a bit morbid. They never let me in the attic. Hell, maybe one of these days when they're out, I could sneak up there and try to rid of that awful smell! Nah, if they found out, I'd be dead meat. It's so temping though. Day 3: They're out. I think I might just head up there. It's a few hours later and I'm sobbing. They're murderers. Now I know why there's so much screaming at those parties, now I know why the attic smells funky. It's because there are rotting bodies up there. I think I might call the police. Oh my god, they just got home and they brought someone. I'm horrified. I just told them what I know. They are taking me up there... Oh. My. God. I'm going to die. This is my last page. I shouldn't have gone up there. This is the last time you'll ever see me. Goodbye. Day 4: Day 5:
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I've been experiencing a strange occurrence where my lights turn on at random times, which is somewhat unsettling to me. It's important to note that I do not have a smart house.
In the wake of the city's fiery apocalypse, the flames still raged on the horizon, a relentless reminder of the chaos that had engulfed civilization. Yet, with time, the inferno had lost its ferocity, leaving behind a smoldering wasteland where the echoes of destruction lingered. And then, one day, fate intersected my path with a group of desperate souls—a reminder of the world's descent into madness. Drawn by whispers of sanctuary, they stumbled upon a cabin nestled deep within the woods—a haven untouched by the destructive flames that had engulfed the city. The irony was palpable, a bitter reminder of the relentless twists of fate. As they approached the cabin, their presence shrouded in a palpable mix of fear and desperation, my heart tightened with a heavy blend of empathy and melancholy. Inside those walls, I had fashioned a fragile haven, a corner of existence insulated from the tumult that had engulfed the outside world. With cautious steps, I emerged from the shadows, confronting the intruders whose desperation mirrored my own. The ensuing clash was a dance, intense yet heart-wrenchingly swift—a choreography of struggle etched with the sorrow of necessity. In the dim light of the cabin's interior, the echoes of their desperation met the somber determination that had grown within me. The young teen charged forward, a makeshift blade in hand, his eyes reflecting desperation and determination. Beside him, the second teen mirrored his resolve, a glint of steel clutched in his hand. The female lingered in the shadows, a crossbow aimed my way, her trembling fingers betraying a mix of fear and desperation. With a fierce surge of adrenaline, I managed to sidestep the two male attackers, their momentum propelling them past me. Instinct took over as I lunged at the female first, wielding the wooden club I had crafted in haste. A sickening crack resonated through the air as the club connected with bone, and she crumpled to the ground in a heap. A sharp pain radiated from my side as the blade found its mark, searing through me. Grimacing, I twisted away, the urgency of survival drowning out the pain. My club swung like a force of nature, shattering the jaw of the teen who had stabbed me, the wet crunch of bone against wood mingling with his pained moans. The other teen, stunned by the chaos that unfolded, stood frozen in place, his wide eyes filled with fear. We were both caught in a grim dance of inevitability—I couldn't afford to let them go, and he knew he couldn't escape. I seized the crossbow, my fingers trembling as I aimed it at him, the weight of a life-and-death decision hanging heavy in the air. His eyes pleaded for mercy, a silent plea that echoed through the night. I squeezed the trigger, the bolt finding its mark, though not with the precision I had hoped for. I had hoped the arrow would strike his heart and end him quickly, however, it was lodged into his throat. The anguish in his eyes mirrored my own—neither of us had wanted this outcome, but the world had painted us into a corner of violence and survival. The teen with the shattered jaw groaned his agony a reminder of the brutality that had unfolded. Swallowing my unease, I delivered a few final blows with my club, the echoes of each strike reverberating through the darkness. I repeated the process with the fallen female, a sense of somber necessity driving me forward. Finally, my gaze turned to the boy who lay choking on his blood, a painful realization etched into his expression. The crossbow bolt had stolen his voice, but his eyes spoke volumes—fear, pain, and a profound understanding of the cruel dance that life had led us into. With a heavy heart, I ended his suffering, hoping that in his final moments, he found some semblance of peace. As the night closed in around me, I stood amid the aftermath of the tragic encounter, my hands bloodied and heart heavy. The forest seemed to hold its breath as if mourning the lives that had been snuffed out. Amid this brutality, a haunting question lingered—how had humanity been led to a point where survival had become synonymous with savagery? My club felt heavy in my trembling grip, the blood-soaked wood a macabre testament to the brutality that had unfolded. My hands were slick with crimson stains, my once-pristine clothes now marred with the grim evidence of what I had done. The bodies lay before me, a haunting tableau of life extinguished by necessity. Grief and guilt intertwined within me, a bitter cocktail that threatened to drown my resolve. I surveyed the scene, each lifeless form a reflection of my shattered innocence. A deep ache settled in my chest, a hollow void that seemed to expand with every beat of my heart. My gaze shifted from one body to the next, and I felt a part of me wither away. The world had thrust me into a situation where life and death were agonizingly intertwined, leaving me with no choice but to wield the mantle of the executioner. I had acted out of survival, out of the need to protect myself, but the weight of that decision was crushing. I muttered to myself, a fragile attempt to justify the horrors I had witnessed and inflicted. "It was the right thing to do," I repeated as if the words could somehow erase the anguish that gnawed at my soul. But no matter how often I whispered those words, they couldn't erase the image of those young faces, their lives snuffed out before they had a chance to truly live. I fought back tears as I willed myself not to think about their families, their friends, the people who might be searching for them, never knowing the grisly truth. I pushed aside the guilt that clawed at my conscience—guilt for taking lives that weren't mine to take, for becoming a harbinger of death in a world that had lost its way. My knees buckled under the weight of it all, and a sob tore its way from my chest. The tears flowed freely now, mingling with the blood that coated my hands. The forest around me seemed to close in, a heavy shroud of sorrow that matched the agony in my heart. Amid this heart-wrenching tableau, a chilling reality settled in—I couldn't leave the bodies exposed to the world. My strength, both physical and emotional, had been drained, leaving me unable to properly honor the lives that had been lost. Instead, I gathered them as gently as I could, shrouding them beneath a tarp, a makeshift tribute to their brief existence. As the night enveloped the forest even more so than before, I knew sleep would be elusive. The weight of what I had done, what I had become, was too heavy to ignore. I sat by the tarp-covered bodies, my heart heavy with grief and remorse, and prayed for the solace of a dawn that would never truly break the darkness that had settled over my soul. The realization settled in like a lead weight—staying in the cabin, hidden away from the chaos outside, was a fragile haven that could shatter at any moment. The encounter with the desperate teens had driven home the perilous truth: if they had found me, it was only a matter of time before others followed. And next time, they might not be inexperienced adolescents.
In a time when chaos cast its suffocating grip over civilization, I once called a town nestled close to the sprawling city, my home. But as anarchy seized the world and the once-orderly fabric of society unraveled, that home became a place of terror and uncertainty. The streets that were once lined with friendly faces and familiar voices became marred by violence and lawlessness. The city, once a beacon of progress, had become a hellscape where desperation had taken root. Pillaging and murder were no longer whispered fears—they were the haunting reality that lurked around every corner. With a heavy heart and a sense of impending doom, I decided to leave behind the life I had known. My destination was my grandparents' cabin deep within the woods, a haven that had always stood as a sanctuary from the tumultuous world beyond. The journey was not without its perils, for the roads were treacherous and danger seemed to lurk behind every shadow. As I ventured further away from the city, the air grew cleaner, and the weight of desperation began to lift from my shoulders. The woods, once a place of childhood exploration, now offered a reprieve from the suffocating anarchy that had engulfed the world. Nature's beauty had a way of soothing my frazzled nerves, reminding me of a world that once existed. When I arrived at the cabin, a bittersweet relief washed over me. The quaint structure, nestled amidst towering trees and surrounded by the symphony of rustling leaves, felt like a sanctuary untouched by the madness of the outside world. Memories of summers spent with my grandparents flooded back, reminding me of simpler times when the world felt whole. Within those walls, I found refuge from the anarchy that had torn society apart. The tranquility of the woods, coupled with the distant echo of streams and the gentle rustle of leaves, was a reminder that there was still beauty in the world, even in the darkest of times. As I settled into a routine of survival, the cabin became my fortress against the chaos that raged beyond the trees. I found solace in the simplicity of chopping wood, foraging for food, and hunting any game I could find. The world beyond the woods felt like a distant memory, a nightmare that I had managed to escape. As I sat by the fire in my grandparents' cabin, I held onto the hope that one day, the world would find its way back to the light, and the anarchy that had gripped it would be replaced by a renewed sense of order and purpose. A glimmer of hope ignited within me as I awoke one morning to a faint, distant light on the horizon. My heart raced with anticipation, the possibility of the sun's return sending a surge of adrenaline through my veins. I stumbled out of my makeshift shelter and raced through the woods, my steps propelled by a mixture of excitement and trepidation. As I drew closer, the light grew in intensity, casting long shadows that danced through the trees. The world seemed to hold its breath as if nature itself was anticipating a moment of salvation. My heart pounded in my chest, my mind envisioning the return of daylight, the end of the eternal night that had held the world captive. As I burst through the tree line, my eyes widened in disbelief. The source of the light was not the sun—it was the city, far in the distance, engulfed in flames. A sickening realization washed over me like an icy wave. The city that had once symbolized civilization and order was now a blazing inferno, its towering buildings acting as fuel for a relentless blaze. I stood frozen in shock, the warm glow of the fire casting an eerie light on my surroundings. The crackling of the flames and the distant cries of chaos reached my ears, and the reality of the situation sunk in. The city was not ablaze with celebration but with destruction. What I had mistaken for the return of the sun was, in fact, the manifestation of humanity's descent into madness. The city, once a bustling hub of life, had become a funeral pyre for a world that had lost its way. The flames leaped and danced, a chaotic ballet that consumed everything in its path. The sky above was painted with ominous hues of red and orange, a macabre reflection of the destruction below. Tears welled in my eyes as the weight of the tragedy settled in. The flames that had promised a glimmer of hope were nothing more than a cruel illusion, a reminder of the world's unraveling. The anarchy that had taken hold had transformed a thriving metropolis into a symbol of humanity's darkest impulses. I stood there, a witness to the devastation, the crackling flames, and the distant cries merging into a symphony of despair. The city's destruction had become the world's biggest bonfire, an agonizing testament to the horrors that had unfolded in the wake of the sun's disappearance.
--- So I went back to the old club, and I took the advice from the last thread. I bought a cheap three-pack of road flares and brought them along in case of emergency. There’s a two-hour window where the sun shines right over the club. I drove out there with anxiety brimming in my chest, and followed the dirt road up the hill. The sun made me feel a bit better. But in a few hours I knew this whole area would be cold, gloomy overcast – and I intended to be gone by then. The makeshift parking lot was just an empty patch of dirt now. Everything was gone including an old abandoned RV which had been there for years. I don’t know what prompted this shutdown, but whatever it was, the authorities were real serious about it. I had my gear in a duffel bag: Bolt cutters, a flashlight, heavy work gloves, and my flares. I put on the gloves and took the cutters and strapped the duffel bag over my back. The Death Rattle was unrecognizable in the daylight. The contorted roof ebbed and flowed with the building’s unnatural architecture. The painted sign had been removed and the door padlocked with a set of chains. There was no sign that this had once been a place of entertainment for residents of Santa Cruz with off-kilter tastes. It was hard for me to come back to this place. The last time I was here was with Theo. We saw the place was shut down but didn’t investigate any further. He didn’t really seem interested in getting to the bottom of things. I grabbed the six-pack of beers from under the passenger seat and I opened the first one. I sat in the driver seat of my car and watched the building while I drank. I finished the drink but I still wasn’t ready. Then about two and a half beers deep, I grabbed the duffel bag and the bolt cutters and I went in. It was extremely hard to get inside. I started cutting the chain before I realized it wasn’t just one lock. There were three of them with chains crisscrossed over the door. By the time I got it open, I was sweating and exhausted. I pushed open the front door. It was empty inside. The doors in the hall that looked like closets were all open. I turned on my flashlight and went inside. The interior was pitch black except for the aperture of sunlight flooding in through the long hall. I waved the beam of light across the dilapidated interior. The floor was black with moisture and mold, and there was a huge stain on the ceiling. I went through the hall and checked the upstairs rooms. They were all empty, including the sloped room. The floors and walls were riddled with mold stains. I went back to the hallway and stood at the top of the staircase. The flashlight illuminated the concrete stairs. I took a deep breath and went down the stairs. But the basement was empty. There was no bathtub, no chains. The door in the back was open, all the tape removed. I peered into the door and it led to a small closet with nothing inside. At this point I felt really weird. On the one hand I was relieved knowing the police scoured the place and presumably figured out whatever sketchy shit was going on. But on the other hand, here I was with no answers about Sam. I went back up the stairs and left the building with a heavy sense of crushing disappointment. And from here I can’t really explain what I saw. I just need you guys to trust me that this really happened, I’m not making things up, and I definitely didn’t hallucinate it. When I left the club, Theo stood next to my car. His new truck was parked at the edge of the dirt patch. He looked at me and said: “Hey, man. How you been?” I was stunned but how different he looked. His clothes were clean and professional, his hair was slicked with pomade. He flicked the butt of his cigarette and stomped it into the dirt. I couldn’t find any words, so I just said his name: “Theo?” “It’s been a while,” he said. “What are you doing here?” I said. “Same as you, I guess,” he said. “I couldn’t get Sam out of my mind.” “Have you been back inside?” I said. “The cops stripped it clean. There’s nothing left.” “Not quite nothing,” he said. “There’s a hidden compartment under the bar with some bottles of Jack.” “Really?” He laughed and said, “Nah, I'm just messing around. Hey, you wanna split? We should grab a couple beers and catch up.” We both drove to some sports bar in downtown Santa Cruz which he frequented. The bartender was happy to see him. They exchanged some friendly words before the bartender served our drinks and left us to chat. We drank heavily and avoided the subject of Sam. Around three in the morning, Theo stood up to excuse himself. But I interrupted him and said: “You wanna go look for Sam?” He was dumbstruck by this question. After an awkward silence he said: “Why bother? The police did their jobs.” “Maybe we’ll find something we missed,” I said. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I offered to buy him a round of drinks in exchange for humoring me. So he agreed. After we finished our beers, we drove to the old Death Rattle and parked in the empty lot. It was early in the evening, but the trees cast shadows over the property. I switched off the ignition and grabbed the last three beers from behind my seat. Theo gave me a look, and I just shrugged. Then I grabbed my flashlight and duffel bag, and I led the way through the breached front door. Theo followed closely and we trekked down the stairs into the dank basement. I scanned the room with the flashlight. Somebody had shut the door. “What’s the matter?” Theo said. I said, “Hold this,” and handed the flashlight to Theo. He fixed the light on me while I approached the door and tried opening it. The door was stuck. “What’s wrong?” he said. “It’s stuck,” I replied. I tugged harder and the door yanked open. Then nothing happened. No wind, no energy. Just a dark and empty closet. I couldn’t make out anything inside. “Give me the flashlight,” I said. There was no reply. I turned around and the person behind me shined the light in my eyes. I covered my face and tried to make out who was standing there. “What’s the matter?” I said. A figure loomed behind Theo. Tall, heavyset, bald. The man didn’t speak or move. I was scared out of my mind. He clicked a switch in his hand and the basement was engulfed in darkness. Theo gasped quietly, and dropped his flashlight to the floor. It cracked open and the light died. Then there was silence. I grabbed a road flare from my bag and twisted it alight. The basement illuminated with a ghastly red glow, and I saw the bald man standing there. It was the bald man in the genie costume, only now he stood bare naked. We made eye contact and I saw a sick look in his eyes that I’ll never forget. He came toward me, and I stuck the tip of the flare into his gut. The flame died out and he screamed loudly. I could smell the scent of burning flesh and all light died. He charged into me and I fell to the floor. Dazed, I grabbed another flare from my bag and twisted it alight. Then I stuck it ahead of me. The stranger’s bare feet thudded against the concrete stairs. He was holding his stomach and panting like an overworked dog while he ran up the stairs. Theo lay on the ground before me with thin wire tied around his neck. He thrashed his feet and clawed at his neck, and he looked at me with begging eyes. I turned him over and worked at the back of the wire. The edges were sharp and it was too tight to undo by hand. I promised Theo a quick return before I went up the stairs. The stranger hadn’t bothered to shut the door behind him. I glanced around in the dark hall but couldn’t see anything past the red glow in my hand. The front door was wide open. In the back of my mind I thought the man would jump me the moment I stepped outside. But the stranger was nowhere to be seen. I went to my car and grabbed a switchblade from the glovebox, then I ran back to Theo. He was barely moving when I got back down to the basement. His mouth opened and closed while foam spilling onto the concrete. His bloodred eyes protruded from their sockets. I kneeled down and carefully dug the blade of my knife under the wire and I started sawing at the metal. It was tough as hell and wouldn’t cut. I told Theo he’d be okay. But it took forever to cut the thing loose, and by then Theo was dead. I released the wire from his throat and he rolled over totally limp. Bloody foam oozed out of his mouth and his eyes stared at the ceiling devoid of speculation. I stayed with him for a while before I went home. I didn’t mess with his body, but I grabbed his keys so nobody could steal his truck. I don’t know what to do. I want to reach out to Rachel but I’m worried she’ll get angry and think I’m joking. But she’s the only one that knows what happened that night. I have to talk to her.
There I sat in my half broken down office chair, in front of which was the table where upon once stretched arcs of paper where I wrote down the world i created in my own mind. Now it was replaced by a screen where all I could see was the flawed lines of tatherd ideas and half strung together dialogue. Despite its messy state, i always felt pride when i looked upon the text. Becouse it was mine, and i used to think that that feeling could never be taken from me. I closed my eyes and grabbed my head, pain flaring up as a migraine set in. In the depths of my mind I know it's my own fault, but still I cast mean words to the god that might hang in the sky for cursing me with such a blight. I sighed, opening my eyes to once again scan the seemingly never-ending slurry of what might one day becoene a fabtasy book. Yet there among the aches, and deepths of my thinking, a noise arose. It was small, barely noticeable over the sound of my ancient computer's constant humming. The sound of metal against metal, a low scrape. Despite my almost delirious state, I shoot up, confusion setting in, mingled with fear. I breathed out, slouching back down over my keyboard. ‘I live in the suburbs’ I thought to myself. ‘Probably just some idiot taking out the trash’. I try to refocus on my task, yet the words just seem to swim past me, my eyes unable to find even a hint of meaning among the humbled words. From hyper focus to no focus, quite typical for myself. I pushed myself away from the table, my chair rolling me back almost to the door. I got up, my back felt stiff and painful, like that of an old man. I walk out the door, moving across the hallway to the door leading to the staircase to the first floor. I kick the door stopper in under the door, continuing into the kitchen. My back leaned against the kitchen island and my eyes to the window that looked out into the endless abyss that was the forest that stood back to back with my small garden. I can almost smell the wet dirt and crisp night air. It calls to me in a way, perhaps calling fourth a deep-set gene of constant yearning for the outside. I grabbed a coat from the coat hanger, walking out the back door onto my small raised patio. It is protected from the rain by a large patio cover. Three years ago me and my father spent three days building it. Now I was alone, and him with my mother in the bed of the endless. I sat down on the steps leading down to my small garden, right on the edge of where the patio cover ended and I would be exposed to the rain and wind. Even in my darker hours i knew nature always persisted. For a moment the world felt surreal, like I could just breathe out and drift away into the sky on an adventure away from what we called reality. If I were to just…. I snapped to my senses as rain hit my head, my slumping body almost falling down the stairs. I chuckled to myself, realizing that perhaps it's time for me to head to bed. I got up onto my feet, throwing one more glance at the ever-pouring rain before going back inside. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, my eyes feeling like they were filled with lead as I filled the glass with water and sipped it for a few seconds, before pouring it back into the sink. My tired self half shuffled to the door down into the basement, opening it with a tired hand as I slowly made my descent down the staircase. Entering my room, I immediately started undressing. Exhaustion filled my entire body, my sluggish movements only sped up by the prospect of a warm comfy bed. Yet as I lifted the blanket to my bed, a thought struck me: “Didn't I leave the door to the basement open on my way out?” My body tensed up, my throat closing up as fear sent a cold freezing blizzard coursing through my body. The before comfy room suddenly felt alien to me, every item seeming to be slightly out of place. I stood still, a perfect silence draping around me like a wet uncomfortable shirt. I tried shaking the thought off as just my brain being on a sleep deprived anxiety run, yet one detail clung with me: I remember placing the door-stop under the door. I crept into my bed, wrapping the blanket around me. My eyes were turned to my door, a slither of light from the lights upstairs cast upon its half open surface. For a moment I just stared, my eyes not even blinking. Yet as the minutes ticked by, nothing happened, and my tensed up body started to relax. I could feel my eyes slowly closing, each blink becoming longer and longer. Yet as my soon failing eyes began to close for one final time, I did not fail to see the shadowy silhouette that moved against the door. My eyes slowly opened, taking in the room around me. For a moment I simply lay in my bed, feeling the world around me. A trickle of light shone through my open door. I recalled what happened the night before, and all I could remember was those two seconds before my eyes sealed shut. I shook my head. I wanted to dismiss it all as just a dream, yet I knew it was real. As my eyes once again scanned the room, I felt…. Strange. The world felt… Empty in a way. I sat down in my chair, opening up my draft. I scanned the texts, and felt… Nothing. I got out of my chair, walking upstairs and in the kitchen, staring out at the forest. The previously mysterious beauty now felt bleak and hollow, like I saw it for what it actually was for the first time. I sat down onto the floor, my back against the wall and my eyes blankly staring into the abyss Life is simply a lens our consciousness uses to entertain itself. A thin coat covers it that adds flavor to the world. Which makes us enjoy the feeling of accomplishment, the colors of a rainbow and the smells of spice. Yet when that coat is removed, what is left? Nothing. Whatever got into my house that night took the coat from me, and now all I see is a blank hollow world in were everything that I once cherished im now unable to see in the light i once did. Something stole the colour of the world from me.
I used to have a career; a nine to five in the city. I used to wear suits, heels and carry briefcases down the streets of London like I owned the damn tarmac. Now I wake up at five am to a screaming baby and a toddler smashing a two day old banana he found under the couch into the walls like he's Basquiat. Now i'm lucky if I have time to brush my hair and I swear if I have to listen to baby shark one more time I'll end up with soup for brains. *I am an ok mum*. I swear. It's just - *it's not for me*. If I could go back in time I'd probably still have the little gremlins but it'd be a damn hard decision. One day it'll be over, they'll be eighteen and I'll set them free. That's what gets me through. That and arts and crafts group. I found out about the class in one of those awful mum's groups on facebook. I swear every mum has joined one of those: awful dark places full of frantic pictures of rashes and endless vitriolic debates over co-sleeping and breastfeeding. I first joined to share my own rather worried post regarding my son's very green poop. It turned out the little shit had eaten a crayon, but that's getting off-topic. The post was welcoming, warm, and a pleasant distraction from the orchestra of hypochondria the group had otherwise become. #x200B; >Hi there! > >Just a little heads up to all you mumma's out there in the big city! We are hosting a lovely arts and crafts club at the Grantham community centre. All are welcome for tea, coffee and refuge from our little angels. There is on-site childcare for a small added fee. Let's get crafting! > >Love and kisses, Sharon It was a little much, very live laugh love, but they had me at "small fee" and "childcare". I turned up for my first session with my toddler on my hip and my newborn squalling for no discernable reason. I all but chucked them at the sixteen year old crèche worker. The group was congregating on the upper floor in a disgustingly gaudy room. There were origami flowers for wallpaper and IKEA bookcases full to bursting with arts and craft tomes the length of war and peace. The group were huddled around a large oval table and appeared to be making macrame coasters. I felt all the eyes in the room turn to face me, and I nervously lifted my hand to offer a small wave of greeting. "Little late my dear, you must be… Lucy, yes that's it." A woman with a purple bandana looked down at her notes. Her tone was disturbingly sweet. "I'm Sharon, the group leader. In future if you could show up a little earlier that would be great as there is a lot of crafting to fit into our very limited time slot here in the Grantham Community Centre.” I'd worked for high end law firms that were less strict than Sharon. In another life she would have made a great prison officer, but fate had transpired to place her here, at a women’s craft group on the wrong side of South London. "So as we have a new member, we ought to introduce ourselves my lovelies." Sharon chirped. It was as you'd expect: a group of stay at home mothers so stir-crazy that sitting around a table with Sharon turning bog roll tubes into bird feeders was a welcome refuge. Everyone introduced themselves to me in quick succession. There was Natasha who would become a dear friend to me, she had triplet sons, yikes. Then there was Shabnab who somehow managed to juggle parenting, crafting and a small online business selling homemade jams. She would say in her disgusting boastful way, “If there’s time left in the day I’m not doing it right”. There was also Serena and Evelyn, Cassidy and Summer and the very quiet but articulate Jane who had been a lawyer like me in her past life. Sharon's introduction came last. Rather dramatically, she stood to her feet like a politician at a hustings. "As the rest of you know I'm Sharon. I'm mum to five little girls, Mckinleigh, Brinleigh, Farleigh, Marileigh and Samileigh." She regurgitated a top five worst names list. "I know you might have noticed my bandana." She pointed at her head. She was indeed wearing a bandana. The flatness with which the gaudy fabric clung to her round and puffy face suggested to me she had no hair. "I have stage four cancer. A very rare type and there's no cure. This time next year I won't be here." Sharon's voice quivered but she regained control of it. "Crafting is my refuge and I'm so happy to have you ladies to share my last year with. I'm very sure Lucy that you and I are going to be good friends and I welcome you to our little group with love and warmth!" It was a bit of a mood dampener but I felt for her, I really did. Something about Sharon made me feel uneasy though. There was disingenuity laced into her voice: the sickly sweet of a candle pretending to smell like cupcakes. As uncomfy as Sharon made me feel, the Arts and Crafts club was great. I'd dump the kids at the crèche and have actual adult conversations with other women as disenfranchised with the whole mothering schtick as me. Sharon of course was an outlier. She loved being a mother, and oh how she liked to remind us. "I just love my babies. Samileigh has never cried once in her entire life." She beamed one day as she gently embroidered little daisies into a baby onesie. "Well Tommy ate his own booger today and started crying because it was the last one." I grumbled, flinching as I stabbed my finger with the needle. My embroidery wasn't very good. I was trying to make a dog but it looked more like a gerbil that had been hit by a car. "Adorable." Sharon made intense and judgemental eye contact with me as if challenging me to express dissatisfaction. Natasha snorted. Sharon kept staring at me. "Some kids just develop a little slower." As the weeks went by Sharon grew thinner. She was going through one last round of chemotherapy to try and prolong what little life she had left. The group had arranged a little fundraiser for a Bowel Cancer Charity to take her mind off it. I personally thought a trip to the cinema would have worked out better but I was outvoted. Sat outside our little stall selling macrame wall hangings, crocheted hats and air-dry clay monstrosities that were supposed to be trinket trays, was when I realised there was something exceedingly wrong with Sharon. "I was thinking next week I could bring in some of my hair to class. I've been saving it and I want to make something for my girls to remember me by." It was a bit weird, but I could understand her motive. "Paintbrushes. I want to turn my hair into paint brushes for them." I screamed internally. "Or you could uhm, put it into a… ugh I dunno, a locket? You can get them at H. Samuels. We could all chip in." I suggested, unable to hide the disgust on my face. "No, I want to be practical. I want to be used, I want my hair to be a tool, you know?" She said as if the urge was a natural one. “That way I’ll be useful to my girls, you understand?” "I don't no." I replied curtly. "She's got cancer, you dingbat, we do whatever she wants." Serena hissed at me when Sharon went for a loo break. Maybe she was right. Who was I to judge how a terminally ill woman processed her denouement? A very nihilistic and awful part of me questioned whether having cancer awarded you the sort of diplomatic immunity that Serena seemed to suggest Sharon was entitled to, but that’s a debate for the philosophers. I know what you're thinking, *why keep going back?* It's a good question. I've asked myself about forty times. I liked it there, even as all the nonsense was going on, I liked it more than I liked my life at home and that's possibly a conversation I need to have with a therapist. Over the weeks of Arts and Crafts Club, there was an unsteady oscillation between strange and mundane, reliably however, each week Sharon grew sicker and skinnier. Her skin had turned translucent blue and it clung over her bones like a deflated latex balloon. One week we’d be knitting body-warmers and gloves to keep her increasingly bony frame warm, by the next we’d be drilling holes into teeth that had rotted out of her gums to turn them into little beads for her daughters to wear as bracelets, possibly in anticipation for auditions for the Hills Have Eyes Four. “This is getting ridiculous.” Shabnab whispered to me one day as Sharon handed around small vials of oddly pink milk that she had informed us had been freshly pumped as Samileigh had missed her morning feed. “I’m all for breastfeeding, you could whip your tit out under my face and I wouldn’t give a damn, but I’m not bloody crafting with it.” “You go ahead Shabnab, tell the terminally ill woman that you think she’s disgusting, you go girl.” I gritted my teeth, feeling oddly satisfied that I wasn’t the only one disillusioned with Sharon’s nonsense. Shabnab narrowed her eyes. “How can she breastfeed anyway when she’s on all that medication.” Jane mused, being careful to limit her voice to a low whisper. A brilliant question I only wished we had pondered further. “You all have a vial of my breast milk, we shall be pouring it into the resin moulds, and then, when the moulds are half full we can all proceed with adding the contents of the provided sachets.” Sharon stood shakily out of her wheelchair. She pointed to a small bowl of ziplock bag. I was the first to take one from the centre of the table. If I lived in a pleasant multiverse where Sharon was just a harmless lady selling gym wear in a pyramid scheme I would have assumed that what those little bags of fun contained was simply dried fruit. However, I knew that reality would be much worse. “Umbilical cords, these are my babies’ umbilical cords, also included are little chunks from their placentas. There’s also some of my uterine lining from my last period. I popped them through my dehydrator. This craft is all about the sanctity of motherhood. We shall be preserving my femininity for eternity.” “She’s so weird. I can’t take it anymore.” Shabnab whispered to me. She thrust backwards and her chair screeched across the floor. “I’m going to say something.” “I know right, who has space in their kitchen for a dehydrator.” I muttered. “This is vile Sharon, I’m not taking part in this disgusting craft. I’m at the end of my terror, each week you concoct some obscenity for us to construct. I’m going to need therapy from this and we all make excuses for you as you have cancer. Well boo-fucking-hoo.” Shabnab sputtered out. Summer gasped and Jane’s eyes widened as if a train was hurtling towards her. All the air in the room was sucked out instantaneously and replaced with hot, uncomfortable steam. “I’m finished here. Ladies, next Tuesday night you are much welcome at my house instead of craft club, perhaps I shall start a little jam-making club of my own. Bodily fluids not included.” With that she left. Sharon’s teeth began to scrape together and her anger was so palpable I was surprised it didn't split off and become a second Sharon. After a pregnant pause crafting commenced. Sharon told me my resin heart was the best as I had laid out the little nuggets of placenta in the shape of an S for Sharon in an achievement I compare to collecting my masters degree. Shabnab was serious about her jam-making club; she had even made little posters that she spread all around the Grantham Community Centre. The time of the club, rather decisively I expected, conflicted with crafting club. Rather suspiciously a few of these posters were vandalised with perfectly pastel pens of a similar hue to Sharon’s carefully colour-coded collection. "I might go.” Summer whispered to me. “To Shabnab’s, instead of here next week.” “I would, but I’m just here for the babysitting, unless Shabnab opens a creche I’m out.” I said to her, “I’m going to ride this crazy train right to the end.” One by one everyone began to defect to Shabnab’s Jam-Making Bonanza. First It was Summer, then Jane, then Evelyn. Eventually it was only me, Natasha and Cassidy left to keep Sharon company who with each defection she grew more and more foul-tempered. “Her jam’s taste awful ladies. I bought a marmalade for Brinleigh and she spat it out. She prefers mine. I buy it from the store in a jar, but I add my own little special sauce to it. I think Shabnab is a bad influence on you girls, I heard a rumour about her you know…” Sharon told us and she leant across the table secretly as if she was about to tell us where Jimmy Hoffa was buried. “She doesn’t wash her hands before she makes her jams.” “Scandalous.” I mouthed and Sharon put her hand to her heart. “She’ll have to come back one day, she left her crafting knife and it cost her a pretty penny. It’s a cricut one. But you girls let me handle her, I don’t want her to indoctrinate anymore of you.” Sharon said. “I’ve lost enough, without losing you lovelies too.” Shabnab did in fact come to retrieve her cricut crafting knife. She came at the end of class when everyone was leaving holding a passive-aggressive jam basket for Sharon. I waved at her before the door shut behind her and Sharon. Crafting club started to get a little more normal in the coming weeks. Sharon was still ill and she was growing weaker and weaker, but we were actually making useful things. Instead of macrame wall hangings made out of Sharon’s hair we were learning book-binding with pig-leather Sharon had purchased on etsy. Gone were body-fluids sealed in resin paperweights and here to stay were carved ivory statuettes. I figured Sharon had run out of ideas and/or bodily secretions. “I have to get off early my lovelies, it’s Samileigh’s birthday.” Sharon said gently, “I do hope you all stay and finish rendering your pig fat for next week’s candle-making session.” The scent of over-cooked bacon hung in the air and I must admit to being dubious how the culmination of this would be a peony-scented candle, but I intended to trust the process, just as Sharon had suggested. I turned my little slab of cooking bacon, slightly dubious as to it’s faintly yellow hue. Sharon said she bought it at the butcher’s, it was probably grass-fed or something, I was used to the cheap crap from Aldi. “Oh, she’s left her little blood sugar testing kit.” Cassidy grimaced, picking up a small little beaded bag. “Oh… these are the beads we made from her… oh… ew.” She dropped the bag with a grimace and a thud. “Oh no! she’ll need that, does anyone have her number?” Natasha looked around, everyone shook their heads and slowly they all turned to face me. “You have a car… why don’t you drop it off, her address is on the fire register at the front desk, she stays at Queen’s Crescent I think, it’s basically on your way home.” “Fine.” I grunted. I grabbed the little bag and stuffed it into my car. I only had the toddler today as the baby was with my mother for a weekend. I bounced him on my hip. I arrived at Queen’s crescent rather promptly, I was desperate to get home and I had a half a mind to just leave the bag on her doorstep and run. Last thing I needed was to get caught up in a conversation with Sharon, or worse yet, meet her children. I approached her gaudy yellow door, and ignored the incessant buzzing I felt in my pocket. I chapped the little rose-shaped knocker once, then twice before finally it opened. “Oh.. Hi, um… You left your um… delightfully decorated bag.” I held up the little duffel bag. Sharon yanked it from my hand and nervously looked behind me to the street below. She seemed to ponder shutting the door on me, but a devilish glint touched her eye. “Do you want to come in for a tea?” *No,* was my immediate reaction. She glanced at my toddler whom sagged against me, his eyes heavy and black from sleep-deprivation. The little shit only slept once every four weeks. Before I could concoct some half-true excuse about having to pick up the baby and put the toddler to his bed, Sharon prodded me inside. Her house was…. *Gaudy*. The walls were a sickening yellow and every bit of space was covered with intermediate paintings of flowers and beaches. Sharon pushed her way through the piles of bric-a-brac and guided me into her kitchen. Every inch of the surface was covered. Kettles, portable stove-tops, and the fabled dehydrator. There were no bottle-prep stations nor any sterilisers. For a woman with five children her house felt quiet, eerily so. “Two sugars and a milk?” Sharon put her kettle on. She pulled out a hand-made mug from her overfull cupboard. “I have some breast milk spare for your boy… put him right to sleep. I have magical teats.” *I didn’t doubt it.* “No. He’s fine. I’m trying to wean him.” I said carefully. *I wanted out*. Something felt wrong. The hairs on my arm were standing upright and my toddler was pulling at my hair. My phone was buzzing in my pocket but I held the button to switch it off. “Where's the kids Sharon?” “Watching television in the living room. Why don’t you go say hello whilst I get these cookies out the oven. I made them with my own butter that I churned from my own supply of milk.” *Spiffing.* I trudged through to her living room. My footsteps felt like drum beats as I walked through her silent house. She was right. A line of children and toddlers sat along the floor in front of her flat-screen. The youngest looked nearly two. My toddler broke free of my gasp and went to join them. His little hand reached out for the five-year old. Brinleigh. He tugged on her arm, yet she did not move, she was still, her skin pale and tough. He tugged again and a large ripping sound filled the room. Her arm… *her arm had come off.* *Oh no.* Her skin was taut leather and her fat was worn stuffing. Clouds of white cotton-candy fluff spewed out across the floor. I moved forward to pick my kid up, goose pimples forming a rash on my arm. Sharon was crazy, crazier than we all thought. Then I saw it, glimmering silver and white with finishing touches of teal-blue, a cricut knife tinged red. *Shabnab’s.* Brinleigh was made of leather and her teeth looked real too, but sharp, as if they were all canines. Her eyes were glass yet seemed to move as I crossed the room to retrieve my frantic toddler, who moved down the rows of children trying to wake them from their endless slumber. I had to get out. I had to get out. Sharon was coming, I could hear her in the hallway. I grabbed his arm and struggled free and when I turned to flee she was there, grinning like Cheshire cat with a tray full of tea and oddly sickening scented cookies. She glanced at the pools of stuffing and worn leather, at the solitary glass eye that rolled chaotically across the living room floor. I rebounded backwards and screamed, yet she did not move. Her head jerked to the side. I had never felt such terror. It coursed through me turning my veins into hot, scourging fire. My head hit into a wind chime. It rattled and shook and when I turned to look at it I saw that it was made of ribs; long and elegant. “Beautiful aren’t they? Such a pretty sound, puts Samileigh right to sleep.” Sharon said, numbly picking up the stuffing and setting the tray of teas down onto the coffee table. “I’m…. I have to go…. I have to go…” I said as my toddler clung to me, quiet for a change. “Oh I don’t think so.” She picked up the cricut knife and tossed it around her fingers. “I need more lard for the candles and more leather for the notebooks and a fresh lot of intestines to make sausages with. My girls do love sausages…” She moved fast. I collapsed and sagged against the front door as she chased me with her cricut knife. I managed to get down the stairs with her at my back. I fled out in the cold refuge of the outdoors and by some miracle I made it to my car. Only when I was half a street away did I think to call the police and when I popped the phone open a slew of messages told me what I already knew. *Shabnab is missing. The police are on the way. It was Sharon. Don’t go.* *It looks like I’ll need to find a new craft club.* #x200B;
As an author, inspiration can strike at any moment. Mine struck me on a weekend retreat in the woods. My friends decided it was time for a digital detox, but being a writer, I never truly disconnect. So while they went for a hike, I explored an old, decrepit cabin we'd discovered earlier. The floor creaked with each step, as if groaning under the weight of its years. My eyes caught sight of a loose floorboard. Call it writer's intuition or simple curiosity; I had to see what was underneath. I pried it open and found a worn, leather-bound journal. I sat down, sunlight slicing through the broken window, and began flipping through its pages. The journal was a cornucopia of horror stories, each more terrifying than the last. The fascinating thing was the different styles of handwriting—each story appeared to be penned by a different author. A question clawed at the back of my mind: Who were these people? Were they like me, authors who stumbled upon this journal? And where were they now? Ignoring a shiver crawling up my spine, I decided to add my own tale to the journal. I wrote about a creature lurking in the forest, its eyes like glowing embers, stalking campers and vanishing without a trace. As I wrote the last sentence, the journal trembled in my hands. I felt the ink soak not just into the paper but into the very air around me. I slammed the book shut, startled, and stuffed it back under the floorboard. Rushing outside, I was greeted by the laughter and chatter of my friends returning from their hike. I said nothing about the journal, shaking off my unease as overactive imagination. But that night, as we sat around the campfire, I saw them—eyes, glowing like burning embers, flickering in and out of the darkness beyond the trees. My story was no longer confined to the pages of a journal; it had breathed life into my most horrifying creation. I felt a cold dread settle over me. Had the other authors experienced this? Had they unleashed their own horrors upon the world? What had become of them? The fire suddenly felt insufficient to ward off the darkness that surrounded us. The journal, hidden away in the cabin, seemed to call out to me, offering both a terrible opportunity and an ominous warning. I looked at my friends, oblivious to the monster lurking at the fringes of our campsite, and wondered—had I written a tale, or had the tale written me? I understood then that the journal was more than a collection of stories; it was a repository of nightmares, handed down from one author to another. Each writer contributing to its pages played a part in a chain of unfolding horrors, the consequences of which were as real as they were unimaginable. And now, with my tale added, I had become a link in that chain, forever bound to the nightmares penned in that leather-bound journal. The only question that remained was, what would happen if I dared to write again? As I pondered this, lost in thought, I barely registered the soft rustling of leaves, the subtle snap of a twig breaking, and the ever-present glow of ember-like eyes, watching and waiting in the darkness. In this new reality, the mere thought of sleep became a distant dream.
I rolled from bed and shuffled like a zombie across the hardwood floors of the hallway and into the kitchen. The aroma of coffee washed over me in a wave. I eagerly poured a cup of black gold and added some pumpkin creamer. It tasted like heaven on my lips. It wasn’t until after my second cup and three fried eggs later that I discovered the note on the counter. My wife’s flawless handwriting was eloquently scribbled on a torn notebook page lying next to the paper towel dispenser. *John,* *Enjoy your bachelor weekend at home! I’ll miss you very much. But before you break into the beer and call your friends, can you please take care of these things for me?* *Much love,* *Evie.* I sighed expecting a bulleted list of errands, but when I flipped over the note it wasn’t that at all. Scavenger Hunt was written in large bold letters at the top of the page. “Evelynn you magnificent woman.” I chuckled. She knew I was an absolute fool for puzzles and games. I loved them. Couldn’t get enough of them. She had been hesitant to go on a girls trip for the weekend, I think she felt guilty leaving me alone and also for spending the money. We had plenty of it, but she grew up poor and it made her very frugal. I’d pushed her along and eventually talked her into going. She worked hard and needed the break, plus I really didn’t mind. This was probably her way of feeling better about the decision. Leaving me some joy while she was on vacation. The note read, *“Take the cell phone in the junk drawer, the passcode is 3808. A series of emails will be sent on a timed schedule for how long I think it will take for you to complete each item, so don’t dally John.* *P.S. there’s a present at the end.”* A heart was drawn next to my name. I opened the junk drawer in the kitchen. An iPhone with a palm tree wallpaper suddenly buzzed with an email notification. “Woooow…” I whispered. She really stepped it up on this one. I swiped at the notification and punched in the passcode as instructed. There was only one email, from an email address I didn’t recognize. I opened it. *“To where we had our first meet, your first clue is under the seat.”* Easy. Bentino’s Italian Restaurant. We’d first started talking on a dating app and then agreed to meet the first time over linguini, it was her favorite dish. I quickly threw on my joggers and denim jacket and hit the door. After a ten minute drive across town I parked at the swanky eatery. A cobblestone path led to a stucco building that overlooked the bay. Rose vines climbed trellises next to large stained glass windows. The lot was packed. They’d only just opened for lunch and it was already bustling with patrons. I’d told the hostess my party was already inside and she waved me through to the dining room. I racked my brain, trying to remember exactly where we had sat but there was no way to recall exactly. It was four years ago after all. So I made a fool of myself looking under half the tables in the restaurant. I wasn’t so discrete about it either. How could you be? I made up a story that I had gotten spaghetti sauce on my hand and taken off my wedding ring to clean it and it must have fallen and rolled away. People were more than happy to let me check, feigning concern for my misfortune. But it wasn’t until about table number fifteen where I saw it. It was a thick piece of chrome duct tape on the underside of a table near the bar. I carefully peeled it back to reveal a car key. I furrowed my brow in confusion but quickly stuffed it into my pocket. I slipped my ring out of my sleeve and held it up high, announcing to the diners and curious waitstaff that I’d found it. They were even kind enough to applaud. As quick as I could without running, I rushed out of the building. My face was hot with excitement and embarrassment. It was a KIA key. How strange. I looked around the parking lot, but there were several KIA’s. I decided to press the alarm button and a white SUV began to honk noisily. After hitting the unlock button to silence it I heard a ding in my pocket from the cellphone. It was another email. I fumbled to open it, nearly dropping the phone. *“Take the rental car I got for you to a place where church and state lose their separation. A place where vows were said after much preparation. Your next clue will be under a bench, but the hike won’t be a cinch.”* A place where church and state lose their separation… I scratched at the stubble on my chin. Ah! The courthouse on Main. The church being the wedding portion of the riddle, that occurred in a state building. That had to be it. We had decided to have a small courthouse wedding with only a few friends as witnesses because we wanted to spend our wedding budget on a lavish honeymoon in the Caribbean. It had definitely been the right call. Her riddles weren’t very difficult to solve, but I was blown away by the mystery phone and rental car. She was really going all out. I made a mental note to prepare something sweet for her like this. Something with some real thought behind it. I got into the SUV and was smacked in the face by the smell of cleaner and nearly gagged. It was like tropical pineapple mixed with bleach. It seemed the rental company went a little overboard with the detailing, but it was a nice car. I made my way over to Main Street with the windows down and parked in front of the courthouse. It was a small, shanty building in comparison to the multi-story office buildings that shouldered it. After making my way through the double doors I began looking under the benches that lined the hall adjacent to the courtroom. I could vaguely hear a proceeding taking place on the other side of the wall but it came through muffled and mumbled. It took longer than it should have because everytime someone would come down the passageway I had to sit on the bench and look unsuspicious, pretending to read something on my phone. But eventually I found the right one. There was a map taped on the underside of the bench among the clusters of dried gum. One of Briarwood National Park, which was about half an hour north of town. I’d been there before but not in ages. There was a route highlighted in red with an X maybe a couple miles around the outskirts of the park. Looks like you still stayed pretty close to the road the whole time. I’m betting she did that because she knew I had a terrible sense of direction and didn’t want me to get lost. I grinned and tucked the map in my back pocket. Another email came through as I got back into the rental. *“A little fresh air and you’re almost there. Make sure you bring a shovel, your present will exceed your expectations by at least double.”* That made me laugh, I was going to have to give her a hard time about her rhymes when she got home. They were clever but incredibly silly. On my way upstate I stopped at a rinky-dink hardware store and picked up a shovel. The cashier had jested that it was a little late in the season for gardening but I had told him the wife had me doing some light landscaping and he hit me with the happy wife, happy life routine. I didn’t disagree. I admired the evergreens and mighty pine trees as I twisted through the mountain side. It had been too long since I’d left the city. Evelynn had always talked about getting a second home in the country, one we could escape to on long weekends… maybe she was onto something there. But how long had she been planning this? When had she had time to come up to the park and bury something for me to find? And to think it wasn’t even my birthday. I parked in a small lot at the entrance of the park. There was a crisp chill to the air but the sun was plenty warm. I took a deep breath of fresh air and exaggerated my exhale mightily. I carried the shovel like a prized trophy as I hiked along the footpath that shouldered a side road. There wasn’t much traffic but every few minutes I could hear a car whizz by through the trees. It was beautiful and just what I needed. For the past month I had been drowning in bank statements, invoices and tax forms. I worked at an accounting firm and we were trying to wrap up our fourth quarter financials. Needless to say it had been a stressful road to the upcoming holidays. Thank you Evie, I thought as I periodically stopped to pick up walnuts and chuck them through the underbrush. After about half an hour of a pleasant stroll I reached where the map said I needed to be. I scanned the area, kicking through orange and yellow leaves and overturning branches that had fallen from above until I found a large patch of disturbed earth. It looked like something had recently been buried here. I thought about playing my workout playlist as I dug but decided to enjoy the silence of nature instead. After about another half hour of digging I hit something that felt solid. Man she really buried this deep. Despite the fall temperatures I was soaked in sweat. After brushing away some soil I discovered that it was a large duffel bag, maybe five feet long. I continued to quickly claw away dirt and mud to free it completely and grabbed the strap and gave it a heave. God it was heavy. Had to be over a hundred pounds. After a struggle I got it up on level ground. Breathing heavily, I pulled the zipper down half way. Blonde hair and an arm sprung out from the opening. “Jesus Christ!” I screamed, falling backward and scooting away from the bag frantically on all fours. “What the fuck…” It was a body… The sun glinted off hot pink nail polish where the arm jutted out at an odd angle, like it had to have been broken to fit in the bag. I heaved up the contents of my stomach in some nearby brush before slowly approaching the duffel once more. A face stared back up at me, but not just any face… “Oh God, Sam…” It was Samantha Peachie. A woman I worked with. A woman I had been… sleeping with… There was a jagged cut across her throat where worms wriggled among the meat. The cut was so deep that her neck bone glistened like ivory. I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling at it as I sobbed. A scream gurgled up in my throat as I gazed into her dead, dull eyes… but then it was silenced by a notification on the phone from Evie. I brought a shaky hand to my mouth as I read it. *“My heart did tear, once I discovered your affair. Now you’ll both pay, you’d better run, the police are on their way.* *P.S. Your DNA is on everything. Her car, her phone and probably still inside her. Goodbye John.”* Sirens began to wail in the distance as I finally understood it hadn’t been a scavenger hunt at all. I was being framed. P.S. there’s a present at the end…
The GameStop at the mall in Fremont opened at 10. I drove like a maniac trying to get there before then—I simply couldn’t risk someone else buying the game. It was 10:05 when I arrived at the store, sweat dripping from my face. Behind the register was a pimply-faced kid watching some video on his phone. He didn’t even bother to look up at me as I approached him. “I saw on your website that you got a copy of *Desert War*,” I said, panting. “Oh, yeah. Some kid bought it yesterday. It takes a little while for our website to update. Sorry, man.” “Do you know who bought it?” He shook his head. “How about the guy who sold it, what did he look like?” “Uh…it’s hard to say. He was wearing a surgical mask and had on dark sunglasses and a hoodie. Think he was white, and he looked old, like about your age, the little skin I could see was wrinkled. Average height, no accent or anything.” “Did the guy tell you anything about the game?” “Not really. He came in with the cartridge and I told him we only buy big N64 titles, like *Mario Kart*, but he said I could have it for free and just walked out. I tried to search for it in our system, but no info came up, so I just priced it at $2.99 and put it in the bargain bin.” “How about the kid who bought it, do you know who he is?” “I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him before. He’s Asian, like 14 or so. Why are you asking all these questions?” “Because I own a video game store and that cartridge was stolen from—.” “Oh shit. I didn’t know it was stolen, I swear, man. Can you please not file a police report, I’d probably get fired. I’ll pay you out of my own…” \*\*\* I had no choice but to call the cops. That kid’s life was in danger if he ended up playing the game. For obvious reasons, I couldn’t tell the cops everything I knew—they’d think I was crazy—so I just said that I thought some predator had lured Jason Statler 20 years ago, and, after a long hiatus, was trying to lure other kids. I was hoping some detectives would come, but instead a regular patrol officer showed up an hour later. “I’ve received a report that a stolen video game was sold here,” the cop said. “It’s not just that,” I said. “This is related to the Jason Statler—” “Sir, you’re not making any sense. Jason Statler disappeared over twenty years ago. I don’t see what a stolen video game has to do with him.” “I know it sounds crazy, but—” He let out a long sigh. “Sir, I have a friend in the Santa Clara County Sheriff's Office who is working that case. They have received innumerable tips from cranks—” “I’m not a crank! There is imminent danger to the kid who bought this game.” “Oh, just shut up. You’re wasting my time.” He turned to the GameStop employee. “How much did the game sell for, anyways?” “$2.99.” The cop chuckled. “Yeah, this is a complete waste of my time. Think I spent more on gas driving over here.” I called after him as he started walking away, but he paid me no attention. Even if he had, it might have been to late. I searched for any recent articles about missing kids in the Bay Area. On the *East Bay Times* website, there was a headline about a missing kid from Milpitas. A 15-year-old named Adam Kim had been reported missing this morning. The police said they were investigating it as a possible runaway, but I was almost positive that wasn’t the case. I recognized his photograph. He had come into my store dozens of times. Even though he was coming of age in the era of ninth-generation consoles—the PS5 and the Xbox Series X—he loved retro games more than anyone I knew. I showed his photo to the clerk. As I suspected, he was the kid who had bought the copy of Desert War. *Was he still alive, held captive in the skeleton’s lair? Had he been given three lives like me, or did the skeleton only give him one chance?* Thinking about it wouldn’t do any good, I needed to track down the skeleton. I checked my email, praying that there was some lead. James Langan, one of the guys I had messaged from Gooseberry Games, had gotten back to me. He was currently a professor at Berkeley and said he was free to meet with me at 1 this afternoon. \*\*\* Dr. Langan’s office was on the 4th story of Soda Hall. I had heard that it was the only building at Berkeley to include both classrooms and showers, designed that way to accommodate the demanding schedules of its CS students. However, based on the odor in the building, it was clear that the students were not taking advantage of all its facilities. The door to the professor’s office was open. Behind a cluttered desk sat a smiling man with a long white beard. “Ah,” he said when he saw me. “What an honor to finally meet you in person. The guy who gave *Raucous Raccoon Racing* a 1.25/10. Think in your review you wrote that ‘getting rabies would be more fun than playing this game.’” “Uh…” I said. “It was nothing personal. I—” He laughed. “Oh, I’m not mad, don’t worry. I barely even worked on that title. Bet you’re wondering about the lagginess of it. Other N64 racing games, like *Mario Kart 64*, used pre-rendered sprits to simulate a 3D appearance. We wanted to be the first to use actual 3D models. One of the guys on our team thought he had a way to overcome N64’s limited processing power, but, as you know, it wasn’t very successful. I wanted to hold off, push back the release and fix the performance issues, but, as usual, I was outvoted.” “Very interesting,” I said. Normally, I would have loved to talk with him about retrogaming, but now was not the time. “So in your email you said that you know something about *Desert War*.” “I never thought I would hear that name again. But here you are. It’s a long story. I don’t have all the answers, but hopefully, if we put our heads together we can figure it out.” He took out a photo from one of his desk drawers that showed a group of about 30 guys. In the back left row was a man who appeared to be about 40. He looked creepy—I don’t like to judge people on their appearances—but that was the first word that came to mind. He was dressed in a magenta tracksuit and had long platinum-blonde hair, so light that it was nearly white. And, on his head, was the green sorcerer’s hat the skeleton had worn, the hat that was found near the body of Jason Statler. “Who’s that man with the hat?” I asked. He chuckled. “That was Ed Schumacher. He was quite the eccentric, as you can probably tell from his appearance. Not that there aren’t lots of interesting characters in video game studios, but he was in a league of his own. Wore that hat every day. When asked why, he simply answered that he thought it was a ‘happy hat.’ A good a reason as any, don’t you think? “Now, Ed was not a programmer. He was an illustrator, would design advertisements, box art, instruction manuals, etc. Was fairly talented, wouldn’t say he was world-class, but he was a decent artist. “Ed’s dream was to become a developer. Unfortunately, he had no aptitude for the subject. He was, how shall I phrase this, a rather simple-minded individual. He could draw well, but he couldn’t even program a simple 2D game like Pong, which is something I could do in an afternoon. Honestly, I would be surprised if he could have coded, ‘Hello, World!’ And I’m not being hyperbolic. “But Ed never gave up. He had an idea for this grand video game. It would be designed for children, even though Ed had no children of his own, he still loved kids. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but it was not in a perverse way, I’m almost certain of it. He loved dressing up in costume and going to promotional events, handing out free goodies to kids, getting them to smile. I know it sounds creepy, but I do not think there was anything nefarious about his intentions. “His game would be about two children, a brother and a sister, who get lost in a magical world and have to find their way home. Not original, I know, but Ed thought it would be a big hit. He was also working on some children’s book that would be a companion piece to it. “Ed pitched that game over and over, but it would be a mess, a literal mess. Was going to be a mashup of 50 different genres, part shooter, part racing game, part platformer, even part RTS if you can believe it. Of course, that would not be successful, so we had to gently turn Ed down, tell him that now wasn’t a good time, that maybe next year we could take it on. “Ed asked if he could work on the game himself. He wasn’t that busy, and to satisfy him, we said fine, he could spend an hour a day working on his pet project. *Raucous Raccoon* was our last N64 title, so we let him mess around on an old computer that had all the N64 development kits and tools configured on it. “Our next game was the title you’re interested in—*Desert War*. It was planned for the PS2 and would be an FPS. You’d control either an American or British soldier as they fought Rommel’s troops in North Africa. In late 2001, there was a meeting where Ed was showing some sample cover art for the game. Very similar to the photos of the label you sent. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Ed said that he wanted to show a live N64 demo. No one had any clue what he was talking about. But he starts demoing the ‘game’ you described in the email, with that kid wandering around the desert. No skeleton though, that must have been added later. And the kid wasn’t dressed in cargo shorts and a black t-shirt. But overall, it was very similar. You could tell Ed was proud of himself, but most of the office burst out laughing. And poor Ed runs off crying. Quit that very day. Never saw him again. “As for *Desert War*, it got canned. Development was taking longer than expected and we were hitting some major roadblocks. *Medal of Honor: Frontline* was released in May of 2002, and that was far better than what we had created. It was decided to stop throwing good money after bad and shelve the project. I quit that October and returned to academia. People complain about how stressful it is, but compared to working at a game studio it’s like spending a day at the spa. Gooseberry Games folded a few months later.” “So where’s Ed now?” I asked. “Dead. He committed suicide, think it was in early 2002. Apparently videotaped the whole thing.” *Early 2002. Around the time Jason went missing*. “Have you heard about the Jason Statler case?” I asked. The professor nodded. “Yeah, saw on the news that a hat like the one Ed wore was found near his body. I contacted the police and they looked into it. Said that he had died a month or so before Jason disappeared. Just a coincidence.” “Jason’s brother is the one who sold me the cartridge. The day before his body was discovered.” “That is another odd coincidence, but I bet there was some yard sale with all of Ed’s stuff after he died, and Jason bought his hat and the cartridge there.” “You know how many cartridges Ed made?” “Nope, I honestly didn’t even know he made a single one. I’m sure you know this, but during development, you didn’t use actual cartridges. Instead, the build would be burned onto an EPROM chip, which would be loaded into a caddy for testing purposes. So when you told me that there was an actual, consumer-grade cartridge with the name on it, I was shocked.” “You said that Ed couldn’t write a basic program, yet he allegedly created a game—not sure if you could call that a game, but he created something playable. I was never an N64 developer, but I know that doing that is no small feat. Today, a 10-year-old with a modicum of talent could follow a tutorial and create a basic 3D game for the PC in Unity or another engine that abstracts away most of the math, but not in the ‘90s. Even today, it’s hard for an experienced programmer to create a homebrew N64 game— its architecture is notoriously difficult, almost as complex as Sega Saturn’s. So, someone must have been helping him.” “You’re right, and I’ve thought about that too. I teach an elective undergrad class on computer graphics. Some students think that it will be an easy, fun class, but I emphasize that it requires a solid math background. I put on the syllabus that if you start shaking when you hear the word ‘quaternions’ you should find another class. But many don’t listen to me. I’ve even been told that it even requires more math than the undergrad machine learning courses. But I’m digressing, I tend to do that. To answer your question, yes, Ed had help creating that 'game.' Who helped him, I don’t know. He was a loner, don’t think he was ever married, had no friends as far as I could tell.” I thought about the piece of metal I had found with 'F.S.' engraved into it. “Did Ed have a brother by chance whose name started with F?” I asked. “Frank or Fred or something like that. I found an…uh…an Easter egg with the initials F.S. on it.” “He did indeed have a twin brother named Frank. Unlike Ed, Frank was as smart as a whip, did his undergrad at Caltech, double-majored in mathematics and physics, before getting his applied mathematics PhD at Stanford. Then he got a tenure-track position here at Berkeley, but he got fired. From what I heard, he was a disturbed, troubled individual.” “I think we found who helped Ed with the game,” I said. “No, he couldn’t have. Frank killed himself in ’96, jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge.” \*\*\* After leaving the professor’s office, I headed to Berkeley’s Doe Library, determined to find out anything I could about Ed and Frank. I was sure I would find some information about Ed that would show that he was not the harmless eccentric the professor had made him out to be. But there wasn’t much about him online. I located a Social Security Death Index record for an Edwin Fox Schumacher, which listed his date of death as March 6, 2002, but not much else. Didn’t even find an obituary or the location of his grave. I searched newspaper archives, but the only article on Ed was a brief mention in the *Mercury News* that in May of 2002, the San José Museum of Art had acquired “an unpublished 700-page children’s book manuscript by the late Ed Schumacher, a reclusive illustrator, for $500.” The museum’s collection database showed that the work was not on display, but had an image of a childlike watercolor depicting two smiling children on a swing set. There were no other results for him; he wasn’t even listed in the credits of any Gooseberry games. The professor said that he filmed his death, and I thought that footage would be circulating online, but found nothing. I didn’t really want to see it—I was never into gruesome, macabre stuff like that—but it could offer a clue. I tried dozens of queries, tried spelling his last name as Shoemaker, tried general queries like ’2002 Bay Area suicide video,’ but found nothing. Finally, when I searched for “sorcerer’s hat suicide video”, I found a link to a message board. “Does anyone have a copy of the video of the guy in a sorcerer’s hat (sort of like the one Mickey wore in *Fantasia*) dissolving himself in a vat of acid???” someone asked in a post from September of 2002. *A vat of acid? What could possess someone to kill himself in such a horrific manner?* I skimmed the post. Apparently, the only copy of the film, titled *The Death of Ed the Sorcerer*, was owned by an adult video store in East Oakland. I was sure it would have made its way online, but everything I found said that if you wanted to watch the video you had to go to Oakland. Apparently, it wasn’t even on the dark web. How that was possible, I didn’t know, but I’d worry about that later. Next, I started researching Frank. There were more results for him. As the professor said, he seemed like a brilliant man. The first result was from the 1980 Jefferson High School Yearbook in Daly City. His senior page—depicting him with close-cropped hair—said that he had qualified for the United States of America Mathematical Olympiad and had hoped to attend either Caltech, Stanford, or MIT. Curiously, Ed was not in the yearbook. *Guess he attended some alternative school*. In the following years, he had won several awards and published dozens of highly cited papers. But nearly all of his output stopped when he accepted a position at Berkeley in 1994. There was an article from 1996 in the *Daily Cal*, Berkeley’s student newspaper. It said that “Franklin Lawrence Schumacher, an assistant professor of mathematics, was arrested for attempting to steal a 13th-century German grimoire from Bancroft Library.” Two weeks later, another article reported that his wallet and bike were found on the Golden Gate Bridge at night. I searched some more, but there was no mention of his body ever being recovered. *He had faked his death*. That I was sure of. He had killed Jason Statler, disappeared for over 20 years, but, for some unknown reason, had returned. And I was running out of time to find him. I tried to find information on their parents or other relatives, but found nothing. It was as if they were foundlings. I also failed to find Frank’s old address online, but failed. I didn’t think he’d still be living there, of course, but thought he might have left a clue for me there, like how he left that piece of metal with his initials on my kitchen floor. I went down to the stacks and found an old Bay Area directory and made a note of Frank’s former Berkeley address. I also found the address of Ed’s old apartment in Daly City. \*\*\* After leaving the library, I drove to Frank’s old Berkeley address. There was a vacant lot where his house once stood. I poked around for a few minutes, but found nothing of interest. Next, I headed to the video store, creatively named VideoXXX, in East Oakland. It was sandwiched between an auto body shop and an abandoned warehouse. Some people are scared to go to Oakland—they think the whole city is a pit—but it has several upscale neighborhoods where the median rent for a one-bedroom apartment is nearly $3,000. This was not one of those neighborhoods. Gentrification had not, and I doubted ever would, come to this part of town. The clerk, a thirty-something guy dressed in a stained black t-shirt that covered only half of his enormous gut, glared at me as I entered. “You a cop or something?” he asked. “No, I’m—” “You look like a cop. Go ahead, arrest me, I’ll sue you. Nothing I have in here is illegal. I have—” “I’m not a cop,” I said. “I hear you have the video of Ed Schumacher’s death.” “Ed the Sorcerer?” I nodded. “Yeah, we got that. It’ll be 50 bucks.” “I don’t want to buy a copy, just—” “Yeah, you can’t buy it, there’s only one copy. You have to view it here. If we let people take it home, it would be all over the dark web. Also, put your phone in your car. Can’t risk people recording.” “Fine,” I said. I went back to my car and locked it in the trunk of my sedan. When I returned, the clerk collected the $50, checked me with a metal-detecting wand, and led me into a back room. There were two rows of seating and a film projector on a tripod in the rear of the room. From a locked safe, the clerk took out a film reel. “Shot on Super 8,” the clerk said. “It helps with its aesthetic. Grungy as fuck. I’d say that this is one of the few films we have that has actual artistic merit. I know film, have a BFA from USC’s School of Cinematic Arts.” I didn’t ask why someone who had graduated from one of the best film schools was working at an adult video store. As he started the projector, I sat down in the back row. As Khachaturian’s *Masquerade: Waltz* played, various title cards flashed across the screen. Actual physical cards, like you’d see in a silent film. “The Death of Ed the Sorcerer.” “Starring Ed the Sorcerer as Himself.” “Directed by Ed the Sorcerer.” “Screen Play by Ed the Sorcerer.” “Produced by Ed the Sorcerer.” And so on. Think there were probably about 50 cards in total. At the bottom of each, in white, was a illustration of a skeleton wearing a sorcerer’s hat. As each new card was displayed, he slowly danced his way across the screen. After the cards, the film showed the interior of a small bedroom. There was a large steel vat in front of an unmade bed. Next to it was a ladder. And, on one of the walls, there was the poster that José had described seeing back in 2002. The one advertising the *Desert War* sweepstakes. On the bottom of it, was a URL—rehcamuhcsde.com Took me a few seconds to realize that it was Ed Schumacher spelled backwards. After about a minute, Ed finally walked on screen, naked except for his sorcerer’s hat and a pair of rose-colored glasses. He was trembling and looked sickly—his face was sallow, his ribs were all showing. *Was he terminally ill? Was that why he decided to end his life? But why would he do it in such a painful manner?* “Hello,” Ed said, his voice shaky. “My name is Ed the Sorcerer. And today, it is necessary that I die.”He seemed to look at the camera for several seconds, before slowly climbing into the vat. Then there was a cut and we were looking down at Ed’s body immersed in liquid. *There had been a cut! The camera had moved.* Someone else was in the room with him. Almost certainly Frank. Frank wanted his brother to kill himself. But why? We did not get to hear Ed’s screams, instead Vivaldi’s *La primavera* played. I had previously thought that Ed might have faked his death, but if he were acting, he deserved to win an Oscar. There was pure terror on his face, it was the personification of agony. It seemed to take hours before his silent screams ceased. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t, for I thought that Frank might have dropped another clue. As Ed’s body floated in the vat, his pasty skin slowly dissolved, revealing his muscles and tendons. Then the acid began to eat them as well. There was another cut. The vat had been drained. On top of a layer of sludge were Ed’s bones and the sorcerer’s hat. “That’s the end of the good part,” the clerk said. “The rest is five more minutes of looking at his bones. You can stay if you want to, but it’s pretty boring.” “You went to film school,” I said. “Was this faked?” “Nah, this is real. The second sequence, of him dissolving in the acid, that was sped up, you can see on the reel where the film was cut and spliced, but it’s not a fake.” “Where did you get it from?” He laughed. “How the fuck would I know? This place has changed owners like 5 times. Probably someone came in and sold it. We got lots of amateur stuff, although this one is a gem. I’ve thought about editing it and submitting it to film festivals.” “On screen, the skeleton suddenly stood up and leaped towards the camera. *It looked like it was a fake after—* The skeleton shot out of the screen. At first, it looked translucent, but as it neared me it began to solidify. The clerk let out a high-pitched scream, and with a surprising speed, dashed out of the room. I got up to follow him, but the skeleton was moving too fast. It wrapped its ice-cold hands around my neck and started strangling me. I tried to break its grip, but it was too strong. I staggered backwards, struggling to breathe. I fell to the ground, feeling light-headed, each of my attempts to free myself getting weaker and weaker. In a last-ditch effort, I kicked my left foot towards the legs of the tripod, about two feet away from me. It toppled over, the projector cracking as it hit the linoleum floor. The screen went blank, and the skeleton slowly dissolved into the air. I struggled to my feet, gasping for breath. *Had I finally defeated the skeleton?* I didn’t think so.
Three weeks ago I killed my girlfriend, Melanie Palmer, chopped her body into eleven pieces and buried them in scattered, discrete locations around my state. This isn’t a confession. Well, I guess it is, but that’s not the driving force behind this admission. I don’t expect any empathy, any guidance. I don’t even expect anyone to take this seriously. Me? All the prerequisites have been said, though I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give you a rundown. I’m not what you’d call striking - though I’ve always made it a point to blend and flow with society. To delicately veneer my true nature with a cordial persona, however contrived. Maybe we’ve met. Probably not. If we have, good luck pegging a name on me. Or, for that matter, finding me at all. Melanie wasn’t my first victim, it’s just that all the others were animals from all different clades. Fish, birds, mammals, reptiles… it’s fascinating how each organism reacts in their own way. You see, our brains contain ‘mirror neurons’. They’re responsible for that pity you feel when a wounded dog comes whimpering by your heel, and for the lack of it when a creature expresses pain in a manner you’re unused to. Honestly, it’s fucking shallow. But it’s the human condition. Except, *I’m* human, and I’d like to say I’m past all that sickly sweet bullshit. Let’s be honest, feelings are a hindrance more often than not. So, the trustworthy thing to do is observe. I mentioned dogs already. They always end up being a right mess. Screaming, writhing, contorting their limbs as if the thumbtacks in their eyes are gonna kill them. The idea of having kids has always been off putting, to me - dealing with an indignant mutt is just as tedious. Chickens fuss a bit, then sort of freeze up once they realise flight isn’t an option - pun intended. The first few times it’s funny, but it gets old. I could go on. If it makes you feel better, call me a coward. Take all the jabs you want. The fact I haven’t killed *people* \- well, until now - just offers a cheap avenue for insult, even when the rational part of your brain is relieved I stuck to animals. There’s no tangible strings of influence I have over anything anymore, so if nothing else, be sincere. Mourn the dead. And for your information, I say this not out of empathy. Nothing bores me more than loafing around. Don’t stew in resentment. Get on with your damn lives. Okay. Now all that’s clear, I can get into why I’m even writing this. Five days went by without a hitch. And that’s when I started seeing it. Nothing intrusive at first. I’d spy a figure in the distance, swaying gently as reeds shimmering in the wind. The first time it was nothing but a fleeting curiosity. The second time it lodged inside my brain like thorns in a boot sole. An old man told me once, “a house can be haunted, but so can we.” I know he was referring to memories. Trauma, regret. But I don’t carry those burdens. Maybe the universe sought to level the playing field, I don’t know. I see that figure everywhere now. Half-obscured at the end of a grocery store aisle. Standing on an overpass while I’m driving along the highway. Sometimes in places that make no sense, physically speaking - like behind the stove extractor fan, small as if distant, yet contained in such a tiny space. By itself, not so scary. Of course, I wouldn’t be here if things didn’t worsen. When I stare at that thing, my head starts to pound. A static thrumming in my ears. Feels like everything else starts to crumble away, except the figure. It only grows clearer the longer I gaze into its rippling silhouette. Let me tell you: nothing scares me. Not really. As long as I still have my agency. But whenever I notice it, swaying against the ashen sky, it’s as if something outside of myself is sticking toothpicks between my eyelids. Leather straps around my limbs, holding me in place only to stare at the loose segments, rippling with the haze of a mirage and the swaying of kelp. The more I watch, and the less my thoughts wander, it approaches. I never see it moving, but it gets closer. Sharper. A few days ago it got close enough for me to truly make out its body. I was correct about it being in segments, but only now could I *count* them. Eleven. Eleven ragged pieces strung by glistening sinew and entrails. It’d be easy to say she’s come back for me. From the grave, all that. Yet somehow I can tell that’s only a half truth. Because when Melanie was close enough to fix me with her murky eyes, I noticed the thing behind her. Taught grey skin mottled by mangy tufts of hair. Those are the only consistently visible features. I can’t help but feel she’s picked up an errant companion somewhere between death and… well, whatever’s after, if anything. Or maybe *it* found *her*. Either way, it’s here now and I’m powerless to fight back. It can’t be some form of post-mortem vengeance. Otherwise, why would it drive its blackened and chipped nails up into Melanie’s exposed organs, twisting gargled screams out of her like some macabre conductor? Why would it coil and squeeze its phlegmy, splitting tongues through her nose and ears and mouth? All the while it fixes me with a glare through the gap of her neck, flat shark-like eyes somehow conveying a perversion so far past my own it sickens me. I really don’t know what it wants. For me to feel like all those little animals did? Possibly. Although that feels a bit facile when I see the look in its eyes. I realised it wasn’t Melanie herself wavering in the air after I saw the thing’s torn and ancient rags drifting lazily around her sides, as though underwater. From there, the world faded. Slowly, things just… vanished. Number 17 across the street was replaced by monotone ground. A lumpy rock plane. And so it went for everything else. The looming forest hills to the east, gone. The main road leading out of town, gone. The entire industrial estate a couple of streets over- you get the picture. Just barren stone in place of what once was. The fear stagnated at first, then bubbled up with a needling ferocity. It started to become too much. My van was gone and I dared not leave the confines of my home, though at this point it was more of a prison than any sort of comfortable retreat. I caught a few mice in the pantry and made some crosses out of popsicle sticks. Crucified them. Got bored waiting for them to croak, so I ended up dunking them in a pot of boiling water till they stopped moving. In the past, something like that would’ve evened me out. But now, those lifeless eyes bore into the back of my neck whenever I look away. The feeling is inescapable. The sound of its wet, guttural rumbling, insufferable. I wish it’d just get it over with. Tear my eyes out, hang me from my own intestines, I don’t care. Everything else is gone now, other than my house. The windows offer a view out across an interminable plane. The sky’s filled with dull clouds so that the horizon is practically invisible, blending seamlessly with stone. Shit. I just looked up from my laptop and even the house is gone. All at the mercy of this fucking thing that won’t even show itself to me. Hiding behind my greatest sin, clacking teeth and all. Bony mantis limbs unfolding. Eyes reflecting the deepest, coldest ocean. The depth of their cruelty immeasurable. It’s standing right in front of me, still holding up the mangled body shield of Melanie, still flaying her skin and unsheathing her bones. I’d actually respect this monster’s depravity if I weren’t its prisoner. As I record this I can see its drumming fingers in the corner of my eye. Is it impatient? Why’s it even letting me type? I think it wants me to cast out my message-in-a-bottle, so it can be lost to the waves. It knows no one will ever read it. Though if anyone does, I doubt they’d spare any empathy to seek me out. To that I say: fair enough. I’m a lot of things but a hypocrite I am not. Haven’t felt hungry in a while. Or thirsty. I don’t even feel tired and I’ve been awake for, what, a week? Two? I’ve resigned to this fate, so I tried smashing my head into the ground, over and over, desperate to end this nightmare. All it’s done is give me a splitting headache. Not a drop of blood. It’s laughing now. That’s all I can equate its hacking rasps to. I can smell its breath polluting the air. Old blood and scorched bone with the heat to match. Melanie’s screaming too, with whatever’s left of her vocal cords. The disgusting symphony rattles inside my skull. It’s the worst sound I’ve ever heard. I just looked up again and it’s gone. Melanie’s still there, weightless, though her eyes are that of the monster’s. Sunless discs exuding venom-slicked malice so heavy it’s palpable. I lost my router connection a while back but had enough sense to take the SIM out of my phone and put it in the laptop. Mobile data still works, though I don’t understand the logic dictating that. Fuck, I hope this isn’t eternity. My mind’s already broken once but something fixed it up good as new, just to be crushed by the torment once more. The screeching, it’s so loud. Maniacal cackles, tortured wailing. They already sound the same to me. It’s not fair. What other psychotic piece of shit like me has been sentenced to something like this? People whose boundless savagery makes *me* look like a law-abiding citizen, where all they got were life or death sentences? It isn’t fair. My body’s frozen stiff. From terror or some unseen force, it’s impossible to tell. I can feel the moist waves of its stinking breath on my neck. Stop it. Please. It isn’t fair. *Is that what she thinks?* I can’t- what? I didn’t write that. I want to click post right now, it’s just… it’s just fucking ironic. In these last moments I’ll ever have a connection to anyone, anywhere else, the words are lost on me. *Say, Melanie, what* ***do*** *you think?* The way its fingers unfold in my peripheral, like a massive spider uncurling its legs, my spine’s itching. *She thinks you’ve said enough. My thoughts exactly.* Why? Why are you tainting my last words? It’s not fair. This isn’t fair. *Oh, but it is. Now you can be with her, never again lonely.* Fingers. Fingers creeping across my eyes. Peeling dry skin, it crackles and crunches by my ear, one extending with so many joints. So many. So loud. Like gunfire. Ears hurt. *Look. She’s waiting for you.* Melanie hangs festering before me. Her legs sway limply, toes grazing smooth stone. I never thought a sight could make a person so nauseous. *Go, fall into her arms. And drown with her. Drown in the sweet song of your sin for all time.* Arms, her arms. In pieces. Broken. Violated. I only meant to… *Come now.* Well. What else is there to do? I have to go now. She’s waiting, in some form or another. To my friends and- no. It doesn’t even matter. Each and every one of us will be forgotten, given time. God knows, I’ve been given more than enough of that. ___
I’m never quite sure if I was just stupid when I missed the signs or if I’m just a normal person. Sara was very sweet and on the surface she ticked all the boxes, even if she was a bit awkward. But so what? People are awkward. I try to look past the little things. I mean we can all be a bit weird can’t we? Especially when we get nervous. But Sara was odd in a way that, in hindsight, maybe I should have taken more seriously. On their own, all the little signs seemed quite innocuous. At the start, she was very hands on during dates, pinching and grabbing and winking. She’d make these hilarious innuendos and constantly toed the line of what was and wasn’t appropriate. I like a woman with a dark sense of humour, and she had that in spades. But she pulled away if I ever tried to reciprocate, and I realised early on that sex wouldn’t be on the cards for a long time. And I was fine with that. I wasn’t in a hurry. And yet she continued to send mixed signals. She’d ask for photos almost every night. Girls don’t normally ask for full-length nudes. It was weird, and taking a good picture wasn’t as easy as I thought it’d be. I always thought I looked weird in that kind of full body vertical picture, but she was always happy with what I sent. She had a lot of requests. One was to see me lying on the floor, eyes closed, arms to either side, on my back. She liked that one a lot. One time she made me do a striptease with a white sheet, slowly pulling it down in one picture after the other. This went on for the first month, I’d say. I sent her pictures. She sent me some. We talked a lot about what we each wanted. It was kinda fun and kinky, like we were taking turns being each other’s long distance model. And as a guy I don’t usually get to enjoy the feeling of being a sex object. I normally feel like my sexiness is tied to some kind of performance. It was novel and exciting to be valued as just a physical being. I never really figured I had an exhibitionist streak, or that that was something women wanted much of. But she did, and I didn’t dislike it. During all this we continued to meet up once or twice a week for food. It seemed like we had little thing going that might one day become something real. We never did spend the night together. First time I thought it was going to happen was after I sent a photo of me lying on my kitchen floor, the white tiles freezing my ass the whole time. An hour after I sent the photo she appeared on my doorstep without warning, hair soaking wet, and smelling of booze. As soon as she saw me, she grabbed me, guided me to the sofa, then climbed on top and started kissing me, hard. She was handsy, but it never went past over-the-clothes stuff. Just hot, heavy, and… well, not all that good. Do you ever wonder if some people are bad at sex-stuff because no one tells them the truth? It was like she was trying to suck the air out of my lungs. I’ve had better kisses off my dog. She got a lot of points for enthusiasm, don’t get me wrong. I’ve never had anyone grope me and touch me with so much raw passion. But whenever I tried to match her energy, I got the sense she didn’t really care for it. She never reacted or moaned or gave off non-verbal cues to be like “do that more”. It was all about her touching me, never vice versa. After maybe twenty minutes of this over-the-clothes fumbling, she asked me to lie down on the floor. I had no idea where this was going so I did. “Can you hold your breath?” she asked as she looked down at me. All of a sudden I felt very small and there were lots of thoughts going through my head. I’m pretty sure there was nothing I wouldn’t have done for her in that moment, although not necessarily because I wanted to. There was just an intensity to her stare that shrunk me down until I was the size of an ant. So I held my breath. I held it so long my lungs burned and my head swam until I couldn’t do it any longer. When I opened my eyes, she was looking down at me with so much hunger in her eyes I actually got a little scared. Admittedly, I sorta liked it. She paused for a moment, drinking me in, and then said she had better get going. She had work in the morning. We kissed at the door and her hands roamed all over my back. I was cold by that point and her hands felt so warm… I swore something was about to happen, but she simply left me standing there. It was confusing and frustrating. So much so, I almost didn’t call her back. But she had a kind of commanding energy about her—a deep awareness of what she did and didn’t want—that it was just enough to keep me replying to her texts. After that night I always laid on my kitchen floor when she asked for a photo, but it never really had the same effect of getting her to my doorstep. Still, she became a regular fixture in my life and pretty soon I hoped we might get close to something a bit more serious. I looked for signs that she thought the same thing but the going was damn slow. By the time winter rolled around we’d been on-and-off for six months, and just about the only thing that actually changed was the way she kept holding my hand. She’d take my cold hands between her own and hold them against her cheek, her neck, maybe even her chest. At times it was quite nice. It took a while, but I managed to swing her around into another home visit. You can guess what I was hoping for. But she actually made us spend most of our time out on the balcony watching the stars, cuddled together in the freezing cold. She made me give her my jacket as well, even when I offered to get one from inside. It had to be the one I was wearing, and she wouldn’t let me replace it. By the time we went back in I felt like I was close to getting pneumonia, and the shock of the warm air left me feeling dizzy. “Lie down!” she begged me. “Lie down on the floor! I have an idea!” I was shaking by this point, the tips of my fingers ice blue. When she came back over she had a glass of red wine. She stood over me, warming the glass in her hands, before giving me clear instructions. “Sip some,” she said. “And keep it in your mouth. Close your eyes. Don’t open them! And don’t swallow the wine!” I don’t even like wine. And I was pretty irritated by the whole thing. But there was a tension in the air, something about her electric anticipation that infected me. I didn’t know what was happening, and in the past when I felt that way it sometimes led to me having new and exciting experiences. Out of nowhere she kissed me, pushing her tongue into the lukewarm wine until it dribbled messily out of the corner of my lips. At the same time, and in one swift motion, she pressed the heel of her hand into my diaphragm and pushed so hard that the wine gushed out of my mouth and into hers. I started coughing, she did too. My immediate reaction was that kind of irritation you can’t hide. It actually pissed me off. It was surprising in all the wrong ways, and given what I’d maybe *hoped* was coming, it just meant all that disappointment turned into outright frustration. All I’d wanted was a normal kiss. Some sign of basic, normal affection. Did she even realise how shit I felt after freezing my ass off on the balcony so she could feel like I was some gentleman giving her my jacket? I pushed her off me gently but firmly. “Let’s not do that again,” I said, choking the words out. “What were you trying to do?” “Nothing!” she cried. “It was nothing. Just something different.” She seemed sincerely regretful and sorry, but I was half-naked, horny, irritated, and freezing cold. I didn’t ask her to leave, but she clearly sensed the change in atmosphere and made some excuse. I wiped myself down while she went to the toilet, and when she emerged, I greeted her with her handbag and keys. I didn’t even walk her to the door. Instead, as she looked at me with a sort of sad pout from the door, I simply ignored her and began to mop the kitchen floor. “Looks like a damn murder scene,” I grumbled. She may have said something before she left, but I didn’t look up until I heard the door close. After that we didn’t speak for a while. Now, this is a very typical thing for me to do, but over the next few days I did a little retrospective on our dates and realised I’d been the one putting in all the work. It was always me escalating, asking for dates, phone calls, trying to move things between us forward. I figured if there was any chance of a real relationship, then she’d have to just come back and apologise and explain her behaviour and be the one to reach out for once. Of course, at the exact same time, I couldn’t get her out of my head. *Maybe she’d just been clumsy?* I thought. *Maybe she was nervous?* I couldn’t get my head around the wine thing. It seemed so random. I’m more than familiar with the usual BDSM stuff people like. If I could have pinned her actions down to some specific kink or fetish, I could have more confidently figured if we were compatible or not. But without more information I was just well and truly confused. I wanted to like her. But if there was no chance of us working out, if we were just incompatible, then I wanted closure. As it was, I didn’t have a clue what we were or what the hell we’d been doing. Either way, when she finally text asking if I’d like to pick her up after work, I agreed. I wanted closure and, maybe I imagined it but something about her tone seemed a little contrite. That feeling was reinforced when I met her in the parking lot of the hospital where she worked and I found her sitting on the hood of her car in a breath-taking red dress. As soon as I was out of the car she took my hand and told me she’d set up a little date for us, something special, and that she’d finally make it all up to me. The way she kissed me, the way she guided my hand along her waist, there was something so utterly different about it, so committed, that I immediately knew she wanted to go the whole way. I could just tell she’d finally made a decision, a threshold had been crossed, and I wanted to go see where this would lead. She didn’t work in the hospital itself, but rather took me off to a small building on the same grounds. It was a quiet little red-brick thing, just two floors from the outside, and I wondered what it was, exactly, that she did. Inside there was a chemical smell that was pretty overwhelming, but at first glance it seemed like a simple GP office. There was a little reception area with one or two chairs. A small counter top with some computers and a bunch of back offices. This was after hours so no one else was there. Only a few dim lights in the reception area. Everywhere else was dark. She quickly disappeared upstairs telling me she was going to slip into something more comfortable, and I settled down for a short wait. At least she locked the door behind us so no one else could come. I took that as a good sign, but I still felt pretty uncertain. Where were we? And why the hell did she pick this place for a date? I tried to sit down but it felt too strange, like waiting for the dentist. So I stood and shuffled around a bit instead, listening to the muffled thumps of whatever the hell she was doing upstairs. Outside it was starting to get dark. Fewer and fewer cars were going past, and it was raining heavily, all of which made that little room feel even like a lonely little corner of the world. Well hidden and out of the way, even though the hospital was clearly visible with heavy traffic not far behind it. There wasn’t much else to do except snoop, and I quickly noticed a door had been left slightly ajar, like someone had forgotten to shut it. It was the only door I could reach without climbing over something, so my curiosity got the better of me. I approached it and got maybe two feet away before I realised it was the source of that damn chemical smell. Once I realised that I *had* to take a look inside just so I could know for sure what the hell it was. I tried pushing it open an inch or two and peeking inside but it was pitch black in there. So I pushed it open a little further and using my phone light I saw that there was a set of stairs going down into a basement. More thumps from upstairs told me that she wasn’t going to come down any time soon. I had time to check, so I went down a step and tried seeing if that helped, but there was nothing. So I went down another, and then another, until suddenly a set of automatic lights came on with a loud *thunk* and the rising whine of fluorescence coming to life. I’m not sure what I expected, but what I saw… at first it left me dumbstruck but then, I don’t know… It was a sterile room with white speckled tiles. A few countertops running along the walls covered in silver instruments I didn’t recognise. One wall covered in a regular grid of metal cupboard doors. And three steel slabs in the centre of the room. One of them was occupied. A vaguely human shape covered by a white shroud, the lone foot of a man sticking out the bottom. Something about the strange colouring and texture of the skin immediately let me know he wasn’t having a nap. That and the toe tag was a pretty obvious clue. It was a morgue. She worked in the morgue and it was *here* of all places she’d decided to set our final date? My initial reaction was to want to go upstairs and confront her, get angry, let it out, and just leave after making her unlock the door. But something stopped me. I can’t say for sure what. As quickly as it came the anger left me and I was left with a kind of horrified curiosity, an idea I couldn’t even put to words in the privacy of my own head. Instead of turning around and leaving, I waited a few seconds to make sure she wasn’t coming down right behind me, and I began to descend the rest of the way. The walk to the body felt like a ten-mile hike. Every step was too loud. Every breath, a nervous shivering exhalation that felt like it might burst into a gasp at any moment. I was terrified. I couldn’t help but imagine that faceless shape turning to look at me, or sitting upright in one smooth motion. I quickly realised why ghosts are stereotypically portrayed as walking sheets. Someone must have had the same thought I had. The imagined scene of a shroud covered body moving swiftly towards you in the dark. Hell of a time for my brain to play those kinds of games with me, but that curiosity drove me on… I couldn’t walk away… Not now. Before I knew it I was stood by the body, and with a shaking hand I pulled back the sheet. He looked like me. Vaguely. I think we would have probably been a close match before the bloating. Same hair colour. Same face shape. Same ethnicity, age, so on. For a moment I considered the idea that maybe Sara was just a very weird woman. People get desensitised to this kind of stuff all the time, and to her the building we were in might just be a nice empty place to bring a date. But that body on that slab… I don’t know how to describe it but it set something off in me. A kind of slow, rising dread. I’m not sure why I did what I did next, but I couldn’t stop thinking of that strange night where she pushed against my chest and sent wine dribbling out my mouth. So utterly bizarre but… maybe? I placed my hand against the man’s cold flesh, heel to the diaphragm, and applied pressure. He animated like a puppet. A brief gasp of air followed by curdled blood flowing out of his mouth, black and yellow and red, platelets and plasma separated with time into a thick soup. When the smell hit me I couldn’t help but be sick, and as I hunched over the nearby drain and emptied my body of all the vomit and bile, images of my time with Sara flashed through my mind. The photos of me nude lying on a white tile floor. The use of the blanket to cover my chest. Her fixation on my cold hands. A night spent freezing on the balcony. Filling my mouth with wine and forcing it back out with a shove to the chest. I looked at the body and quickly understood how and why she’d discovered what happens when you apply pressure to the chest. The image was crystal clear in my mind. The mental image of her slender frame straddling the bloated man before me was as unpleasant and inescapable as nails on a chalkboard. Unable to shake it, I hunched over once more and was sick again, this time until my eyes watered and there was nothing left but saliva and bile. I felt *violated*. I wanted to leave. I no longer felt angry or confused. Instead every moment of the last six months fell into place and a pattern emerged that terrified me. She wasn’t meandering or clueless. Everything she’d done had been moving towards this one night with me here, locked in this place with no one to call for help. I’d blundered into what might just be the most dangerous situation of my life, and now I was too deep into the trap to just blindly panic, underground and in a room with only one exit! I had to be careful. She was up there, somewhere. Maybe clueless about what I’d realised. Maybe not. She seemed small enough, but a cursory glance at some of the glinting blades on the nearby work surface told me she didn’t have to be a bodybuilder to hurt me. Any one of those razor sharp instruments could work its way into the meat of my neck with very little effort. Sooner or later she’d realise where I was. Sooner or later this plan of hers had to have an endgame. I looked up at the stairs. If she came down from the top floor she’d see the lights from this room and it would be obvious to anyone where I’d gone. I was torn. Do I go up and pretend I saw nothing? I thought about having to go up there and lie my way through some awkward encounter. *Oh I’m feeling a little unwell I have to skip.* Polite smile. Nod. Could I stomach even that brief exchange? And that’s if she bought it, and it required that the next step of her plan involved me conscious or alive. I thought of her attacking me out of nowhere with a scalpel, silently dragging it across my throat, letting that surgical blade bite into cartilage. She was small but so what? I had no idea what she was planning or where she was lurking. Walking into an ambush and toughing it out didn’t seem like the best of plans. What I wanted was distance. I just needed a door or a window. *I just had to avoid her!* My first instinct had been to get out of the basement and I wanted to go with it, but the strange sounds coming from upstairs made me think she might have finally come to find reception empty. Terrified, I looked around desperate for some way out, or maybe even a good hiding spot. Just about every bad idea you can think of went through my mind, including swapping myself out for the corpse. I nearly laughed at the stupidity of it, but my attention had been pulled to the morgue drawers and with a sinking feeling in my gut I slowly realised there was nowhere else in that room large enough to hide a person. “Michael?” The voice was muffled and distant, but I could tell she was finally looking for me. This really was fast becoming a now or never moment. With a deep breath, I pulled at the first drawer I saw and felt bittersweet relief that it was empty. I wasn’t sure I could go through with this, but at least it hadn’t been already occupied. With a rising gorge I climbed inside feet first, slid myself back into the darkness trying my best not to think of a pair of cold hands snatching my ankles, and then quietly pulled the door shut. I’d barely heard the click when there came the sound of footsteps down the stairs. They stopped half-way and I clearly heard her hiss “*Shit!*” under her breath before turning back around and returning upstairs. She must’ve figured I’d seen the bodies and run off somewhere else. Wherever that might take her, it had at least bought me time. I opened the door using an internal latch while pushing aside morbid questions of why that feature was even necessary, and stepped out as quietly as I could onto the tile steps. After that I slowly scaled the stairs as silently as I could manage and made my way to the door at the top of the basement. She had thankfully left it ajar once again (bit of a habit of hers I assumed) and peeked through into the darkness beyond. In the time I’d been in the basement the sun had fully set and now there was only the lights of passing cars to illuminate reception. Bright amber lights with hard edges swept across the room, one after the other, with strange irregularity. They made for an unpredictable insight into the room’s contents. A chair. A computer. A counter top. I had to squint and wait patiently for a few of them to go by before I realised one of the back office’s doors were open and there was the sound of frustrated footsteps coming from within. She was distracted, and this was my best chance of getting out. I tiptoed out of the basement and listened carefully. She occasionally hissed an angry refrain to herself, opening what sounded like cabinet doors. “Why are you doing this Michael?” she whined, and I was surprised that she sounded not malevolent, but sad and pitiful, like an upset teenager. She was genuinely confused by my reaction… For a brief moment I dared to wonder if my imagination had gotten the better of me. Right there on the counter was a bottle of wine and two glasses. Maybe she really was just intending for a normal date and I’d made connections that were never really there, but in my mind I saw that corpse bloated and bloody once again and ultimately decided I was better safe than sorry. A quick check of the front door showed it was still locked, and so with nowhere else to go, I went up another floor, careful to stop every step or two and listen for signs she had changed course. Thankfully I was at the top step by the time I heard her leave that office and enter another. “Come onnnnn!” she cried. “Why are you being like this!?” I wasn’t sure what my game plan was. I figured my best chance was a window, and was all ready to start tearing the top floor apart when I was stopped dead in my tracks by what I saw. There were a few rooms on the top floor but only one of them had an open door and the lights turned on. What I saw inside hit me so hard I stopped dead in my tracks and let out a gasp. It was covered in plastic wrap. Top to bottom. Floors, walls, and ceilings. A small white table had been set up in one corner and on it lay three open pill bottles, a hacksaw, and several scalpels. Seeing all that stuff, getting such an upfront insight into what she had planned, it all made my fucking skin crawl. That and a bottle of lotion made me want to be sick. Suppressing the urge to gag, I decided none of that really mattered because, and this wasn’t a great surprise, she had picked a room with a large and easy-to-open window. I pushed aside the plastic sheeting and opened it to find the drop below wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the thought of spending another second in that fucking room. I began to climb out, got one leg through, carefully balancing so that if I fell I’d minimise injury, when I heard a sound by the door. The crinkling of plastic. The gentle glide of a door. I turned and saw her standing in the dark hallway beyond. It was hard to see but she wasn’t grinning like a maniac, or waiting with a knife. More than anything just looked disappointed, maybe even frustrated. In hindsight, it made sense. She’d spent a long time setting this up. Not just the room with the plastic sheeting, but the entire relationship had been built carefully around that night. I expected her to crack, break, come at me screaming and slashing with some hidden blade. But she only shook her head and quietly mewed, “It’s not my fault.” I considered a reply but found none to be fitting. I jumped and landed safely below with a bit of a knee-shaking thump. Nowhere near as bad as the shin-splintering worst-case scenario I’d kept imagining. Then, with a deep breath, relishing the smell of fresh air, I ran as quickly as I could towards the hospital and the lot where my car waited. \- You know, you might not be too surprised to learn this, but there wasn’t actually much I could prove when it all was over. By the time the police visited the morgue it was, apparently, back to normal. Her side of the story was that I’d insisted on visiting the morgue out of morbid curiosity and got upset when she didn’t want to stick around. It was kind of hard to prove anything else. I had no injuries, no evidence of intent or anything else other than a suspicion of some pretty fucked up behaviour. At the end, the best the police were willing to do was hook me up with a lawyer who dealt with restraining orders and he told me I’d need some evidence of actual harassment. Well that and the main gist of his advice was actually for *me* to stay away from *her* because, if anything, it’d be hell of a lot easier for her to convince people I was the problem and not the other way around. I didn’t have much choice in the end except to move on. And all told I was just happy to have made it out alive, even if the thought of her out there made me deeply anxious. I had to assume she’d go looking for another target since I’d wised up, although I hoped that maybe the close encounter with me would stop her from trying again. As for me, I deleted my Tinder profile having decided that internet dating will never be a thing for me again. But the nightmares persist, and I often think of her standing there in the doorway. She didn’t look half as upset as I might’ve thought. The whole thing was like I’d been a bit naughty. There she was, an aspiring murderer moments away from executing a plan that had been months in the making, and she’d stood there like it was all nothing but a minor setback. It just didn’t make sense, and like everything with Sara I struggled to move on from this peculiar behaviour until I got an answer. Well… today I finally got it when I woke up and felt something strange by my feet. I pulled back the sheets and saw something that made my heart sink and a cold sweat form on the back of my neck. I was wearing a toe tag. I think I have underestimated her patience, and I am starting to appreciate just why she found that night in the morgue to be little more than a setback. On the tag itself, my name is scrawled on one line, and on the date of death below, she has simply written, *In just a few days.*
Have you ever thought "Dreams are not real!" if you had said anything as such i would have said you were right... Until that is, October 5th 2002. That is when i think the dreams first started, but it might have been a month or two before that, well i am not sure. but i don't think you really care about that kinda information to be honest i don't think you will believe me but i don't care i need to put this somewhere because i feel like this is one of my last chances too do so. October 5th 2002. If i remember correctly i was in the living with my mom and dad as they sat on the two fluffy red arm chairs brand new they were really nice chairs, while me and my little sister Emily were playing with our toys thinking about how Halloween is only 26 or so days away and the fact we would be snacking on so many sweets. (not important to the story but the house was just small not big or too small but yea two bedrooms living and kitchen. living room We spent a lot of time that day running around the house watching cartoons with mom and dad and the fact it was so blissful. Time flew by that day and until it was night it was some dreaded time now that i think about it but 6 year old me just wanted to stay up. When i opened my eyes i felt like i was dreaming it was poring rain and pitch black with a dim light and felt terrifying beyond belief. I look around until i spotted him or so i thought, he was more none human so more of an it but anyway he was tall lanky he looked like he could reach up to five meters. Had long greasy black hair with soulless eyes, those goddamn eyes! scare me shitless those two features where the only thing i made out i started running back but it matched my pace to the T. I felt like i was running for hours and then heard this inhumane scream then laughter as it picked up a knife out of thin air and hurled it at me, next thing i felt was a distinct pain in my cheek as blood weld up and dropped from the cut. October 6th 2002 Then i woke up and "ow" my cheek hurt, so i went and looked in the mirror and to my bloody horror blood was dropping down my face. then i did the only thing a 6 year old would do i started cry my dad came in to comfort me and saw they cut confused as to what happened he asked "Hey buddy what happened to your face?" so i tried my best to explain my nightmare in a crying frenzy he brushed it off and put a plaster over my cut. 6 year old me thought i was better forgot all about the man in the nightmare so i went about my day. I went to the store to get the weekly shopping with my mom i always loved spending time with her she had long hazelnut brown hair with hazelnut brown eyes with a smile and kindness that would cheer up anyone she was medium height for a girl and was very beautiful. We got the stuff we needed like bread milk washing up liquid and tablets dishwasher tablets stuff like that you know?. We got home and unpacked i ran to Emily and sat next to her and started watching spongebob squarepants after a while, we ate dinner and went to bed then the nightmare was there again. i took one step over to the man which reveled an ear to ear smile with teeth like knifes but that wasn't the worst part. There was so much blood like he teeth were red no white to be scene. i took 2 steps back he took one forward and the smile was no longer able to be scene i sat down and asked him, "why are you here? who are you?" i heard the sound of glass smashing and heard a cackle then was woken up. October 7th 2002"What are you doing jack? it is 25 past 8! you normal wake up at 7!." What are you on about only then did i think oh no SCHOOL and then i rushed to get dressed and then went to school. like most of the time nothing really happened, didn't learn much and then went home did my homework and such and just went to sleep. There it was again by now i didn't care i just waited about 20 minutes past so i thought i am not sure how long it was though because it was a dream. Then an annoyed sound came and it tossed something at me... it was OWW!! aH A kNiFe!?! it was such a sharp pain i started to cry pulled out the knife it was blindingly pain full and went to throw the knife and then stopped it saw its face and its smile was bigger and looked like it wanted me to do just that, to throw the knife at it but a gut feeling came saying no i can't i blacked out and woke up October 8th 2002i was in the hospital and they looked at me and then they were just bringing me in to get my arm patched up and i saw them all they all looked funny in my eyes the pain in my arm i couldn't feel it then they said "soon this pain will be gone don't worry." i was back. BACK IN THIS GOD DAMNED PLACE I SHOUTED, it was there, again. This time i was in this place and for some reason it was a bit lighter in this place but not by much, still almost pitch black and still couldn't taste smell or touch anything nor could i see the creature any better then last time. though this time it felt so scary and lonely i never felt like this in this room and so even though that thing was still there i asked are you lonely? then it talked "yOu tHiNK i hAvE hUmAn emotions?" "only pleasure, rage, annoyance and -\]\[;'=';\\'./.;\[\[;'\[\\\\\\" What i said" it said it wouldn't repeat itself and then we just talked and i came too October 9th 2002 The doctors asked me about my wounds and i just said that i didn't know they told me my parents said the same but what could we say no one would trust a kid and the hell would my parents know they were confused and scared for my health because for the past 4 days i was getting wounded they set up cameras in my room and then i just sleep in the hospital until i was discharged nothing strange happened there in fact nothing happen for a long time we thought it was over june 10th 2006
As research on quantum particles has improved, the "many worlds" theory seems to have more and more evidence. as of just a few days ago, a lab located in Saudi Arabia found something truly disturbing. the research team was able to map different particles based on which universe it supposedly comes from. they were able to get sounds out of certain frequencies of these particles, and other information such as heat, and light, but due to restrictions a full camera couldn't be made. the researchers ran multiple experiments. first they tried running it on their own universe as a control. it was responsive, and the sound copied what was in the room. the thermometer read 19.1°C. the last test was the light. and it read the same as in the room. they were ready to test it on other frequencies. some frequencies sounded exactly the same as the current room. others, sounding like a city, or meadow. some were silent. one of the silent frequencies read room temperature, but a light level of absolute zero, unlike other silent ones where there was at least a miniscule amount of light. Everything was going well until they came to a certain frequency that some people quote "You can never unhear". It was very garbled, but it sounded like screaming, constant winds, and flames. they were very surprised with what they heard. some thought it might be broken. they did more tests and found out that every other frequency worked differently than that one. after more testing they came to the conclusion that it was not broken, but it left another question: What was the sound they were hearing? they thought it might have been some atmospheric pressure, or a planet's center, but they were all wrong. the researchers looked at the light levels, and it flickered, it was never constant, and it was very hectic. the temperature levels fluctuated from absolute 0 kelvin to 483.15 kelvin, within a matter of seconds. the lab published their papers, people were very confused, some tried debunking that it was something simple, but they could always be proven wrong. others frantically tried to find answers to this phenomena, but to no avail. lastly, people conspiracised that it was actually hell, or some sort of torture. even though this was brushed off, it was actually the one pointing to the most evidence, with the screaming, the temperature, the flickering. after new technology they tested more things, and it always pointed towards this. in search for an answer they frantically tried to mock up an infrared camera, because normal photons and light would dissipate before they could be recorded, infrared signals were the only things that worked. they recorded the new frequency and found a very grainy image, due to the fluctuation in temperature. they took several pictures and averaged them together, there was always a spot, slightly brighter in the image that was shaped like a person, floating in mid air. some quotes from the researchers: "It was almost too much to look at." "to imagine someone there, constantly bombarded with senses must be a fate worse than death" "it's like an anti limbo, instead of absolute sensory deprivation it's just tv static and paresthesia." I don't know who may be there, or if they even exist, but there are some things that just shouldn't be messed with, and I think this might be one.
“Gather ‘round kiddies, and I’ll tell you a tale of an old woman, just a smidgen younger than me,” the old crone said, rocking slowly in her chair. “This woman lived all alone in a large house on a hill. Most people were terrified, and never visited. But it wasn’t the woman that frightened them, it was the house. Being an old mansion, it had an ominous look to it. The woman was unable to keep up with repairs, which made it look more decrepit and frightening. But it wasn’t always that way. As is usually the case with such stories, its beginnings are rooted in the past.” \*\*\* There once was a handsome young man who fancied himself a magician. He had a solid, if unspectacular, routine and made a decent living entertaining parties and small groups. Then he met her. The moment he saw her, she took his breath away, quite literally. It was back in the thirties, when cobblestone streets and horse drawn carriages were on the way out, and automobiles and concrete roads were on the way in. He was crossing the street, lost in thought (as he frequently was) when he stepped in front of her horse and buggy. The impact knocked him to the ground, and took the wind out of him. When he came to, she was hovering over him with a haze about her that made her seem more alluring than any woman he had ever met. She profusely apologized, and offered to take him to the hospital. But he would have none of it, instead he requested that she accompany him to dinner that night. Blushing, she said yes, and so began a whirlwind courtship that ended in marriage. They were wonderful together. She started doing shows as his assistant, and his popularity rose. She gave him the confidence to try better and more exciting tricks, and he grew even more popular. As his confidence grew, he moved on to tricks that were mind boggling, that carried fatal risks, and soon he was filling theaters nightly. She never left his side, and they shared the applause together every night. They were making money hand over fist, but they were very frugal about spending it. Even so, she noticed large sums of money disappearing here and there from their bank account. When she questioned him about it, he became nervous and told her not to fret. Even still, it bothered her, so she asked one of her sisters to look into it. After a week, her sister called on her, and told her things were just fine, and she would enjoy what was coming. Instead of feeling comforted, she became suspicious of her sister. It was their third wedding anniversary, and he drove her to the outskirts of town. The street they were driving on came to a sudden end. As if the men making it just up and vanished. He parked the car and got out, walked over to her side, and opened the door for her. “Come, my love,” he said, offering his hand. She got out, and looked around but there was nothing but empty fields. “This way,” he said, pointing to a certain spot. The evening fog was creeping up on them as he donned his hat and cape. He pulled out his wand, and did the ‘Nothing up my sleeve’ routine. She was less than amused, in fact, she was downright annoyed. Then he turned toward the field and began waving his wand in circles. A sudden storm began to blow. The wind whipped her hair, and took his hat, but he kept on waving his wand. “My love,” she said, nearly screaming over the din. “Perhaps it would be safer in the car.” He pretended not to hear her, and carried on. Suddenly a lightning bolt struck not one hundred feet from where they stood. The impact knocked them both to the ground. As quickly as the storm had begun, it ended. He brushed himself off, and helped her up. “What was that all about?” she asked. “Look,” he said, pointing where the lightning had struck. The empty field now held a house. However, calling it a house barely did it justice. It was huge, a borderline mansion. There were three stories above ground. It was built in gothic, Victorian styles. “Exactly as I always pictured it,” she said, hugging him as her annoyance melted away. “Thank you!” The next few years were a bit of a roller coaster. He didn’t tell her everything about the house. “Like every great lady, she has her mysteries to be found,” he told her. Trap doors and hidden passageways were just the beginning. It was like living a wonderful adventure. The fame and fortune continued to rise, all that was missing was an heir. She had always loved children. She volunteered reading at the library every week, and they gave very generously to children’s charities. She had wanted to have several of her own, but alas, it was not to be. The doctor had tried to tell her as gently as possible that she couldn’t bear children, but she was no less devastated. She fell into a deep depression, and he cancelled several shows to be with her, but she was inconsolable. He came to her one night. “My love, I have to go back to work,” he said. “Please don’t,” she replied. “Can’t you take a leave?” “I already have. Any more and I won’t have an audience to return to.” “I don’t want you to go,” she pleaded. “It’ll be fine,” he said, softly stroking her hair. “I’ll be back soon.” “You can’t do it without me,” she said quietly, with tears streaming down her cheeks. It was merely a statement of fact, and a desperate plea. He took it as an accusation, and quietly left the house. She never saw him alive again. \*\*\* The next day, the headlines in the newspapers told of a tragic accident. A popular magician had perished when a dangerous trick had gone wrong. The news devastated her even more. She plummeted past depression, past melancholy, into a near comatose state. Her sisters came and nursed her back to health, but it took nearly a year, and she emerged a different person. The house became everything to her. She cared for it as she would a child. Years wore on, and apathy began to creep in. Fame and fortune quickly dissipated like the vapor that they are. She became more and more defensive of the house, even while allowing it to fall into disrepair. She barely went outside anymore, leaving the weeds and bushes in a life or death struggle for territory. Years became decades. The famous magician and his wife were forgotten, but the house became legend. It was something to be feared and avoided by all but the most daring and foolish. Halloween was the perfect time for both … \*\*\* The lone tree in the front yard was nearly as tall as the house itself. And like the house, it had a look that sent chills down most people’s spines. Its limbs curled in the most unusual ways. Sometimes if you caught it at just the right time, it seemed to move even though the air was completely still. I’ve known this woman for a long time. She could be called many things, quirky, eccentric, even strange, but not evil. The house kept people away, isolating her from society. Strange things happen to people who are isolated. They begin to see the world in a different light. The things they have around them become much more precious to them. Anything that happens to those things becomes a much greater injustice in their eyes. This old woman had been satisfied to live alone with her memories. Live and let live had been her motto for years, but like everyone else, she had her breaking point. It became a tradition around Halloween, this woman’s house would become a target for eggings, cornings, even a brave soul or two would get close enough to do the ‘doggie doo fire bag’ routine. These all annoyed the old woman, but not as much as the toilet paper in the tree. Rolls and rolls of it. At one point, she considered investing in ‘Charmin’ stock just before Halloween. Every night the onslaught of garbage began just after dark, and usually ended around midnight. Every morning the house looked mysteriously untouched. It was like some giant vacuum cleaner had come along and sucked up all the mess. Some of the neighborhood boys had become frustrated as well that their evening work could not be appreciated in the morning. Johnny, Chris and their friends had personally egged, corned, and TP’d the house five times in the same week. With Johnny doing the ‘doggie doo’ bag himself. Every morning when they walked past the house on the way to middle school, Johnny would be furious to see it clean again. “She must come out and clean it up,” Johnny said. “I just don’t know how she does it all in one night, especially the toilet paper. It must be thirty feet to the top of that tree.” “Maybe she uses a ladder,” Chris said. “I don’t know, but I’ve got to find out,” Johnny said. “Tonight, we’ll all meet near the old lady’s house around midnight. We’ll find out her secret.” That night, all five of them met around quarter till twelve. It was a cool October night. The dry leaves raced around the yard playing a furious game of tag, at the whim of the wind. The house had been hit hard. Eggs covered the windows, corn littered the porch, and the tree was white with toilet paper. So much TP that it looked like an early snow. The boys found a spot out of sight in the bushes where they could see the front porch. They pulled their jackets close around them, and waited, with boredom as their only companion. Their resolve started to wane when storm clouds rolled up. They were about to give up when the old woman walked out onto her porch. Looking at her, Johnny was somewhat surprised. She didn’t look the way he thought she would. Yes, you could tell she was old, especially in the face, but she wasn’t bent over, didn’t have a long nose with a wart on the end. She was wearing a light jacket instead of a shawl. None of the stereotypes Johnny had expected. I guess I thought she’d look like a witch from the movies. The boys all tried to stay out of sight. They watched as she surveyed the carnage and slowly shook her head. The tree started moving and creaking, making noises the boys had never heard a tree make. The old woman looked at the tree, then turned and looked straight at the bushes they were hiding behind. There was a blinding flash, then darkness. Johnny’s last thought was, What’s that in her hand? \*\*\* Johnny woke with a start. He thought he felt the vibration of thunder. He rolled over to see if it was raining yet, but the ground felt strange. It was smooth, with a soft texture to it. The darkness was so complete that he couldn’t see anything. No moon, no stars, no streetlights, nothing. He couldn’t hear anything either, or feel the wind blowing. It was like being covered by a heavy blanket. He tried to stand, but couldn’t get his balance in the dark. He tried again, and started shuffling forward, nearly falling over what felt like a log. He carefully stepped over it, only to run into something solid. He ran his hands along the smooth surface, trying to figure out what it was. One thing Johnny knew, this thing was big, much bigger than him. He shuffled along the object until he felt a depression. He felt around and came across something familiar. It was small and round, and fit his hand. A doorknob? He wondered who had put a door out by the bushes. He tried to turn it, but nothing happened. He felt around some more and came across a light switch. He flicked it on and was momentarily blinded while his eyes adjusted. When he could see again, he couldn’t believe what he saw. He was in a large bedroom. Chris and his other friends were lying on the floor, unconscious. On the bed were several dolls. He tried to wake his friends, but they were sleeping too deeply. There were two other doors in the room, but they both led to closets. As he was exploring the room, Johnny noticed a green glow coming from outside. He went to the window and looked out, but he didn’t see the light. The night was cloudy, and storm clouds were brewing. He could see the tree and the front yard. He tried to think how they had gotten into the bedroom, and how long they had been there. He went back to the first door he had tried and jimmied it open with his Swiss army knife. The door clicked open and creaked just a little bit. He winced at the sound, then stepped into the hallway and clicked the door shut again. The hallway was long with several other doors leading off of it. There was a beautiful rug that ran the length of the hallway. It was decorated with patterns of red and gold. At first, it looked pristine and beautiful, but after a second look, he saw the colors were faded, with stains here and there and frayed edges. He tried the next door, and was surprised that it opened. He peeked inside but the room was pitch black, and Johnny debated if he should risk turning on the light. As is so often the case, curiosity overwhelms common sense. Johnny flipped on the light switch and found himself in a room that looked nearly identical to the room he had just escaped from. As he looked around, something caught his eye. The dolls on the bed were similar to the ones in the other room, the only difference was their clothes. They looked like outcasts from the seventies. The striped t-shirts, the boot cut pants, and the shaggy hairdoos. Something else bothered him about the dolls. It was the eyes, they were just too real. He picked one up and it was heavier than he expected. He stood mesmerized, staring into the doll’s eyes. A boom of thunder startled him so much that he quickly turned to see what it was. When he did, the doll dropped out of his hands and hit the corner of the bed stand. Johnny quickly put the doll back on the bed and left the room, never seeing the small spot of red on the doll’s back where it had hit the bed stand. Johnny backed into the hallway as quietly as possible, when the house exploded with sound and light. Johnny fell to the floor and crapped his pants. He covered his eyes and waited for his doom. The house became still again, as he opened his eyes and peeked between his fingers. He was still alive. He had not been magically transported to hell or blown into tiny pieces. Once again there was a blinding flash. This time, the thunder rolled a few seconds later, making the house tremble. Realizing what had happened, Johnny cursed himself for being so jittery. He searched through the rooms, looking for a clean pair of pants. He found something that he thought would fit, then got cleaned up in the bathroom. Looking at himself in the bathroom’s full length mirror, he shook his head. The top looked fine, a leather jacket over a Metallica T-shirt. The boots were okay too, wearing tan work boots. In between was the problem. He had found a pair of white pants that weren’t quite long enough to reach his knees, and had frilly cuffs. Having no pockets in these pants, he transferred everything from his jeans to his jacket. He crept down the large, circular staircase, taking notice of the huge chandelier. It must have been breathtaking fifty years ago, now it was just a sad shadow of its former self. The once shiny brass was now tarnished. Out of the hundreds of lights that used to shine brightly, lighting upstairs and down, only three bulbs were now lit. The weak light, and cobwebs that had encompassed it, created a sense of gloom. Lightning flashed again, casting strange shadows over the hallway. Johnny reached the bottom of the staircase, and heard footsteps approaching. He froze. Scanning the hallway, he saw no hiding places. He ran to the front door, and found it locked. He turned and saw a giant grizzly bear lunging at him. Startled, he took a step back. Then he realized it was stuffed. It stood eight feet tall, with teeth exposed and claws outstretched, as if attacking. With no place else to go, he tried to move the bear, but it was too heavy. The footsteps got closer. In desperation, he dove between the bear’s legs, and shimmied up behind it. This bear must’ve been here forever. Johnny thought, looking around at the cobwebs that he had ripped down to make room for his hiding place. Johnny felt exposed as the old woman walked down the hallway, straight towards him. She was carrying a large tray with several bowls on it. She turned and started up the stairs, balancing the tray with ease. Just before she mounted the first step, Johnny swore he saw her look straight at him and give the slightest of grins. \*\*\* Chris woke before the rest. He looked around but didn’t see Johnny anywhere. Just then, the old woman entered the bedroom carrying the tray. She seemed surprised to see Chris awake. “Are you feeling better young man?” she said in a voice that sounded much softer and melodious than Chris expected. “What did you do to us?” Chris demanded. “Me? Not much, just save your life.” Chris rubbed his eyes, making sure he was fully awake. “What are you talking about?” “A bolt of lightning hit the bushes you boys were hiding behind. It knocked me down, it was that close. When I was able to get up, I came over to check on you boys. The others were merely unconscious, but you weren’t breathing. I had to give you mouth to mouth.” Chris looked at that wrinkled face, and imagined her old, wrinkled lips pressed against his, he suppressed a shudder. “I guess I should thank you,” he said hesitantly. “You’re very welcome young man,” she said smiling, revealing several rotting and missing teeth. “It was my pleasure.” She winked at Chris as he fought back a sudden wave of nausea. The other boys began to stir. They got up and began asking the same questions Chris had. She patiently answered them all, as Chris looked out the window. It was still dark, with no trace of morning twilight at all. Chris thought it couldn’t have been more than one or two o’clock in the morning. Then a revelation slapped him across the face. The yard was clean! There was nothing in the trees, nothing on the porch. No eggs, no corn, no TP anywhere. Something’s wrong, there’s no way she could’ve cleaned up that fast. She suddenly looked at him, as though peering straight into his mind and reading his thoughts. “What’s the matter, sonny?” she said with a smile. “you look like you just seen a ghost.” “How did …?” “I clean up so fast?” she said, finishing his sentence. “That’s easy, I didn’t. You boys have been unconscious for nearly a day now.” “That’s not possible,” Chris said slowly. “Young man, I believe you may be in shock, why don’t you sit down.” Chris sat in a comfortable chair that he didn’t remember seeing before. He tried to run through the facts in his head, but his thoughts seemed fuzzy, and he couldn’t focus. “I brought you boys some stew. I knew you hadn’t eaten in a while, and I thought you might be hungry.” She handed them each a warm bowl and a spoon. None of them realized how hungry they were until they smelled the wonderful aroma coming from the bowls. They hungrily dove into the delicious white gravy and morsels in the bowls. They finished their meals and asked for more, which she graciously provided. Chris was starting to feel a tug at his conscience. She’s not so bad. Maybe we’re wrong to pick on her so much. Maybe we should skip the tradition next Halloween. The old woman dished out four more bowls of stew, which the boys devoured. “This is delicious,” Chris said. “What’s in it?” “Well it’s sort of a Halloween tradition in this house,” she started. “I fill a kettle halfway up with water, add some spices, then put in my main ingredients. Corn, Eggs, Toilet paper, and whatever else I find laying around the porch.” She smiled at Chris. The boys each turned a different shade of green and vomited. “Isn’t this fun?” she said with a maniacal grin. “We should do this every year. Next let’s play a game.” “A game?!?” Chris spat. “Yes. This game is called, ‘Guess what I’m going to do next.’” She said, pulling a wand out of her pocket. Chris’s eyes grew wide as he realized he had seen that wand in her hand right before the ‘Lightning’ had struck. They froze in horror as a green glow emanated from the wand, shrinking their bodies smaller and smaller. An instant later, four new dolls appeared on the bed. They were dressed exactly the same as the boys had been, and had the same look of confusion and panic in their eyes. She looked at the dolls and smiled. “Happy Halloween boys.” \*\*\* After she had disappeared up the stairs, Johnny wiggled back out of his hiding place. While brushing himself off, he noticed several spiders had been crawling on him. Having quite a spider phobia, Johnny did a comical little dance while trying to rip his jacket off. Spiders fell to the floor left and right, while he brushed himself off. Every spider that fell, Johnny crushed with his boot. When he was satisfied that none were left on him, he bent down to see what kind of spider they were. They were black, with thin legs. On the large round body of each spider was what looked like a red hourglass. Johnny panicked and ran, leaving his coat behind. At the end of the hallway he stopped and stared at the three doors facing him. Before he could decide which door to take, the decision was taken out of his hands. The wonderful aroma of food reached out from behind the door to the left, and pulled him in. He found himself in a large kitchen, with an open fireplace in the middle of it. Something was cooking inside the large hanging pot. He looked in at the creamy white gravy, bubbling with dumplings in it. He poured himself a bowl, and began eating. After the first bite, he went straight to devouring, it tasted so good. He looked around while he was eating, and saw a cookbook sitting open. It was handwritten, and the recipe it was on said, ‘Halloween Revenge’. That’s a strange name for a recipe. Then he began to read the ingredients. His eyes getting wider with each sentence. When he was done, he forced himself to vomit. Remembering the tray of soup bowls, Johnny ran upstairs. Johnny burst through the bedroom door just in time to see a green light envelope his friends. He watched in horror as they shrunk smaller and smaller, until they were just dolls lying on the floor. “No!” he screamed. The old woman whipped around to face him. “Why are you wearing my underpants?” she said. “Umm …I had an accident,” he said. They looked at each other awkwardly. She pointed her wand at him and smiled. Before he could say or do anything, he was enveloped in green light. She magically tied him to a chair. “You must be the leader,” she said. He couldn’t move or speak. “…the one who couldn’t just prank and run,” she said, circling him. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” she growled. She looked as though she was on the borderline between uncontrollable rage and bursting into tears. She saw his eyes looking at the dolls. “Which one of these was your best friend?” She hovered her hand over each of the dolls, stopping at Chris. “Let’s go with this one.” She laid the doll on the bed where he could see it, then produced a wicked looking knife. “These dolls are quite unique,” she said. “The person trapped inside can see …” She waved the knife in front of the doll’s eyes. “Hear …” She tapped the knife against the doll’s ear. “And feel, everything.” She smiled a wicked smile at Johnny, then plunged the knife into the doll’s chest, causing its clothes to rapidly turn red. “The thing about it is, even though they can feel everything, they are helpless to react. Can you even imagine how that feels?” She knew that he knew exactly how that felt. He also was trapped inside his own body, unable to move. All he could do was watch and listen. “Ooh, I’ll bet that hurt,” she said, as she cut the doll’s right arm off. “By the way, that’s his real blood.” Johnny was beyond enraged as he watched the blood flow out of the doll’s body. He imagined himself holding the knife, and doing to her all the things she had done, and more. As if she could sense his rage, it fueled her into mania. She wildly slashed, stabbed, and tore at every doll in the room. Blood splattered everywhere as she rampaged on and on. Finally, exhausted, she stopped and stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard and covered in blood. She smiled as she surveyed the carnage. “Mother always told us if we didn’t take care of our toys, someday we wouldn’t have them.” said a voice behind her, “I guess you didn’t heed that warning.” The old lady whipped around impossibly fast. “You startled me, sister,” she said. The visitor looked at what remained of the dolls. “I see you’ve added to your collection.” “More rowdy kids, I don’t expect they’ll be missed.” “Like our sister wasn’t missed?” the visitor said. “I told you before, she shouldn’t have interfered.” “And you shouldn’t have turned on her.” “I take care of her!” the old woman raged. “These young punks keep throwing toilet paper at her!” “If you hadn’t turned her into a tree, she wouldn’t be there for them to throw at!” “So, what’s your point? That this is completely my fault?” “I can’t allow you to keep doing this,” the visitor said. “It makes more work for me to cover it up.” “These kids had to be punished!” “There are other forms of punishment.” The old lady eyed her suspiciously. “Why are you here?” The visitor sighed. “To punish you.” The old lady’s wand came up in a flash, but the visitor was prepared. A brilliant orange light flashed out of her own wand before the old lady could aim hers. Her scream slowly diminished, as her body dissolved in an orange glow. Outside in the yard, a new tree grew taller by the second. When it finally stopped, it was fully grown, almost an identical match to the other tree, already in the yard. “I’m sorry, sister,” the visitor said sadly. \*\*\* The woman came back inside, picked up her sister’s wand, and released Johnny. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. Johnny looked like he wanted to beat the hell out of her, but seeing the wand in her hand made him think twice. “My loss?” he said. “You mean your psychotic sister murdering my friends?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t pretend to be blameless in this, boy! It was you, and others like you who pushed her to this madness.” “Would you compare toilet paper to blood?” he said, pointing at the dismembered dolls. She sighed and bowed her head. “Come with me,” she said. He looked at her with equal parts anger and fear. “I want to show you what I go through to protect you people every time this happens,” she said, walking out of the room. He hesitated, then followed out of curiosity. “What did you mean, ‘every time this happens’?” he asked. She pretended not to hear him as she unlocked the front door. They walked straight to Chris’ house. Johnny swallowed hard. “Are we here to tell Chris’ parents what happened?” he asked. “Something like that.” She pointed her wand at the lock, which glowed orange, and they walked in. Chris’ parents were sitting on the couch when she zapped them. As they sat wide-eyed, and glowing orange, she began mumbling. “What are you doing?” Johnny asked. “I’m telling them they never had a son named Chris.” “What?” “It’s the only way.” Before he could protest, she walked up the stairs to Chris’ room, and pointed her wand at it. It started to shake, and then folded in on itself like a cardboard box. Everything inside simply ceased to exist. The door disappeared as well. The wall simply smoothed over the opening, and Chris Connors was no more. Johnny was devastated. Back downstairs, she made one final statement to the parents. “The old house on the hill,fear it, avoid it, have nothing to do with it.” Then they glowed orange one last time, implanting the thought in their subconscious. When she felt the thought had taken root, she turned and left. “Wait a minute,“ he said, following her. “That’s it? You just walk in and tell them they never had a son?“ “Would you rather I just murdered them, and put the gun in your hand?“ she said with cool detachment, as if she had just asked if he preferred coffee or tea. “No, I suppose not,“ he said, as she turned and continued up the street. Johnny was too upset to do anything but follow her. As they walked away, he glanced back at the house. He could see where Chris’ room should have been. It looked like it had just been cut out with a giant knife. The siding over it looked perfect, as if the room never existed. But in Johnny’s mind the house just looked wrong. As they walked, he noticed several other houses that had that same look, like something was just off. They repeated the whole process three more times, before walking back to Johnny’s house. Even though they must have walked for hours, Johnny didn’t feel tired. It didn’t seem to be getting any closer to daylight either. They stopped right in front of his house. “So now we come to a point where I have to make a choice,” she said. “What choice?” he said, not liking the sound of this. “Do I do to you what my sister did to Chris, your friends, and hundreds of other children over the years, or do I simply erase your memory and let you scamper away?” All during the evening, Johnny had been holding the line between fear and rage. When she made this statement, the rage melted away like butter in a microwave. “I’ve always been good at scampering,” he said. She pointed her wand at him and smiled. \*\*\* Johnny walked past the living room, on his way to bed. He was exhausted, but not sure why. “Where have you been?” his mom said. “It’s almost one in the morning.” “I’ve been …” He trailed off, trying to remember. “You were out corning again, weren’t you?” she asked. “You’re gonna get arrested one of these days.” “No, I didn’t go corning,” he said. “I hate doing that crap.” He had made that statement to her many times over the years, this time it was actually true. \*\*\* “So, what do you think of my story kiddies?” the old woman said. “Did you like it?” Five boys, ages ten to twelve, stared at her with blank faces. The oldest boy quietly said, “We’re sorry about the toilet paper.” “Think nothing of it,” she smiled. “It’s Halloween, and boys will be boys.” She turned and reached behind her. “Have some stew. It’s a recipe I got from my sister.” They looked at the bowl of white gravy, with corn, and other chunks floating in it, then ran out the door, screaming. She walked into the front yard, leaned against one of the trees, and said. “You see sister, other forms of punishment.” As if to answer, the tree creaked and groaned.
Have you seen the kind of photos they show you when you try to pickup your wedding gown? Well, I am one of those models, so you might’ve seen me before. I was on set when it showed up. There was a unique new brand planned to have a series of photographs for their wedding dresses. I used the word ‘unique’ ‘cause they asked me to put on a violet mermaid dress with a red Chinese quilted jacket. I know nothing about designing, but it’s feeling a bit out of place. And they didn’t set the scene in a lovely garden or in front of a gorgeous water fountain like other photos. It was in the dark, narrow and gloomy alley which is rather odd considering the dress I wore. There were a small group of people standing around us during the shooting, and the couple beside the photographer (the designer told me they’re potential buyers) judging me while he gave the instructions. You might think that as a model I already used to the staring and judgements, but I am always stressed and frustrated when we have company. It feels like they’re expecting me to make mistakes or trying to find a flaw in me. And I’ll never good enough for them. But it’s job, I have to be professional and bury all my insecurities or doubts. Also, I still need to pay my rent. I wasn’t sure how I noticed it in the first place. It looks like a handsome gentleman who wore a black two-piece suit with a blue bowtie, casually walked through the opposite side of the street. It was a beautiful sight line for me to take a break from my work, until it hummed. At first it’s merely whispering, the rhythm was familiar but I couldn’t recognize it. Then it became louder after each time it repeated, like the slowly building orchestral crescendo of the Bolero, and became deafening. That’s when I realized why I couldn’t recognize it, because every single note it hummed was stretched, cracked and broken. Even though the noise sustained, it seemed like I was the only one noticing it. When I was frozen due to the sound, there was a stunning lady approached it and asked for its number. It gave her the most disturbing smile I’ve ever seen, and suddenly shape-shifted as some kind of black veil wrapped that poor lady. I saw her smart phone dropping off, before the phone touch the ground, it transformed into the stunning lady. And the humming stopped. I was terrifying and couldn’t feel my breath, like my brain was shutting down all of the sudden. My job was not my top priority at that moment, the only thing I wanna do is run away. “I quit. “ I took off the red jacket, it’s never my type anyway. “What are you talking about? You can’t quit. “ “But I am quitting now. “ I stripped down the dress and the photographer turned to stop me. “Hey! Don’t stop her, we wanna see those boobies and buttocks! Go on sweetie!” Some dude shouted to the photographer. I could hear the whistles and phone clicks in the crowd, normally I would feel embarrassed, but now I didn’t care anymore. I picked up my stuff and prepared to leave. Some disappointing murmurs came from the crowd behind me. The same dude who encouraged me to take off my clothes yelled something like stay a little longer. I took a glance at that man, and my heart dropped. It was staring straight at me. And the humming began.
Sorry it's been awhile, but honestly I was debating whether or not to continue the story. Reliving these events has been... well... it was overwhelming for a few days, and I almost deleted the posts entirely, but I feel like if I do that then I just continue being a slave to this for the rest of my life. #x200B; I can’t tell you how terrifying those first days were after seeing the creature in the woods outside my bedroom window. I was uncertain of everything around, questioning my very understanding of the workings of the world, and my perceived safety therein. Worst of all I had no one to talk about my experience with. No one to give me context– some anchor to tether myself to my new reality. I know it may sound far fetched. That what I’ve written so far is nothing but the imaginings of someone who is as bored with their life as they are disturbed within it. I assure, for what it’s worth, that I wish as much as you do that what I’ve recounted so far was nothing but some waking nightmare which could be rationally removed from reality. If what I had experienced before the events of that night had been isolation, and depression– what I experienced after was nothing short of despair, and hopelessness. When I finally returned to school, I had all but forgotten about Danny Merrick, and Rebecca Redding’s insistence that he was innocent. I had something else to think about. Something consuming, and unrelenting. The place in my mind that had once been occupied by Danny Merrick, was now filled with skittering men made of twigs who clicked and cracked as they moved side to side like crab’s on all fours. The little hole in my brain where my own personal boogeyman lived. Those were lonely days. I didn’t trust my mouth not to recount the events, events that would surely sound like nonsense to anyone who listened, and so I kept my mouth shut, and my head down. Aaron and I had already begun to grow apart. Our parents had kept us from one another the remainder of the summer, and we’d each stewed in our trauma alone. Maybe that’s where we learned we no longer needed one another. Two boys becoming men, separately coming to the same conclusion that our friendship had run its course. When I kept my eyes down, and my mouth shut passing him in the hall, Aaron took the opportunity to keep walking himself and that was that. Our friendship, which had begun in pre-school, was over. Rebecca Redding, however, wasn’t so easily shaken loose. It was the third day back, when I noticed her staring. I could see it out of the corner of my eye. Her, just staring, waiting for me to look back at her. Waiting for our eyes to connect and her opportunity to harass me to present itself to her. I nearly made it to the weekend before, while yawning and absent mindedly looking about, our eyes connected. She smiled, splitting her face in two, waved enthusiastically, and rushed over. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, matter of fact, and placing her hands on her hips as if to scold me. I remember looking at her for a moment before responding. Her auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders, carelessly twisting in long attractive loose curls. I couldn’t decide if I was mad that she’d interrupted my self pity and dark introspection, or if I was happy to have someone break the cyclical thoughts in my head. “No I haven’t,” I blurted out, less than convincingly. “You have,” she replied, taking none of my nonsense. I turned my eyes down for a moment as I tried to find that well deep within me, where I’d buried any will to socialize, or be seen. That’s when Rebecca reached out, placing a hand on my arm. I winced, as if she meant to do me harm, and instantly felt ridiculous, but before I could explain away my cowardice, Rebecca bent down slightly, pulling my gaze from the floor. “You okay?” She whispered so only I could hear. I tried wiping the tears from my eyes, but no matter how fast I cleared them, they still managed to fall down my cheeks. “Yeah I’m-” I tried to say fine, but the word wouldn’t move past my lips. “Tell me,” she said, so earnestly I knew she meant it completely. Could I tell her? I thought to myself. But of course I couldn’t, she wouldn’t understand, how could she possibly believe what I had to tell her, what I desperately wanted to say was impossible. I stayed silent, chewing my lips, as that dark truth sat like a painful lump in my throat. “You wouldn’t believe me,” I whispered, instantly regretting the words. I knew she’d think this had to do with Danny Merrick, and my time at Fort Worden, and what happened the night Mark was murdered, but it had nothing to do with it. Surely, I thought, if I tell her she’ll think I’m insane. “I’ll trade you,” she said standing up straight. “Huh?” I sniffled, trying as best I could to compose myself. “I’ll tell you something you’ll never believe, and then you can tell me something I wouldn’t believe.”She sounded childish, almost flirtatious, but I knew it wasn’t that. I almost smiled, and if I hadn’t been so comfortable in my own misery at that point I would have. The absurdity of this dark, twisted version of ‘I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours” was comical in its ridiculousness. “You’ll think I’m crazy,” I said, feeling that itch that had been there since the night I saw the creature, the itch to tell someone getting stronger. “No, you’ll think I’m crazy,” she replied, laughing as she said it. She was always so earnest. Every word she said, she meant. There was comfort in that. Before I couldn’t accept or decline her odd offer, she clapped her hands together as if to sign the deal handshaking herself. “Ruby said you live over near Dirk Marsh, right?” I nodded. It was startling how well informed she was. “Right, meet you at 9pm under the third lamppost past Elmore Street. You know Elmore Street, right?” “The third lamppost? So random,” I chuckled to myself, briefly breaking my solemn mask, unable to stop myself. “It’s right outside my house,” she replied. I blushed. I knew she wasn’t flirting, but it was the first time a girl had ever invited me over to her house, even if her invite only extended to the sidewalk outside her front door. Thankfully the class bell rang interrupting us, and she turned away to pack her bags, as the flushness in my cheeks faded away. Turning back she smiled, and slung her backpack over her shoulder, before joining the throng of students shuffling their way to their next period. The rest of that day was a blur, as I practiced what it was I planned to tell her. I tried every single combination of words I could think of. In some iterations of the story, I played it off as if it were just a man in my backyard who tripped and fell before running away into the bushes, a failed home invasion. Other times, I tried inserting a lie here and there to make it more believable, but no matter what combination of invented medications or waking nightmares it only sounded more absurd. No matter how I conjured the story, and no matter the ingredients I used to get to the conclusion, it only sounded more ridiculous to me than the original impossibility of what I’d seen. Before I knew it I was sitting at the dinner table, across from my mom, who twirled spaghetti noodles around her fork as she stared at me. “What are you thinking about?” She asked, bringing me back to reality. “Nothing mom,” I replied, flashing her a brief smile. “No, it’s something,” She placed her fork down and leaned forward onto her elbows examining me. “Stop.” I said, feeling her gaze inspecting me. “What’s her name?” She asked, point blank. “Mom…”She leaned back, letting it go, and threw a knowing glance at my father who was being less than attentive to our interactions at the table. I wish I appreciated those little moments with my mom more. Those little moments when she’d try and tease me out of my shell, poking and prodding until I reacted to her in some way. At the time I still felt hurt, knowing that she, along with my dad, had doubted my innocence in the Fort Worden tragedy. Looking at her that year, she felt so far away, like a moat sat between us. Me, up in my castle, guards at the ready, defensive and on guard. Her just standing there, looking up, only a few feet shy of falling into the water below. Waiting for the drawbridge to come down and let her back in. I asked to be excused, and without waiting for an answer I packed up my knife and fork onto my plate, put it in the sink and shuffled off to my room. We ate early in my house, at that point in the night, the sun had just barely set. My room was filled with amber tones, and reds exaggerated by the spattered cover of heavy clouds thick and fat with rain. I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling listening to the television blaring down stairs. I had spent so much time at home by then that I knew my parents nightly routine better than they knew it themselves. And a good thing I did, because there was no way they’d let me out past dark, not after the near death experience I’d had that summer. So I waited till I heard the television turn off, and the sound of my dad’s footsteps stomping up the stairs. I strained my ears to hear my mom rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher, before she sat for 10 minutes glancing at her latest romance novel as she enjoyed the quiet of the house. Then the gentle knock came at my door, and the doorknob turned. My mom poked her head in, and smiled at me. “Goodnight my baby boy,” she said. “Goodnight mom,” I replied, practiced and without conviction. Normally she’d close the door, and go to bed, reading a little bit more before turning off her bedside lamp. The click of the switch the period at the end of the sentence, signifying her day was over. That night she looked at me a little while longer. There was sadness in her eyes. “You’ll be alright,” she said softly. I heard that same earnestness in her words, that Rebecca had spoken with. She truly meant it, and I nearly believed her. “Night mom,” I said once more. I wish I said more, it was much less than she deserved. I lay in bed, regretting the distance between my mom and I. We’d always been close, and I couldn’t tell if it was my fault or hers, but like teenagers do, I blamed her as I pushed it to the back of my mind, and waited for the click of her bedside lamp switch. Click8:30pm, just in time. I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that both my parents were morning people who relished in waking up at the crack of dawn. I moved slowly about my room, grabbing a sweater and jacket. I threw my shoes out the window, knowing I could move past my window sill with more ease, and with less noise in socks than in shoes. I moved through my mental checklist, making sure I was over prepared for my kilometer long jaunt to Rebecca’s lamppost, and finally moved to throw myself out my first story window. That’s when I froze. I was standing exactly where I’d seen it, the creature in the woods. I felt cold sweat burst out from every pore, as I anticipated its reemergence. But it never came. For a few minutes I saw a phantom moving in the shadows. A darkness, darker than the night outside, but it was only my eyes playing tricks. Still, I was terrified. Breathing deeply, I counted to 10, closed my eyes and threw myself out of the window, holding my breath until I landed. If I landed, and nothing moved in the bushes, I was safe. There was no monster, nothing to attack me, nothing to eat me or kill me and crush my bones silently in the night while my parents slept. That’s the resolution I had made with myself. I landed, nothing moved, and I exhaled. Resolution or not I moved to lace up my shoes quickly with one eye glued to the tree line. I remember the regret of sneaking out that night. It was unlike the times I’d slipped through my window to meet Aaron for little to no reason other than to break the rules. That time was different. I was off to see a girl, and while I wasn’t going over to her house, like I said she had invited me over the lamppost just outside, which still felt monumental to me then. I jogged my way down the street, anticipating my house lights to turn on, and my dad’s car to pull out of the driveway and chase me down like an escaped convict, but they never did. I giggled to myself, feeling the adrenaline of rebellion wash away my fears and anxieties for 5 minutes or so as I trotted along, before I rounded the bend, and saw the green Elmore Street sign. I could see Rebecca Redding already outside, with her back to me. Her auburn hair was shimmering like a waterfall of copper flames under the streetlamp. She wore a black hoodie, matching black joggers, and a pair of converse. I laughed a little. Rebecca always dressed so much more feminine to school. “Rebecca,” I huffed as I came to a stop. Rebecca turned to me, and smiled.“ Ready?” She asked, as the smile fell from her face. “Right here?” I felt dumb asking, but it felt odd to share secrets underneath the lamppost outside her house. But then again, what did I expect, a moonlight walk recounting past trauma? She sat on the curb, and I followed. I stared at her uncomfortably, trying to make sense of her sudden personality change. I knew Rebecca Redding as the bubbly girl next door. The earnest, and straight forward girl who wouldn’t leave me alone, but on that curb we sat shoulder to shoulder in silence. “So…” I said, breaking the silence. It was the best I could do. “Me first, right…” She hugged her knees. I mirrored her, hugging my own knees tighter to myself. It was cold, and I could feel the rain begin to spit on us. “A secret for a secret,” she muttered to herself. Somewhere far away a train whistle blew and drifted over hills and houses. “I think I know who killed Mark,” she said, abruptly as if knowing it would be painful for me to hear. I had nothing to say. I felt my cheeks go red for the second time that day, but that time from anger. What the hell was the point of this? Was she obsessed? Was she only talking to me because she had some true crime kink she was trying to work through? I wanted to shout at her, but the lump in my throat returned and tied my vocal chords in knots. “It wasn’t Danny Merrick, because Danny was at his mom’s house that night,” she said pointing across the street at a pale blue house. It was a modest house, two stories, painted different shades of blue, that were so alike that they clashed with each other like trailer park garden pinwheels of assorted colors and shapes do. “I watched him break into his house, and steal food. Then I watched him walk across the road, and sit right here, and cry till the sun came up.” That sounded more unbelievable than what I had to share with her. Danny Merrick crying? I’d never heard of him speaking, much less expressing emotion or sadness like a normal human. But, what did I know about Danny Merrick? Not much. “Why?” I asked as the anger subsided, and gave way to curiosity. “I don’t know, but I want to find out.” We sat there in silence for a while longer, and I tried to imagine the boogeyman of my childhood sitting on the curb like a little boy, and crying. “Didn’t he run away?” I asked. “No,” she said. “Mrs. Merrick kicked him out, I think." “What for?” “She’s not a good person,” Rebecca said, turning to me. I looked into her green eyes, and felt ready to believe anything she told me next despite how far it felt removed from what I knew about Danny Merrick, and Mrs. Merrick– the darling elementary school teacher beloved by all. “He couldn’t have killed Mark, because he was here, kilometers away, sitting on the curb, crying by himself. I think he wanted to come home but Mrs. Merrick wouldn’t let him. She’s mean you know, I can hear her scream and shout all the way across the street with my window shut, and it used to be every day. Everyday, until Danny Merrick ran away, or was kicked out or whatever.” She took a moment to catch her breath, and calm down. I could tell the image of the boy devil all alone had left its mark on her. Me, and Danny Merrick– Rebecca seemed gravitationally pulled towards lost boys. “If Danny didn’t, then who?” She looked away from me, resting her chin on her knees pulled all the way up and close to her chest. “Don’t laugh,” she said, with a slight pout. “I promise.” “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she insisted, looking back towards me through the corner of her eye. “I won’t. I promise.” “I think it was Mr. Merrick.” I couldn’t tell if I had heard her right, the words barely sounded like English to me, and I’m not sure if my brain just couldn’t comprehend the idea, or the words in that order, or if it’s because she mumbled them. “Danny Merrick Senior… I think it was his dad. ”I tried to hold it in, but I laughed. Part of me still thought it was a sick prank, and I chose to laugh with the joke, then to be the butt end of it. “I’ve seen him!” She hissed at me, “Just standing and watching.” I deflated, all the laughter gone, and my face dropped. I felt that same hair raising feeling of being watched fall on me again. “What?” Rebecca said, leaning away from me. I was shaking. “You’re scaring me.” She said, tensing her shoulders. “You’ve seen him?” “I think so,” she said, nodding her head. I'll try to update sooner this time.
My name is Arthur. I’m a junior in College now, but was a sophomore in High School when the events I’m about to describe took place. To this day, I still don’t know what I saw in those woods, or what caused my grandfather to disappear, or why I still feel its presence watching over me when I’m alone. I’m getting ahead of myself. We should start from the beginning. It was the summer of 2018, I was just out of Freshman year and ready for that school sanctioned two month break. That is summer of course, that feeling of freedom, no homework, no tests, no drama. It's safe to say I was excited and relieved to finally be done, at least for a little while.One thing I always dreaded was the week-long stay over at my grandfather's house. Don’t get me wrong, I love my grandfather–or rather, loved–but there was absolutely nothing to do there. Granted it made sense, his house was out in the middle of nowhere. And by the middle of nowhere I mean, middle of the forest Kentucky. The way to his house was simple: pull off the highway into the dense woods down an 8 mile dirt road until you find an old wooden bridge. Past the bridge by about 2 miles you’d finally arrive at my grandfather's house. Apart from a few houses and shops sprinkled around along the road here and there, it was pretty desolate. And practically everyone kept to themselves. Pretty fitting for elders, at least that was what I told myself to keep from feeling like everyone around there hated each other, because it surely felt like they did. There had been a break-in a few months ago, someone was robbed and long story short, the whole community had been tense ever since. Names were thrown around, blame was passed on and off of people, some blamed a group of rowdy teens that had come down into the valley to cause a ruckus, some thought the local drug addict finally got around to searching for money where he had no business searchin’. But one man, my grandfather, believed it to be supernatural. Sightings of the unknown had been common around those parts since the early 80s. Sure, there were a few silly ghost stories here and there. But the primary, and to me the most terrifying one, was the story of the Nightman. There were sightings and stories told of him. A 9ft tall man, limbs as long as tree branches, and a face so terrifying it could haunt your dreams for generations. The stories were told as precaution, it was common knowledge in the valley that you **did not** go out at night. Doors were to be locked by 10PM and windows shut. Some people in the valley didn’t believe it, in fact, they laughed at it. It's just a silly folk tale after all. People went out for groceries at night, left windows open, and nothin’ happened. So they just believed it all to be bullsh\*t. Lucky ones, I say. Except my grandfather, he took it so seriously that I was to be in bed by ten every night with the curtains shut on every window-like object in my room. And I trusted him, the supernatural always interested me, and personally, I’m not one took take chances with that sh\*t. So I followed his rules, and that was that. It was a particularly hot day when my parents dropped me off at his house. While unpacking I could feel the sweat drip off my brow, and at that point I just wanted to get inside with A/C. My grandfather helped me finish unpacking, we all said our goodbyes, and my parents left for the week. It was just me and my grandfather. I expected a week full of board games, tv game shows, and the occasional campfire. That night my grandfather cooked dinner, we ate, and after a couple hours of Chess and TV binging, he went to bed. I was awake still, 9:25 PM, “I’ve got time”, I thought to myself. So I pulled out one of my comic books and laid in bed for a moment to read. My lamp started to flicker and, just like that, a power outage. Not uncommon in these parts, but it would almost certainly be awhile before it was back up again. And it was getting hot. Like, really hot. You see, something you need to know about my room was that there was a glass sliding door across from my bed. The curtains on it were to stay shut at night, as was the door itself, remember the old story about the Nightman? Yeah, my grandfather didn't play around about that door. 9:35 PM, at this point I was wildly uncomfortable. As much as it was hot, there was a cool breeze in the night. I was about to go against my own “don’t fuck around with the supernatural’ rule and I figured, “Why not? I can open the door a little bit to let some fresh air in.” I would later learn this to be a horrible mistake. I crept slowly out of bed and across the room to the door, moved the curtains out of the way and slid it open, I looked out into the night. There was a hill behind my grandfather's house, just small enough that you could see slightly over it into the woods behind it. The crickets chirped loudly, as the breeze came in through the door. I laid back in bed and my eyelids began to get heavy. By 9:55 PM, I was dead asleep, the breeze had finally cooled my room off. Here's the thing though, I forgot to shut the door back. 10:25 PM. I awoke to what sounded like..breathing? To this day I still don’t know what the noise was. That was the first thing I noticed, though It was off in the distance. The second thing I noticed was that the crickets stopped, and the wind had fallen silent. I was completely unnerved. You know there's a saying in nature that when a predator is lurking nearby, all possible prey will get incredibly silent in an attempt to not get noticed by it, whatever *it* is. Well that entered my mind at probably the worst possible time, which is right now, if you hadn’t noticed. And my mind was now racing with possibilities. Animal? Human? Or was it something else? “Can’t be.” I thought, “That stupid story is fake!” I whispered to myself. The breathing was loud, and heavy, like a large animal almost. I felt defenseless, “Was my grandfather right?” I thought. I could barely move, frozen in fear I laid there for what felt like hours. Just listening, listening to whatever was out by the treeline. I could feel its gaze on me. The foot of the bed was to the door, and I had the covers up far enough that I couldn’t see it.10:35 PM, the breathing stopped, it was silent, I prayed for god to save me now, to just get me out of this one, I wanted heaven to open up and take me right then and there, so I wouldn’t have to suffer whatever fate was waiting for me outside that door, it was to no avail though, and I remained in that bed. Then I heard walking. Incredibly slow walking, but walking nonetheless. When I say I almost died of a heart attack at that moment, I mean it. I don’t know what came over me, but I finally gained the courage to peek towards the door. And my heart sank into the depths of the earth.10:55 PM, he was there, right there. Standing at 9ft tall and hunched over, jaw slacked out, arms gangly and out-stretched. Slowly creeping towards me. It's like he knew I couldn’t do anything, like he knew I was so frozen in fear that I wouldn’t get up to shut the door. He was making this as terrifying as possible. It was almost as if he was walking in slow motion. My breathing sped up rapidly as I stared directly at him. Stumbling towards me, he was over the hill now, and stepping onto the back patio. He got to the door, and stopped. He just stopped. I was hyperventilating loudly out of fear. His arm was reaching into the room, and was almost over my bed. When suddenly, the power flicked back on. The lamp that had gone out earlier was back. The tall man let out a noise that will never leave my mind, a screech so loud it could wake the most tired working man from his slumber. And he recoiled. I guess the scream must’ve woken my grandfather from his sleep because he burst into my room with his rifle and started letting out shots. In an attempt to not get hit I dropped to the floor and hid under the bed, covered my ears and closed my eyes. I heard the tall man scream and run into the woods as my grandfather chased him deeper into the forest with his rifle. The noise slowly grew more distant as time passed, until it could not be heard anymore. I fell asleep under that bed, don’t ask, I don’t know how either. Maybe it was shock from the experience, maybe it was something else. But when I awoke the next morning, I couldn’t find my grandfather anywhere. The curtains on the sliding door were now tattered and torn from bullets. Glass was everywhere, and the door itself was still wide open. I waited in that house for the whole week, hoping for my grandfather to return from the woods. He never did. At some point in all of the time I was alone, I found a note my grandfather had written and hidden in his room, in preparation for this exact scenario. “To whomever this note concerns, if you are reading this, I may as well be dead. In the odd case the Nightman enters this home, I will chase it out and not return. I have waited and prepared for the day he tries to attack. I have seen him stalking at night, in the treeline, when I peek through the cracks in the curtains. He waits, he is waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. And when he does, I am ready. I will chase him out of the house and into the woods with all the ammunition I have. I will most likely not return from this, as almost every encounter with this.. thing..has led to death. He has terrorized my home for too long, and will no longer. I just hope I’m alone when he inevitably makes his move, no one else should have to witness this.” And it all made sense, I knew he wasn’t coming back now. I packed, and on the last day when my parents arrived, left. They asked where he was, and I told them, “He just walked out into the woods to find fuel for a fire tonight, said it would be a few hours.” They believed me. On our way out of the small valley community down the dirt road, I almost felt like I was being watched from the treeline. Every mile we came closer to the highway made the feeling of being watched get weaker and weaker until we were out. On the highway and headed home, finally. When I got back to my neighborhood and home that night I laid in bed and pondered the week, where my grandfather was, and what the f\*ck had attacked me in the cabin. I wouldn’t know until a few years later. It's 2023, as I’m writing this I am on my way back to Kentucky with a group of hunters, we all have had our encounters with this monster and seek to put an end to it. Weirdly enough, only a week ago in my dorm I began to have the same feeling, as if I was being watched. I knew the feeling immediately, it was back, and it knew we were coming. I would be lying if I said I’m not scared, but I will get revenge for what happened that night, and I will find out what happened to my grandfather, if it's the last thing I do on this god-forsaken earth. Wish me luck, goodbye and goodnight.
I considered not going to my friend's housewarming party. If I hadn’t, I would have never known the horror that was sitting right up the road. I’d have never heard the strange story of the Beade ranch. (pronounced Bee-Dee) Another one of my friends got married. Another one bites the dust. It’s become more and more common in recent years. This time, it was my childhood best friend Tiffany. Tiff met Joe days after arriving on campus during her freshman year of college. They fell in love quickly. He seems like a great guy and I get along with him. Shortly after getting married, they found a place relatively closer to where Tiff works. She is extremely intelligent and has a great job. The commute was crazy though. The place was still almost an hour away from her work which was better than her previous commute. It’s about 2 hours from our hometown where I still live. It was a bit of a haul to go to their housewarming party, but I did tell her that I wouldn’t miss it for the world. The party was okay and I saw some old friends. I was happy to see that they were happy. They found a nice little place on a lake that they apparently got a great deal on. The party was run-of-the-mill and I didn’t care much about it other than hanging out with Tiff and Joe. I decided that I wouldn’t drink because I had to work the following morning and would need to drive home that night. I met their new friends who are locals of the area. Andy and Lauren were a friendly couple and they stayed to the end of the night. It was after most everyone had left that they told me the story of a family who lived nearby. A story I initially struggled to believe.. Everything was winding down and it was just me, Joe, Tiff, and their new friends from the area, Andy and Laura. We were all sitting in a circle, smoking pot and shootin the shit. “You don’t care at all what religion the president is?” Andy asked the group. “Why would I?” Tiff laughed. “It could be a religion that practices human sacrifice!” Andy laughed. “Okay. Okay, do you care if the president was gay?” “What reason would there be to care?” I laughed. “I couldn’t care less who the president wants to get with as long as they’re, ya know.. adult humans. Same way it doesn’t matter to me what anyone cares to eat.. as long as it isn’t human.” “Well, make sure to stay away from the old Beade ranch then,” Andy replied. “Why?” I asked. “Do they have gay presidents that eat people?” Andy was chuckling, but his face turned serious strangely quickly. Laura had a very serious look on her face. “You guys haven’t heard anything about the Beade ranch?” Andy asked Joe and Tiff. “Nothing. Why?” Tiff asked. “Shit, I'm surprised the realtor didn’t say something when you moved in here,” Laura said. “Oh god.. What is it?” Joe asked. “The Beade family,” Laura somberly replied. There was a weirdly tense moment after she said that. Neither Andy or Laura were laughing in the slightest. After a short pause, Laura told us the story. Fay Hollow, the town directly to the west of us just a few minutes down the road is all owned by this very strange and reclusive family. I think it’s considered a hamlet, because it’s not big enough to be considered a town. It’s basically just a big chunk of land with one old dirt road going through it. From all accounts, it’s not very good land either. It’s mostly all swamp with a small river that runs off from the lake. People who’ve been there say it’s just ugly.” “You’ve never been there?” Tiff asked. “We know better,” Andy replied. Joe and Tiff both looked a little spooked. Laura took a long sip of her drink and then continued. “Some years back, the town wanted to build a highway through some of this area. There were plans to build a factory here. They were planning on bringing in new businesses. Most of the people around here we’re all for it. Outside of the nice houses on the lakes, it’s historically been a very low income area. There just isn’t much nearby and there aren’t a lot of job opportunities.” “Yeah, my commute is like an hour now,” Tiff said. “Still worth it for a nice affordable house on the lake.” “For those of us who can afford it,” Laura said. “There are plenty who can’t. There were a lot more back then. The population used to be much higher here. Now it’s primarily summer homes or people who have really long commutes.” Tiff almost looked like she felt guilty or had taken some offense. Laura quickly got back to the story. “Most locals were excited about the highway and all of the new businesses that might come. Everyone who needed to sign off on it did, aside from the Beades. Locals who would need to move were offered much more than market value for their homes. Most of them felt like they won the lottery. The Beedes wouldn’t budge though. Their family had owned that chunk of land for generations. They dug in their heels. People were pissed.” Laura paused again to get another drink. “So let me guess, the townspeople raced over there with pitchforks and killed them?” Joe asked. “Now the ghosts haunt the land?” he laughed. “Was I close?” “No, but maybe they should have,” Andy replied in a serious tone. There was another short but awkward pause before Laura returned and sat back down. “So, what happened?” Tiff asked. “The story starts to get murky,” Laura replied. “There had already been plenty of rumors about the family. People claimed that they practiced incest. Some believed they were cannibals. These were all theories most likely due to their appearance and their decision to live in isolation. People might have heard about the disappearances, and let their imaginations fill in the blanks. Or maybe they were right about the Beades. What locals did know was that anyone who wandered onto their property were greeted with shotguns.” “So they were just like.. Florida people?” Joe laughed. Laura ignored the comment and continued.“The town continued surveying different spots in the area, hoping that they could still convince the Beades to sell. Two men, Thomas and Paul were sent to the hamlet to survey what they could as well as try again to talk to the family.” She continued as we all quietly listened. “Thomas has told his story. He checked out the area near the front of the land by the start of the dirt road that runs through the property and acts as a shortcut to the interstate. Paul went into the weeds and bushes so he wouldn’t be seen. He was going to check out the swamp. Before long, Thomas heard thrashing followed by gunshots alongside terrible screams..” “What happened to Paul?” Tiff asked. “No one knows,” Laura replied. “Thomas ran out of there and promptly called the cops. They found nothing. No sign of Paul at all. He’s still considered missing and presumed dead. Thomas has theorized that Paul had been cannibalized.. They could never prove it though.. No evidence. Since then, people steer clear of Fay Hollow and the Beede family.” “Maybe a bear got him,” Joe said. “Maybe,” Laura replied. “There were others though. Some are on record as missing. Some are just stories. But it seems like every few years, someone goes missing near the Beade ranch. It’s enough to make locals steer clear.” “Is it really a shortcut to the interstate?” I asked. “It’s a straight shot,” Andy said. “The dirt road ends about a mile from the on ramp to 86. It would seriously take at least 45 minutes less to get there than the main roads. That’s why they wanted to build the highway.” I laughed. “People really won’t take that road because they’re afraid of this family?” “People don’t wanna get shot,” Laura replied. “That, or something worse. The stories could have been exaggerated, but the disappearances are very real.” “What keeps random people driving through from going down that road?” I asked. “The turn to the road is at the end of a road with a dead end sign at the entrance. There isn’t a reason for most people to go down there. There’s also no trespassing and posted signs everywhere leading to it. I had friends who went down there and took pictures. It’s really creepy. The dirt road doesn’t fully show up in the maps either so most people don’t know that it goes to the interstate if they’re not from here,” Laura replied. “Your friends went to the ranch?” Joe asked. “Just to the edge of the road,” Laura replied. “They knew not to go any further, not to trespass. Kids at school called it the bleedy ranch.” “Sounds like those Bleedys stand their ground!” Joe laughed. “Something like that,” Laura quietly replied. I was very skeptical. I asked them, “Have you guys ever seen this family?” “Just the youngest one,” Andy replied. “She used to come in about once a week when I was workin at the gas station up the road. Bought a lot of gas. She’s actually pretty cute, in an Amish sort of way.” “That’s messed up,” Laura said, looking mildly irritated. “Not as cute as you!” Andy laughed. “No, I’m talking about how people think she might have been kidnapped. The Beades don’t associate with anyone outside of their family and she sure doesn’t look inbred. Some people think she was kidnapped when she was a baby and raised as a Beade.” “I don’t doubt it,” Andy replied. The topic of conversation changed shortly after that, but I couldn’t stop thinking about this place. Could I really cut 45 minutes off of my drive home? It’s such a long boring drive. It was crazy to me that people would avoid a shortcut like that just because they’ve seen too many scary movies. About a half hour later, I knew that I needed to leave. I was already looking at a night of very little sleep. I had an important meeting and presentation at work in the morning. Joe and Tiff tried to talk me into staying, but I simply couldn’t. Hooray for work.. As I reached the top of their long driveway, I stopped for a moment and thought about Fay Hollow. They warned me not to take the shortcut, but they didn’t have a long drive ahead of them. I looked it up in maps on my phone. Laura was right about only half the road showing up on there. Looking at the map though, it didn’t seem like there was any logical place for it to end aside from where they said it did. My main concern was getting to the end of the road and finding out it didn’t actually come out by the interstate. I figured that if the road was a dead end, it would only add an extra 20 minutes or so to my trip. If I had to drive the long way, I wasn’t gonna get any sleep either way. I decided to opt for the shortcut. I followed the map to the road with a dead end sign at the entrance. I started slowly driving down it. It wasn't long before I started seeing no trespassing signs and posted signs on the trees. There weren’t any houses on this road and it seemed to lead straight into a swamp. I got all the way to the end before I saw the turn to “Beade road”. The turn was somewhat hidden by weeds and bushes. The cement ended and the dirt road was tough to see in the dark at first. There was a gate, but I could see from the car that it wasn’t locked. The gate and surrounding trees were absolutely covered and no trespassing signs. I have to admit that I was a little creeped out. The excessive amount of signs in front of the dark dirt road made me slightly uneasy. As did seeing the sign for Beade road. This means that the family isn’t fictional. I considered it for a minute and decided that the creepiness of the road itself is probably where these stories come from. I remember being a kid and assuming any creepy looking, boarded up, or rundown house must be haunted. Sometimes our imagination gets the better of us. Not tonight though. I had come this far and I was taking this shortcut. I got out and walked over to the gate. It was an old rusty x shaped gate, just big enough to prevent cars from getting through. It creaked loudly as I swung it open. The sound echoed through the eerily quiet night. I admitted to myself that I was a little creeped out, but I still didn’t believe Laura’s stories. Creepy looking places spawn creepy stories. Stereotypes can lead to urban myths. Stereotypes like the Beades being seen as inbred cannibal rednecks because they live in relative isolation. These are the things I was telling myself as I started driving down the dark dirt road. I kept my speed low because of the wooded areas on each side of the road. The last thing I needed was to hit a deer. The road eventually turned slightly around a bend, and that’s when I saw the lights in the distance. I assumed it had to be in their house. Andy and Laura said it was the only one along the road or inside the tiny hamlet. I crept slowly down the road. The lights were growing bigger but I still couldn’t see the house. I started hearing a noise that I eventually recognized as the sound of a generator. These people really were off the grid. I started wondering where they got the money for gas to power the generator, where they got money for food, supplies, ect. Laura would likely say that they stole it from their many victims.. while I still didn’t believe that, the thought was stuck in my head. I admit that I was feeling more nervous as I got closer to the house. I could see a spot ahead where the weeds and trees opened up. I was almost to the house and I was about to be visible to anyone who might be there. I had freaked myself out a little bit more than I realized before, so I decided to pick up my speed as I was passing the house. I figured that even if they were the type to shoot anyone they saw on their property, I could get past the house before they could even grab their shotguns. I sped up a little as I got to a point where I could be seen from the house. I saw that there was lights on, but didn’t spot anyone outside or through the windows. The house was a little shabby, but honestly not much worse looking than my last place. It could use a paint job, but there are worse looking houses in the town I live in. Seeing the house calmed my nerves a bit. It wasn’t as spooky as what I built up in my head. Still spooky, just not as spooky as I imagined. I still wanted to get past it and out of sight quickly. I started to pass the house and looked ahead down the long dirt road where the opening in the trees closed up and it was almost too dark to see right in front of you. I pressed the gas a little harder as I passed, then abruptly I felt the steering tighten and the car slow. I had popped a tire.. This is what I like to call an “of course” moment. I quickly hopped out to check the damage. My front right tire was flat. I momentarily considered driving on it at least to the end of the dirt road. Then I thought about it and decided that I might let Laura’s story creep me out a bit, but I’m not gonna destroy my rim because of it. I was practically right in front of the house. I might’ve gotten 10 or 15 feet past it, but the light from the porch made me clearly visible to anyone inside. I looked toward the house regularly as I popped the trunk and grabbed the spare tire. I still hadn’t seen any people, but there were definitely lights on inside.I thought that maybe I should call someone, but as I looked at my phone I saw that I had no service. Of course not. I was in a swamp in the middle of nowhere. As I was rolling the tire from the trunk to the front of the car, I spotted something strange on the ground. I used the light from my phone to get a closer look. I felt a chill when I realized what it was.. It was a small piece of wood with several nails driven through it. The nails were straight through and unbent, sticking straight up. My tolerance for coincidence was fading. It looked like a man made item, specifically put there to pop someone’s tires.. I shined my phone's flashlight a little further up the dirt road and noticed another one, then another, then another.. I walked maybe 20 feet ahead and found more than a dozen of these little spike strips, a minefield of pointy objects. The feeling of panic started rapidly growing. I’m not sure if the plan was to jump in the car and drive it on a flat or if I was going to try to change it as quickly as humanly possible. It didn’t matter though.. When I turned around and looked back toward the house, I noticed a man coming from the house toward me. I could just see his silhouette as he went from walking to running. I quickly realized that he was wielding something and he started to yell. Panic immediately took over.. I had idiotically walked too far from my car, so I turned and started running further down the road. I didn’t know why they were laying down homemade spike strips and I didn’t want to find out. To me, everything else could’ve been chalked up to coincidence. Not the spike strips though.. As I started to run, I could hear the man yelling but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. My heart was racing and I had no idea where I was going or what I was planning to do. When I looked back, I saw a second man coming out of the house. He was standing directly in the porch light for a moment and I could see clearly that he was holding a rifle. He yelled as well but I couldn’t make it out. Then he also started running toward me. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I felt stupid for taking the shortcut despite a direct warning not to. I could already feel my sides hurting. I was running short of breath. I had no plan. All I could do was run and hope that the men chasing me either gave up or lost track of me. I considered cutting into the swamp, but I figured they probably knew their way through it better than me and it would only slow me down. I felt helpless. I could hear them continuing to yell and scream as I started to feel like I couldn’t run anymore. The only word I could make out was “stop”. At this point, I wasn’t looking back to see if they were gaining on me. I was just trying to force myself to keep running. I tried to fight through the cramps, shortness of breath, sore legs, and dizzy feeling. Then I abruptly felt a sharp pounding pain in each side of my rib cage. I was stopped dead in my tracks as my head and arms flew forward while the rest of my body stopped.. momentarily. It was dark and I couldn’t tell what was happening at first. I could only focus on the searing pain I felt. I realized that something was wrapped around my torso. It felt like marble when I touched it. I could barely see it in the dark and in the frenzy, but I could tell that it was large. The pain intensified as I was lifted off of the ground. Whatever had a hold of me flailed me around more than 10 feet off of the ground. I could see the two men had made it almost to me and stopped. The man with the gun began firing shots. I couldn’t see what he was shooting at as I was being thrashed around in the dark. After he fired about three shots, I was thrown to the ground. The one man was throwing rocks and other random objects. I looked up and saw what had grabbed me. It was unbelievable.. I tried to crawl back despite a few likely broken ribs. I looked up to see a massive humanoid creature. It must have been 25 feet tall. It was tough to tell as it was standing in the swamp water. It had a long, skinny body and lanky arms with a kind of claw at the end of each. The claws were like ant mandibles that connected at the tip rather than fitting flush when closed. It was one of those claws that it had grabbed me with. I’m lucky the claw didn’t close flush, because I wouldn’t be here to tell the story if it had. I continued slowly crawling backward as the two men fought off the creature. As the man with the gun tried to line up a shot, the other flashed a light at the creature. This was the clearest I was able to see it. It had two very large eyes that seemed to extend halfway around its oval shaped head. It’s skin was a dark gray or black. It’s head was more of a grayish blue. The eyes were black with a fluorescent, thin blue ring around the edges. Everything happened so fast. The man with the gun told the other guy to try and distract the creature with the light as he reloaded. The man flashed the light in the creature's face, then pointed it toward the trees hoping to grab its attention. It didn’t work.. The next few moments are seared into my brain.. I was first distracted by a young woman yelling and running toward us from the house. I continued dragging myself in terror before I looked back. The man with the rifle was attempting to reload when the creature spiked down through his torso with one of the large claws. It pierced straight through him and into the ground underneath.. The creature quickly turned its attention toward the guy with the light. He started to turn and run before the creature grabbed him the same way it had grabbed me. It swung him back and forth before slamming him into a tree. I screamed in horror as the creature then picked up his lifeless body and pulled it toward its face. It’s mouth opened like a flap, revealing a circular mouth filled with multiple spiraling rows of teeth. It pulled the lifeless man close. Then it’s mouth seemed to extend out a few feet in a bizarre fashion. It devoured the man in what felt like less than a minute. The woman made her way to me and helped me to my feet. The creature picked up the other man’s body and prepared to eat him as well. The woman helped me walk toward the house. She told me that the creature was injured, and wouldn’t chase after us. I didn’t know if she was just saying that to calm me down though. When it felt like we were at a remotely safe distance, I had to stop for a moment. I puked on the ground next to me as I tried to process what I had just witnessed. I forced myself to continue walking with the aid of the woman and we made it into the house. I couldn’t catch my breath. I was sobbing. She was holding it together much better than I was. It took a minute for me to realize that I had just unintentionally gotten two of her family members killed.. I started apologizing profusely despite not knowing exactly what had happened. She continuously said “relax” and “it’s not your fault”. I babbled in my panic. I screamed, “they were trying to help me! It’s my fault!” The young woman introduced herself as Lily. She was a pretty girl probably in her mid 20s wearing old timey looking clothes. She assured me that she didn’t believe it was my fault. I had no way of knowing what was lurking down that road. I still felt an insurmountable amount of guilt. I wanted to save an hour or so on my drive.. so I trespassed on clearly posted property. She said that we would talk once I calmed down. She got me a glass of water and a few painkillers for my ribs. I was cut open on each side but the cuts weren’t too deep. I would find out later I had multiple cracked and bruised ribs. The physical pain was so far in the back of my mind though. I felt that I had gotten two men killed. I was still trying to understand what that thing was. Lily was very pleasant to me. She was very kind, especially considering the circumstances. It turned out that the two men were her uncles. I again apologized upon learning that, but she again told me that I wasn’t at fault. “We’ve always known the risks of living here,” she said. “You couldn’t have known. They also could have done a better job of warning you. If someone was chasing me with a shotgun and screaming, I would’ve run too.” “What is that thing?” I asked. “How long has it been there?” “It’s been there longer than I’ve been alive,” Lily replied. “It saved my granny years ago when she was in trouble. She believed that she had a bond with it. Granny passed last year. She bought this land years ago after discovering the creature. She did everything she could to deter anyone from coming here. She never wanted to report it to any agency though. She felt that it had just as much of a right to live as we do. She claimed that it wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, but would protect itself if it felt threatened.” I wanted to ask follow up questions, but I sat quietly and listened to Lily.“ We have never known if the creature is a new species, an experiment of some sort, or even an alien. We know that it’s been injured for years and doesn’t move far from its spot. It seems to need the water to survive like a fish. It manages to get everything it needs from the swamp. We give it treats here in there and our leftovers, but it seems to survive just fine without us. It has been for over 40 years.” “That’s why your family didn’t sign off on the highway?” “Yes,” she replied. “The creature saved granny, and she knew it would be killed and most likely experimented on if she told anyone about it. Granny was nervous about people anyway so it was easier to just keep it a secret. I’ve always known the risks. My uncles did too,” “I’m so so sorry..” I repeated again. “Don’t be,” she softly replied. “Just relax and get some rest. I’ll answer all your questions in the morning.” “Thankyou” “Would you like to watch a movie?” She asked. I was a little surprised they had a TV, let alone movies. “Yes, we have movies,” Lily laughed. She popped in Jurassic Park and I tried to relax as the painkillers started to kick in. She watched the movie with me for a while before heading to bed herself shortly before Dennis steals the dinosaur embryos.. I eventually was able to fall asleep and slept soundly until the morning. It wasn’t before I looked out the window about 50 times, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature again. The morning came and I felt as though I'd been hit by a train. I could smell bacon and realized that Lily had cooked breakfast. I was grateful, but still uncomfortable being treated so nicely by someone whose family members I essentially got killed. I hoped for a brief moment that it had all been a dream.. I thought about the work meeting and presentation that I was missing, but I couldn’t even begin to force myself to care. Learning of the existence of this creature is so mind blowing that going to work felt so insignificant. I saw another glass of water and another painkiller on the stand and promptly took it. I then got up, ready to go change my tire. Lily walked into the living room. She insisted that I eat breakfast before I go. I agreed with little resistance. I had already missed work. Once I get cell service I’ll probably have 30 missed calls. It’s tough to care much about that though. I sat down at the kitchen table with Lily. I wanted to ask more questions about the creature, but I wasn’t sure if it was a sore subject that I should avoid. I didn’t have to ask though. “It isn’t a vengeful creature,” she said abruptly. “Do you feel safe living near it?” I asked. “It’s obviously dangerous.” “It’s just an animal like the rest of us,” she replied. “ Maybe it’s something leftover from a forgotten era. Maybe it’s something new. It keeps to itself unless someone bothers it. It protects itself like anyone else would. Who are we to decide what gets to live or die? Granny hated hubris, and hubris is a very human trait. Humans kill rodents and pests because they’re a nuisance. We kill animals for food or even sport. We cage anything that might be a threat to us. Maybe we aren’t meant to be the dominant species anymore. Maybe those swamp creatures are.” It may have been the pain medication talking, but I found myself agreeing with her. “Do you care about that thing?” I asked. “I care about granny, and she cared about it.” She softly replied. “Granny felt bad about stopping the highway from being built. It isn’t fair to stop progress to protect our own comfort. We had a good run, but maybe the world isn’t ours anymore..” We finished breakfast and I went outside to change my tire. I walked up to my car to find that my tire was already changed. Of course it was. The “inbred cannibal” changed it for me.. The same one who’s family tried to stop me from walking into certain death.. who died to save me.. I felt like I owed Lily so much. She’s all alone now because of me. Well, I guess not ALL alone.. I knew that I wouldn’t report seeing the creature. Maybe I’ll tell the story to people who won’t take it seriously anyway, but I won’t call the authorities. I owe her that much. She walked out the front door and I thanked her for helping me yet again by changing my tire. I thanked her again for everything she had done for me, for forgiving me.. “Are you sure you’re comfortable being alone here?” I asked. “The creature isn’t going to harm me. It was simply protecting itself, and protecting it’s own.” She said. “Yeah.. Wait. What do you mean by that?” I asked, confused. Lily went inside for a moment. When she returned, she had a photograph. I looked at it and the hairs on my neck stood up.. I asked her, “Are those.. eggs?” Lily smiled from ear to ear and said, “She’s gonna be a mama!” I didn’t know how to respond. I initially tried burying the thought in the back of my mind. I gave Lily a hug and we said our goodbyes. I started driving back the way I came along the dirt road, now content to go the long way. It probably takes hundreds of years for those creatures to grow to adulthood.. She said that one had been there for decades. I won’t even be aware of them in my lifetime.. At least that’s what I keep trying to tell myself.. I reached the end of the dirt road. I stopped and looked back for a minute, blown away by the experience, terrified of what’s to come. My phone started going off as I reached cell service. I’m gonna get fired.. It’s likely that no one will believe my story and maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s just the way things are meant to be. People will likely continue spreading rumors about the inbred cannibals living in the swamp.. Doesn’t really matter though. What matters is to heed the warning when someone tells you to “Stay the fuck away from the Beade ranch!”