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#x200B;
It was nightfall again, the clock was at midnight, and the noise from the rest of the house had died down. I hadn’t eaten since the incident that morning, I don’t know if I was forgotten about or if my mother was particularly busy, but it didn’t seem like a good time to push the issue. I was starving. I told myself that I was going to go to the ocean, but I was terribly nervous. I kept thinking about what my mom did to that other kid during the day and didn’t want the same fate.
I held a pen that I planned to use to unlock the door and sat on my bed. Every time I tried to get down from the bed I started shaking, and had to get back on bed, again. Something came through the air then, a mellifluous odor that I could taste in my throat, that pulled me close. It smelled like the brownies my grandfather made when I was a kid. Filled with chocolate, and bits of macadamia. I knew the brownies must be crusted and cracked on the outside, with a soft and heavenly center.
I knew where the brownies were coming from too, it was the ocean, maybe it was the Sea-Witch, calling for me. Somehow, with the strength of desire, I found the resolve to get off my bed, and walk to the door. I took the pen from outside of its plastic casing, and stuck it into the pinhole, I wiggled it while my other hand worked the doorknob. After a few moments I could hear a small “pop,” the door had given, now the dangerous part had begun.
The lights were off, and I switched the light off to my bedroom, so that I was in total darkness save for the sliver of moonlight in the kitchen. I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust, but still, could hardly hear a thing. I made my first step into the hallway and shut the door behind me. The door softly thudded when it met the frame and make “kerchunk” noise as the metal bits inside aligned. It was quiet, but every sound I made sounded like a firecracker – I winced.
Second step into the hallway. I looked at the floor and then back at the hallway in front of me, and then behind me, just to be sure. My heart was racing. My arms vibrated. I breathed as deeply as I could. I’d have gone back, but that smell, those delicious brownies, I’d give anything to taste one of grandfather’s delicious brownies, so I had to step forward; I just kept picturing an enormous plate full of them, and my grandfather standing over me, wearing an old t-shirt, and smiling at me. My Grandfather would always ask, “There’s an extra special ingredient in each brownie that makes it taste so good, do you know what it is?”
“It’s love!” I would always reply and then give my grandfather a great big hug. I missed my grandfather, I still miss him now, the man that I remember him as. A third step into the hallway. I couldn’t turn back now. I was next to my parents’ door. A light flicked on and glowed from underneath the door. I froze, I thought it was over. I was going to get stabbed, and my parents were going to hide my body, maybe in the attic, maybe in that hollow.
I didn’t want to die. I wanted brownies. I ran. I ran as fast as I could through the hallway to the door that led to the bower of trees and the beach with its powder sand. My heart was a rock beating against my sternum, I fell onto my knees, and threw up into the sand, I hoped that nobody had seen me. I hoped that someone had just gone up to go to the restroom or get something out of the kitchen. I collapsed, and rolled onto the sand, the smell of my vomit permeated the air, but of course there was something else, the sweet smell of brownies.
And I could see that golden light again, dancing, calling me from the water. I walked toward the ocean, and the closer I got to the water the more I could smell those brownies, after just a few steps, I couldn’t smell my vomit anymore, just the brownies. And the brighter that light got, and the more beautiful it became. It was stunning and warm, it was like there was a kitchen just underneath the waves, and my grandfather was down there, just waiting to welcome me with one of his enormous hugs.
I stood at the water, and the glowing light glided toward the shore like a will o' the wisp. Until I could see what was glowing. It was a squid, about the size of my head, spotted like a leopard, it glowed brightly – as if someone had stuck an incandescent bulb into it. A voice emanated from it, or from somewhere in the air, “Jeremy,” its voice was warm, and aged. It sounded like grandfather, but I didn’t want to believe it, not just then. “Jeremy, you can’t breathe under water.”
“I know,” honestly, I hadn’t really thought about that. I guess I figured I’d just try to hold my breath for a really long time. I’d taken swim lessons and could hold my breath for a whole thirty seconds, if I really focused, I was sure I could go a solid forty-five.
“You must eat the sand, Jeremy. It will give you the power to breathe under water.”
I didn’t want to eat the sand. I stared down at the squid with its big eye staring up at me, and the water lapping at its tentacles.
“Jeremy, trust me, the sand tastes like sugar.” The squid promised.
I knelt and shoveled the sand into my mouth, if there was anyone I could trust, it was a magic squid that sounded like my grandfather. It did taste like sugar, delicious, powdered sugar, and I shoveled more into my mouth. It felt like someone was tickling my brain, I didn’t know how bad I needed that feeling. I wanted that feeling forever, and I knew then that I might do anything to get it.
“That’s enough Jeremy, you can have plenty of time in the water. And you need to save stomach room for the delicious brownies I’ve made.”
I ran into the water and dove in as soon as I could, my new glowing friend led the way, and we swam deep under water. I saw my grandfather’s body, his mouth hanging open, fish nibbling at his corpse, his eyes said nothing. We stopped and looked at him for a while, I think the squid was paying his respects. That’s what I told myself, anyway. We swam out, further, and the sea level dropped, it was pitch dark, save for the glow that emanated from my friend.
“What’s your name?” I asked the squid.
“My name is Peter because I stand at the gate” the squid said, proudly.
Soon enough we hit the bottom of the ocean, I walked on the sand, and Peter floated near my head. I kept walking forward, trusting that Peter knew exactly where we were going. Then I heard something in the distance, it sounded strange, it sounded like laughter. Peter hovered and looked at me with that enormous pupil of his, his head looked like it had little wings to keep him afloat. “Did you hear that?” I whispered.
“I heard it, Jeremy, stay absolutely still, and do not make a noise” the voice sounded as if it were in my head as much as it was in the ocean.
I heard the laughter again, but I stayed quiet. I tried to quiet the beating of my heart, but it wouldn’t slow, I could hear it as loud as I could hear the door earlier that night. I just wanted it to go away, I wanted to eat those brownies. I wanted my grandfather to be with me again, I wanted off the island. It was a flurry of emotions that I kept buried as deep as I could from fear, then something I couldn’t hide, pain.
A sharp pain in my foot, I had irritated a stingray, and it pierced into my skin, its venom coursing through me. I screamed. I couldn’t help it. Then the laughter stopped, and I could hear a rushing noise. A small girl stood in front of us, with a little smile on her face. She was wearing a white dress, and yellow shorts. She was barefoot, and her skin looked soft. I noticed that her nails were long, too, like they hadn’t been cut in weeks, her hair was long, it must not had been cut in months, maybe years.
Before I could ask any questions, her mouth opened and a serpent wriggled out of her mouth. It had a cobra’s head and a cerulean tint. It came at me; I could see yellow venom flowing from its fangs. I moved to the left, and the serpent flew past me, and snapped its mouth shut. I was terrified, again, and I was in terrible pain.
“Grab it by the head, and bite it!” Peter yelled.
The serpent came at me at me again, and I grabbed it in the middle, it whipped around to bite me, and I bit onto its neck as hard as I could, I dug my teeth in, it tasted like rubber and metal. Its head fell to the ground, and I started spitting. The girl was lying on the floor, the current picked up, and her body slid across the sand, I watched it until it was out of sight. These had better be the best damn brownies I’d had in my long nine years.
#x200B;
|
I quite enjoy urban exploration as a hobby, which is just sort of a fancy way of saying I enjoy snooping about in places where I really ought not to be. I sometimes refer to it with my friends as recreational trespassing. Old buildings, steam tunnels, water infrastructure, it doesn't matter so long as it's man-made and not somewhere too frequented by cops or security guards.
I was on one such excursion at a dried up old reservoir when I found the notepad. I was taking a few photographs when I heard a faint plop from behind me. I turned around to see it just sitting there on the sunbleached concrete; a small yellow legal notepad. I looked about to see where it could fallen from, but there wasn't anywhere above it where someone could have tossed it. It was as if it had simply fallen out of the sky.
Obviously I went over and picked it up, what else was I supposed to do? It felt old, the pages stiff and crackly as though it had been left out in the sun for far too long. The first few pages were just the normal sort of things you'd find on a notepad like that; random numbers, grocery lists, various reminders, etc, but eventually those gave way to a solid block of dense, close-written text that continued for the remainder of the notepad. What follows is a transcription of what I found written there.
\- - -
I always loved the immensity of cities, the awe-inspiring magnitude of it all. It was just the people I didn't like. There is a calmness, a beauty to the vast concrete expanse of urban development, ruined utterly by the stupid, pointless creatures who inhabit it. This was one of the reasons why I started spending a lot of my spare time in the parts of the city where there are no people.
In any given city, or even large town, there are vast swathes where nobody actually goes. All those places you pass by while driving which just look like empty expanses of cement and graffiti. Usually they're some sort of waterworks, concrete rivers where rainwater is meant to flow into in order to prevent floods and the like. Of course, the state I used to live in had been in a drought for most of my adult life, so it was rather rare there would ever actually be any flooding. Just long pathways of concrete and silence, a private sanctuary from the hustle and bustle of city life.
Nobody ever tried to stop me, that's what's funny. People are always so afraid of wandering out where they aren't supposed to go, terrified of hopping fences because of the vaguely threatening signs insisting they'll be prosecuted for trespassing, but it's all meaningless. The barrier exists entirely within your mind. Nobody actually cares, and the police have much more pressing matters to attend to than keeping out trespassers on bits of infrastructure that haven't really been used in over a decade.
Obviously I wasn't actually alone, I'm sure I wasn't the only explorer in these artificial wildernesses, and there was always the ever-present hum of city traffic at the edge of my hearing. There was enough graffiti to indicate at least some other people had visited these places, but I never encountered anyone. If I tuned out the sound of cars passing on the nearby freeway I could almost convince myself I was the last human being on the planet.
Do you know what it felt like, walking through those vast empty spaces? It was as if I were an ant, crawling steadily along on my own on a crack in the sidewalk, surrounded on all sides but up by the weight of a world so much larger than I was. It was so liberating, so freeing to be so small, so alone, with nothing but the sun-warmed concrete and the gently cloudy skies above for company. I usually brought my polaroid camera with me, snapping photos here and there to look at later on the days when I couldn't go on an excursion in person.
It was a day like any other when I crossed over to the place that I am now. I was walking along one of my favorite spots, the canal I called it, though I'm sure it had some more official name in the city planning parlance. It was just a long artificial river of sorts, designed for water to flow down, though none had ever passed through it for as long as I could recall. It went on for miles and miles, and I could walk uninterrupted for hours if I chose to. I can't place the exact moment that it happened, when the illusion of isolation transformed into reality. When you work so hard to tune out the sound of cars passing, you fail to notice when it actually does stop. I recall feeling faintly uneasy, as though something was wrong and I should turn back, but I can't for the life of me pinpoint exactly when that feeling started or what actually prompted it.
It was in the late afternoon when I had decided I needed to head back home, during that period of time where the sun's rays cast long shadows and everything feels subtly unreal, as if you are wandering through a dream. I don't wear a watch, so I had no idea what the exact time was. I'd arrived at the canal at about 5 o'clock I believe, and must have been walking for at least 2 hours, so it couldn't have been earlier than 7, but at the same time it seemed too light out, too warm.
I began my journey back, sneakers slapping gently against the warm concrete as I watched my lengthened shadow march ahead of me, stretched out like taffy by the afternoon sun. The clouds were a faint pink. Or, to say more correctly, they are a faint pink. They haven't changed one bit since that afternoon which now seems so long ago.
I have no precise idea of how long I walked down the canal. The sun showed no signs of lowering, there was no breeze to move the clouds, and I had, as previously mentioned, no watch to measure the minutes. I could have been walking for 3 hours or 3 days, there is no way for me to know for sure. However, it eventually became apparent that I had been walking significantly longer to get back than it took for me to get there. I was just about to turn back around, thinking perhaps I had missed the spot I had entered and just didn't notice, when I spotted something up ahead that made me very, very concerned.
The canal split, forming two distinct paths to the left and right. I want to make it very clear, the canal never split on any of my previous excursions, and I had traveled both directions multiple times for hours each way. It wasn't as if there were signs of drastic new construction, a branch off of the main route, it just split evenly down the middle, the graffiti covered concrete on both paths looking as though it had been there a long time, weathered by years under the hot sun.
I paused for a moment. At least I think it was a moment. It's impossible to tell here. Time doesn't have much meaning when there is nothing to measure it. I tried to think of what logical explanation there could be for the sudden discrepancy in the structure of the canal. I couldn't come up with a single valid reason. I knew I wasn't losing my mind, I'm not sure how, but I was absolutely certain that I was still sane and lucid. Something had changed. I snapped a picture of the split, determined to compare it with the polaroids I had taken previously when I got back home. It's amusing to think back on it now, my belief that I would one day be able to return to the place I chose to think of as a home.
By this point I was uncomfortably aware of the complete and total absence of the sound of traffic, and decided I needed to investigate. The walls of the canal weren't very steep, so I scrabbled up them and hauled myself over the edge to try and find some sort of landmark.
I didn't see any sort of recognizable landmark when I stood up. I saw something so much stranger.
At first I couldn't believe my own eyes. It seemed utterly impossible. I could see nothing but a vast, endless expanse of concrete, as far as my eyes could see. There were no buildings, no freeways or proper roads, it wasn't as though I was looking upon a city. The closest comparison I can make is this; imagine an outdoor skate park, the sort that is simply slopes, tunnels, and ramps of concrete. Now imagine it spanned a continent.
Nothing seemed to serve any actual useful purpose, not really. It was just an abstract landscape of gray, marked occasionally with graffiti. At the time I believed this meant that there must be other people here, but I know better than that now.
I didn't really know what else to do, so I just started walking. Ascending up the side of the canal had led me to a sort of pathway that was elevated above the rest of the concrete wilderness, and as I walked I was able to get quite a good look at my surroundings. The further I traveled, the more I noticed how strange the landscape was.
As I said, nothing seemed to have any sort of real purpose, but certain structures did seem to emulate "real" ones. Occasionally I'd see bits of chain link fence randomly blocking off certain places, though there always seemed to be some way to get over or around it, like it was an obstacle to avoid rather than any sort of actual barrier. There were bridges of sorts, but it seemed less like they existed to span gaps and more as if they were meant to recreate the shade created by highway overpasses. I'd see stairs leading to nowhere in particular, and random tunnels shaped like sewer entrances but which seemed totally devoid of any wastewater.
Even the graffiti seemed pointless, random. Later on I tried to analyze some of it, attempting to translate some sort of meaning from the scribbles painted haphazardly on the walls, but it was no use. Everything is either meaningless squiggles or just random sequences of letters.
All the while as I walked, I snapped pictures with my camera, watching them print out and shaking them dry, checking to make sure that the landscape looked the same on film as they did in my eyes. Everything always turned out normal. If I wasn't already convinced of my utmost sanity, the photographs at the very least seemed to prove that I wasn't hallucinating.
Eventually I expended what little food and water I had brought with me in my backpack, and still the sun showed no sign of lowering and the path showed no sign of ending, just continuing onward forever into the horizon. I decided I would descend down the next slope I saw that diverged from the path and walk a different route instead, just to try and see if the change in scenery would bring about any new revelations as to where I was, and how I could leave.
I came across what seemed almost like a concrete slide of sorts, gently curving downwards with many twists and turns. I began my descent carefully, watching my footing. I wear fairly high quality sneakers, and the traction is generally good enough to help me on any precarious slopes, but this time I wasn't so lucky. I'd been walking for God knows how long, and I was far too tired to think carefully about putting one foot in front of the other. I stumbled, and soon found myself on my back, sliding down the slope.
I was afraid there might be a fall of some sort at the bottom, that I might break a bone in this place and die of an infection, and tried desperately to slow my descent, scraping up my hands a bit in the process. I needn't have worried though, as eventually the slope leveled out and I found myself on flat ground. Beyond some mild scrapes on my hands and a slight tear on the back of my jeans, I was none the worse for wear.
Surveying my surroundings, I found a series of rectangular concrete blocks, perhaps 8 feet tall, arranged in a grid. I rested against one, closing my eyes for a moment and trying to catch my breath. I was still no closer to finding an exit from this place.
I opened my eyes after a minute or so and noticed something peeking out from behind the corner of one of the concrete blocks. I got up, groaning from fatigue and soreness, and moved over to see what it was. To my immense surprise, it was a soft, padded blanket.
Next to the blanket was a transparent plastic water bottle, with no brand sticker visible, and a similarly unbranded granola bar. I was baffled. I picked up the water bottle, examining it. It was unopened and entirely full. I opened it and drank, finding the water within oddly colder than the ambient temperature around it, refreshingly cool. I downed the entire bottle and set to work on devouring the granola bar immediately afterwards.
They say that hunger is the best sauce, and that might very well be true, because that simple meal tasted better than anything I'd ever eaten up until that point. I lay down on the blanket, pulling my hat over my eyes to block out the sun, and slept long and deep.
I'm afraid I can't say exactly how long I slept, but when I finally did awake there was that faint soreness that accompanies especially long rests. I blinked the sand from my eyes and stood up, stretching my limbs out and blinking in the light of that perpetual late afternoon sun. The empty water bottle and the wrapper for the granola bar were gone, though there didn't seem to be any wind that could have moved them.
I was scratching gently at an itch on my behind when I realized my jeans had been mended somehow. The rip that had been there when I had fallen asleep was gone now that I was awake. I took them off so I could get look at it, and the damage had been sewn up with gray thread. I knew I slept deeply, but not deeply enough for me to not have noticed somebody taking off my pants to repair them. There was an odd shiver that ran up my spine when I realized the scrapes on my hands were gone too, as if somehow they'd had time to completely heal over.
I contemplated bringing the blanket with me, but decided against it, I didn't have the room in my backpack to carry it. I continued on my journey through the concrete landscape, wandering with no clear direction in mind, just hoping that if I walked far enough I would find a way out of this place.
I walked for as long as I could stand to, taking whatever paths caught my eye. I walked on sidewalks without roads to accompany them, bridges, the occasional tunnel, vast stretches of flatness, stairs leading up and down, all manner of structures, and yet there didn't seem to be any end. As I walked, I'd occasionally come across more water and granola bars, and would consume both immediately.
It took me a while to realize that the food and water only ever seemed to appear when I felt hungry or thirsty. I never went long enough without either to feel any effects of starvation or dehydration, I always went just long enough to feel the slight want to eat something or have a drink. At the time, that revelation made me feel deeply uncomfortable. I began to feel like I was being watched.
The sun always stays in its late afternoon position in the perpetually partly cloudy sky, but my internal clock did once again inform me I was due for sleep. I looked about for a place to rest, some suitable area to curl up and at least take a short nap, when I once again found another padded blanket just lying there, peaking out from behind a nearby wall. It looked exactly the same as the one from before. It sent a shiver down my spine, but I didn't feel like I had much other choice, I was once again exhausted.
My first sleep in this place was dreamless, just comfortable rest, but that second time brought about the first of my dreams about Her. Would you believe that at the time She frightened me? The folly of youth I suppose, or perhaps it simply takes time to appreciate the true beauty of divinity.
The dreams are vague, disjointed in the manner that such visions so often are. It is sometimes difficult to distinguish the dreams from the waking world, since my actions are the same in both. I wander the beautiful landscape, warmed by the gentle sun. I am not alone in this place. She is with me. My concrete angel with wings of rebar and a face like graffiti, smiling down upon me with infinite kindness.
The first time I dreamed of Her, I woke up screaming. Isn't that silly? In fact, for quite a long time after that I avoided sleep entirely, ignoring the blankets I found and choosing instead to keep on walking for as long as possible. Nobody can keep the sandman at bay forever, and when I did eventually pass out, slumped against a staircase to nowhere, I found myself dreaming once more of my concrete angel. When I awoke, still startled, I found I had been lovingly carried to a padded blanket at the base of the stairs.
Since then, I have had periods of madness, of anger towards She who I perceived to be my captor. I screamed at Her to show Herself, I pleaded for my "freedom", I sobbed for hours, begging desperately to return home. But as time passed, I've come to realize this is my home. This is where I belong.
In life, I spent every hour I could wandering places just like this, only infinitely smaller and more pathetic because they were built by the hands of men and not those of angels. I never fit in with my peers, and craved absolute solitude amidst the concrete wilderness of city infrastructure. Now I have what I always wanted.
I don't need to worry about food, I don't have to think about deadlines, I can just wander forever, seeing sights so beautiful I cannot hope to describe them accurately. Here I am loved, I am cared for. My concrete angel speaks no words in my dreams, but I know She wants nothing but my happiness. I often wake up from my slumber with tears of joy.
I don't know how long I've been here. My hands tremble slightly now, and seem somewhat wrinkled in appearance. My voice sounds hoarse, like that of someone nearing the end of a long, fulfilling life. But I don't feel old. The more I've roamed, the more I have seen that fills my heart with wonder and joy. I have seen cyclopean monuments that would put the pyramids of Giza to shame, I have crossed bridges that make Golden Gate look like a child's toy. I have looked over the depths of pits that seem to extend downwards into infinity.
I am, as I write this, sitting next to one such pit now. I ran out of film for my camera long ago, and have decided that it is time for me to stop lugging it around. I don't need it anymore, nor do I need this notepad I am writing in. The clothes on my back are enough, and I know food and water will be provided whenever it is needed.
I didn't want to just leave them in some corner in this place though. I cannot see the bottom of this pit, but it seems far, far deeper than any rational structure could be. Something tells me that at the bottom is a way back to the world I came from. Perhaps it is my concrete angel, whispering it to my mind. I'm going to throw down this notepad, along with my camera and all the photographs I have taken. Perhaps someone will find them, someday.
There is a padded blanket next to me. After I throw this notepad into the depths of the pit, I think I shall take a nap before continuing on my endless, beautiful journey.
\- - -
I'll admit, this writing disturbed me greatly when I first read it, and I found myself listening desperately for the sound of traffic. For several seconds I was horrified that there would only be silence, before I eventually heard the deep rumble of a passing truck and allowed myself to relax a little bit.
There is every possibility this is just some idiot's idea of a joke, perhaps the notepad was dropped by a drone or something like that, but I don't think so. It seems awfully involved to be some sort of prank. The end of the narrative mentioned photographs being dropped along with the notepad, and I did indeed find one, tucked in the last pages, but it hardly proves the tale's veracity.
It's just a photograph of the late afternoon sky, a gentle sun turning the clouds faintly pink. |
Hi, I thought I’d share my story as I think I might not be the only one having these types of experiences. So I’m a single dad taking care of my infant daughter, she’s probably about three months old at the time of writing this. My wife died during childbirth and while I miss her everyday; taking care of my daughter helps me to move on.
So being a single father I have to use every tool in my arsenal to take care of my daughter. I didn’t spare any expense as my job has afforded me that luxury. I’ve got baby monitors in her room, I read to her almost every night before bed and I’ve completely baby proofed the house even before she’s really explored it. Now I haven’t noticed much as far as paranormal activity is concerned, or maybe I’m just not that observant, but for the past few nights my baby monitor has picked up something abnormal.
Now the monitor has a clean view of the room, almost 180 degrees. It’s got the closet, her changing table, my rocking chair and her crib as well as a window in shot. You’ve got that picture in your head right? Now I was looking back at the recordings that were made when it clocked movement and what I saw chilled me to the bone: It was a long slender human-like creature, its arms reached its calves or what I think was its calves. I used a rough estimate but I think it had to be at least 7 feet tall. It barely looked at the monitor but when it did I could see its mouth-less face with white pin sized glowing eyes, like that of a cat looking into a night vision camera. What looked like black mist was emitted from its body lightly but didn’t linger in the air.
It walked out of the closet then hobbled over to my daughters crib, on the way it looked around. It wasn’t in a malicious way as if it was looking around to make sure it wasn’t caught; but as if it was curious about its surroundings. As it stood next to her crib it reached its hand out to touch my daughter's forehead. It stood there for a few minutes motionless, as if it was charging. It lingered there for an hour before finally removing its hand from her forehead, then it went back to the closet and seemingly left.
Now this was a recording, it’s not like I could have gone to her room and stopped this… thing right there and now, but I grabbed the gun from my nightstand drawer and went to my daughters bedroom. I approached the closet and grabbed the door, I breathed in then out and whipped the door open. It rattled on its rails before revealing nothing but a normal closet. My daughter's clothes, her dresser, and boxes filled it. There was no room for anyone to be hiding in there, let alone living there.
I stayed up all night, keeping an eye on the baby monitor. At about midnight the creature emerged from the closet. My eyes were glued to the monitor as he walked towards the crib, tonight though he stopped in front of the window and looked out. He put his hand on the glass and stood there for a few minutes before walking over to the crib, and once again he put his hand upon my daughter's forehead. I couldn’t move, I was scared. Who knew what he was doing to her. He stood there for an hour but was disrupted with her waking cries, he seemed to panic at first but recomposed himself and looked around until he met the lens of the camera with his white eyes. He approached, I was ready for the camera to be destroyed.
But he didn’t do that, he bent down and grabbed a book then pulled the rocking chair closer to her crib. He sat down, opened it and put one hand onto her forehead as the other flipped the pages. “Was he reading to her?” I thought to myself, but he couldn’t be doing that. The monitor didn’t pick up any audio. Soon enough though her cries stopped and he got up and left through the closet.
As soon as he left I ran to her room and silently looked her over, making sure she wasn’t harmed and thankfully she wasn’t. I ran to the closet and threw it open, almost ripping the doors off of its rails and once again it was only home to her clothes and toys.
To be honest I think that whatever he is, he’s not malicious. Paranormal? Sure. But dangerous? I really doubt it. I’ll keep monitoring him but at the same time he put her back to sleep. I’ve left a note, hoping to communicate with him.
“Thank you for putting her back to sleep, but what are you?” I had written upon it. I left a pen in her room and maybe, just maybe he’ll respond.
Update: He responded through the note and despite the terrible handwriting I was able to read it. Here’s what he said:
“Hello, my name as given is Mr. Dream Eater, I do not harm others, I simply like your dreams. Please do not be scared, I will leave if you want me to.”
Honestly after reading this I am unsure of what to do, it seems like if I ask he’ll leave willingly but he also seems to be good with kids and I could really use the rest. Maybe I’ll let him stay for a little bit?
|
As far as I could tell, there was nothing around me. No walls, no objects, just dirt ground with the occasional rock. It was also deafly quiet with only the taps of my footsteps to fill the void. A very distant red light briefly lit in the distance and then vanished. With each hesitant step, the void seemed to stretch infinitely ahead. I began to wonder if the path had an end or if I was trapped in some endless loop of darkness. I thought of all of the floors above this one, and wondered if where I walked was untouched by time and space. I tried to shake off the thought, but it clung to me as tenaciously as the enveloping dark.
As I continued onward, I perceived a slight change in the air, a tingling sensation on my skin. Then, in the distance, I saw it. Suddenly, the sky, or what I believed to be the sky, cracked open. A magnificent bolt of red lightning tore through dark clouds, momentarily banishing the darkness. The electric brilliance revealed a vast landscape, unlike any I had ever seen. Jagged peaks on a rocky terrain, vast chasms, and an eerie red glow permeating everything.
No thunder followed. I just stood there for a while, hoping for another flash to give me another glimpse at where I was, but it never came. I could feel my courage begin wearing off as my heart started pounding against the rest of my chest. My breaths were getting shorter, my heart racing. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to get a hold of myself. But I couldn’t.
"I need to turn back," I muttered to myself, eyes wide open now, trying to pierce the impenetrable darkness. "I need to find the elevator."
I started retracing my steps, or at least I thought I was. Every direction felt identical, every step just as uncertain as the last. I was trying to just walk in nothing but a straight line but I knew it would be a miracle if I was slightly off I would pass right by the elevator. Desperation began to creep in. *How could I have wandered so far? What was I thinking?*
My pace quickened as panic bubbled inside me. My breathing echoed loudly in the suffocating silence, and my fingers wrapped tighter around the bug spray can, which I was now almost continuously spraying.
I found that my speed walking had accelerated into lightly jogging, my eyes darting around for something to latch onto. That's why I almost ran into it. The minotaur. It was just standing there, making no noise, staring at me. Its sudden appearance forced a scream from my lungs, sending me crashing to the ground, my lighter scattering away. Panic surged. I could hear it grunt as its hooves began walking towards me. I scrambled backwards, fumbling for the pepper spray, firing it and the bug spray both wildly in front of me.
I must’ve been fortunate enough to hit the monster because it let out a piercing roar and I took that chance to quickly stand back up. I brushed my hands all over the floor in front of me and felt the lighter, picked it up, and began to run as fast as I could in the other direction. Springing up, I bolted, juggling my makeshift weapons as I ran. Another red flash painted the dark, revealing a massive boulder to my right.
I had no idea if the beast could see in the dark or if my pepper spray had rendered it blind, but I wasn't about to find out. I dashed behind the boulder and prayed that it would shield me. At first, the monster was still wailing uncontrollably, as if I had just caused it incredible pain. But then the whispering began once again. It sounded different this time, more fast paced and in an angered hush. It was pissed, and it was coming for me. A massive string of blood lightning poured across the sky, so I seized the opportunity to quickly take a glance. For that split second, I thought I spotted it walking, searching for me. I again focused on my breathing and tried to keep it as silent as possible.
I tried to draw back on the only meditation practice I knew; I began counting slowly backwards from 10. *10... 9... 8... 7...* Another red flash illuminated my surroundings. *6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...* I then stopped and listened. I could still hear the whispering, but it seemed farther now. I rubbed my eyes and whispered “God, or Zeus, whatever or whoever is listening, please get me out of this.” My eyes were somewhat adjusting at least... I could see just barely. I decided to stare into the dark so I could see where it was during the next strike of lightning, so I placed my hand onto the boulder and peeked around it. Suddenly, where I had placed my hand, a small rock fell off of the boulder and fell to the ground. You wouldn’t think that a single rock would make a loud sound. But with how silent it was, it traveled far, and I knew it.
*\*Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud\**
It was running towards me now. I sprinted through the darkness, bracing myself to run into another large boulder at any moment. Running through the pitch black was terrifying, but anything was better than getting caught and devoured.
*\*Thud, thud, thud, THUD, THUD\**
It was gaining on me. *It’s almost directly behind me now. This is it; this is how I die. No... worse. I’d take death over this in an instant.* Little did I know that my thought was about to be put to the test. A bright red flash illuminated the area, revealing an enormous gorge just in front of me. I halted and used my makeshift flamethrower to confirm that I was mere feet from having just run off what looked like an endless drop into the abyss.
*\*THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD\**
I contemplated whether to jump, but my body resisted. As much as my mind was screaming to just dive into the darkness the rest of my body was running on instinct and forbade me from acting on the decision. I continued to point the flame at the darkness where the running hooves were coming from. The minotaur, grotesque and towering, stepped into the firelight, its once brown fur now stained black by pepper spray. Its hollow eyes stared back at me, bloodshot and enraged. I then realized that the agonizing scream it had wailed earlier was not from me blinding it, but instead that the spray had seeped into the numerous open wounds across its body.
I hardly had time to react to a sudden swing from the creature's steel weapon, only missing me by inches as I dodged to the left. Juggling the lighter, the bug spray and the pepper spray, I attempted to light the minotaur on fire but it was just out of reach. A second swing came at me and landed its mark as I shot pepper spray relentlessly at the creature. The hit knocked me onto the ground and pain intensely consumed me. I could feel the warmth of blood start to pour out of my side, but the adrenaline surging through my body kept me moving.
I quickly stood up and saw the creature shaking and twitching in agony from the additional spray I covered it with. Another red flash. Seizing my opportunity, I unleashed a torrent of fire upon the beast. Screeching, it fell to the ground. During its fiery torment, its massive hairy hand stretched out, grabbing my ankle and yanking me off balance. My head slammed against the stone with a sickening thud, the world around me blurring into a hazy whirl of colors and sounds.
I couldn’t see, I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t think. My entire body felt numb, and I lost sense of the passage of time. I could feel something on my leg, pulling me, but I wasn’t able to react. It was a twin set of red lightning that bolted overhead that shook me back into reality. It gave me a glimpse at the minotaur just at my feet, its mouth open wider than anything I’ve ever seen, like a hippopotamus on steroids. Voices were screaming at me from inside of its mouth.
***“ANOTHER... PLEASE SAVE US... WE’RE CHAINED... FIRE... \*INAUDIBLE\* ... RUN BOY... CURSE THE GODS... INTO THE CHASM.”***
Realizing what was happening, panic surged anew, driving me into action. I ignored the fact that I was about to scorch myself and shot an array of flames into the beast's mouth. The voices inside of it all screamed in pain as the minotaur spasmed and let go of my leg. A small reflection of light shimmered from a few feet away in the firelight. *The spear*. Now on fire, the monster started to stand back up, so I moved for the weapon and swung it hard at the beast's head. It staggered but before it could recover, I hit it again, and again, and again. It fell to the ground, and I took the spear and shoved it straight into the skull of the minotaur.
Desperate to kill the creature, I then I engulfed the creature in flames once more. Its convulsions slowed to twitching, then stopped altogether. Gasping for breath, I watched as the flames sputtered and died, the bug spray can empty.
For a while I just stood there and stared at it, expecting it to move. To chase me. To catch me. But it didn’t.
I studied the distant surroundings and noticed a small light. With my leg badly burned and my bloody side incapacitating the rest of my body, I found that I had no other option but to trudge toward it. As I got closer, I could see it was the elevator. The elevator that had taken me into the hallway of statues, into the swamp of vultures and crocodiles, into the room with the gigantic skeletons, into the room with the green candlelight, and into the wasteland of darkness. I stepped on, dazed and unsure whether I had really survived. But to say I had survived was naive... there was nowhere to go.
I stepped on and sat down on the carpeted floor. I squinted at the overhead light. Recognizing for the first time that I was starving, I opened the backpack and started to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I stared into the distance, watching the occasional red lightning give me a spectacle to mesmerize at. Like the swamp, it was a place of danger and death, but there was a certain beauty to it. A few bites into my sandwich and a bottle of water later, I glanced up at the buttons below the elevator map.
One was lit up, just above the up button. I pounced up and inspected it. The button gave off a soft, green glow and depicted a trophy. It certainly hadn’t been there before.
*What? Is this it? Am I getting out of here?* I immediately hit the trophy button; hope was filling me that it could be the way out. The elevator began to burr and then ascend. I smiled and began to cry. I found myself tapping my foot in anticipation to get out of the elevator as the floors ticked by. When it passed floor 5, it began to speed up and I held on, recognizing that the same thing had occurred when we had first boarded the elevator. *I’m going up, I’m getting out!*
Eventually it slowed and came to a stop with its normal arrival sound. \**ding*\* The doors opened, and I immediately started to run through, looking for the exit. The floor was made up of finely cut white and blue marble tiles, and tall Doric columns made of white marble stood in intervals across the room. Paintings of Gods lined the walls, with three major paintings of which I assumed were depicting Zeus, Poseidon and Hades at the back of the room over a doorway.
The room was beautiful, it really was. I just didn’t care. Eyes fixated on the next door ahead, I was so focused on escaping that I almost passed the immense chest in the center of the room. I hesitated for a moment. *Heck, why not?* I walked over to it and opened it.
Piled high within, countless gold coins shimmered and twinkled. Even with all I had been through, and how focused I was on escaping, my mind couldn’t resist but switch to awe and excitement at the treasure before me. Resting atop the mound of wealth, a delicate glass case captured my attention. The transparency of the case contrasted starkly with the dense gold beneath. It appeared almost ethereal, the glass so clear that it seemed as though I could reach out and touch a vial sitting inside without any barrier.
The vial itself was meticulously crafted, perhaps of crystal or some other precious material, and contained a mysterious liquid that shifted colors - from deep blue to emerald green as light passed through it. There was hardly any inside, and it seemed to be only a single drop of the substance. *Wait a minute. This must be it, from the letter Megan left us. It’s the cure for any illness.*
I opened my backpack and stuffed it with the vial and as much gold as possible before realizing my backpack became too heavy. I took some gold out until I was barely able to lift the bag and limped toward the door. It swung open and what I saw was strangely the happiest moment of my life. It was the passage that had led us to the elevator doors. I was out. I had escaped.
The moment I stepped out, the door behind me transformed and molded into stone elevator doors. I started running towards the exit as quickly as I could with a heavy bag and a burned leg, but immediately came across the gun we had pulled out of the backpack when we had first read Megans note. Rage pulsated through me as I remembered what she had done to us. I picked up the gun and stuffed it into the back of my pants. *I’m going to kill her when I see her. I don’t care if I’m arrested, she needs to pay for this.*
As I continued walking on, closer and closer to the exit, I glanced at the photos lining the wall, some dusty and cracked, when one stood out to me. The frame around it looked brand new and when I looked at the photo, I found out why. The vibrant and evocative photograph captured the same angle as always of the cave showing a group of individuals navigating the uneven terrain. To the left was Tanner, in mid-stride, walking towards the cave with energy and enthusiasm, his face lit with excitement. Close behind him, Ryan's features were also lit in anticipation as he followed.
On the right side, Alice is captured in a candid moment, shrugging slightly, her expression a mix of reluctance and curiosity. Following the others was myself, whose attention had shifted away from the group. My face, turning to the left, reflected a hint of confusion and curiosity. And then in the shadows near the cave's entrance, Megan stood apart from the group, her demeanor reserved and contemplative. Her gaze was directed momentarily at me.
I grabbed the photo and shook it as I began to sob. I audibly pleaded with them to turn back. “No, please don’t go in. It’s a trap, you’re going to die if you go in!” I felt guilty, like somehow it was partially my fault, as if I could’ve known what we were going into. Memories of my friends flashed through my mind, causing the guilt to hurt more. *Maybe I should've seen the signs that something was wrong. I should've pushed more to keep going on the trail.* I contemplated whether I should take the photo, and after realizing this was the last photo of my friends, I decided to take it. Unfortunately, the frame was stuck to the wall and my attempts to break the glass were futile.
Disappointed, I took one last long look at the photo before continuing down the pathway. When I reached the end, the doorway was open without a sign of Megan. I tried to remember the way out and succeeded, filled with joy as I saw the light outside of the cave as I walked out. As far as I figured, it was the next day from when we had first entered, but I couldn’t be sure how things worked down the elevator. I took in a deep breath of the fresh air, which felt better than anything I had felt in a long time.
As I walked outside, I saw a campsite directly next to the cave entrance, and made eye contact with Megan, who was sitting on a camping chair. Her eyes were wide from shock and surprise that she was looking at me. “Micheal?! You made it!” She smiled and jumped out of her chair and started to run towards me.
I began to reach for the gun in the back of my pants when a new thought came through my head, and I resisted the temptation to pull it out and shoot her right there. She slowed down when she realized none of the others were behind me. A concerned look came across her face. “Where are they? Where’s Tanner, Ryan and Alice?” It took everything I had to hold back from shouting at her that she had killed all three of them.
I managed to break a small smile and dropped the backpack onto the ground. I unzipped it to reveal the pounds of gold coins and replied “They’re still in there, grabbing more of this. They should be out soon.” “Woah! Those have to be worth a fortune! And the elixir?” “Tanner has it. We’ll get it to your sister soon” I answered. It hurt me just to say his name to her. “That’s awesome!” she shouted. It bothered me to see her so excited, acting like she had done nothing wrong. Her expression then turned somber. “Listen Micheal, I’m really sorry I locked you guys in there. I’m glad you all made it out safely, and now we can save Emma.” I replied “It’s alright. We did meet the minotaur, but it wasn’t bad because we just shot it with that gun you gave us.”
My acting skills were horrible, and I knew that, but from Megans expression it seemed she was so excited to see me that she was buying it. “In fact,” I continued, “let’s go help them out. We can grab another bag of coins and you can see the elixir for yourself.” Her face lit up as I said that, and she happily agreed.
She never did make it out. Confused by my bodily injuries, the police questioned me for a few days but didn’t find any evidence of any wrongdoing, so I was never charged with any crimes. There was no evidence as the bag of gold is still buried in the woods by the cave, and I had tossed the gun through the doorway to Megan after forcing her inside the hallway. Only with a single bullet in the chamber though. Just to show I have more mercy than she did. I’m still thinking about what to do with the gold once I dig it up. One thing I’m certain of is that some of it will go towards the families of Tanner, Ryan and Alice. As for the elixir, I eventually did get it to Emma. The doctors were flabbergasted when the next MRI revealed she no longer had a tumor. In a strange way, saving her feels as though my friends didn’t die in vain. Besides, she didn’t know about Megans plan, so why would I let her suffer the consequences?
While I do feel bad for her because she no longer has an older sister, not a day goes by that I don’t think about the horrible fate that my friends met in that pit. Maybe they’re dead, maybe they’re still down there. I’ve thought about telling the police what really happened but every time I’ve tried, they haven’t listened. In fact, a few of the officers even went into the cave but came out an hour later saying they didn’t find any Greek inscriptions or “magic doorways” and that I should just tell them what really happened to my friends. The only explanation they’ve been able to come up with is that we all came out here for a good time, took some magic mushrooms, and they all got lost falling off of a cliff while I hallucinated everything.
|
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
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#x200B;
The space around the hut looked totally dead. I didn’t see a single blade of grass or even a weed to mar the smooth, black earth. It looked so dark in the shadows of the forest that the legs and the hut seemed to hover over an abyss. The door, painted a blinding white, contrasted heavily with the rest of the stocked logs and twigs that composed the ancient-looking hut.
A set of rickety wooden stairs led up to the door. I went first. There was no railing, and with each step I took, I was afraid I would fall right through the stairs. But they were stronger than they looked and nailed tightly to the beams underneath. Without hesitation, I flung the door open, and saw a nightmare laying beyond.
A child’s body roasted on a spit over the raging fire in the fireplace, giving off a smell of cooking meat and woodsmoke that mixed with the rosemary, parsley and other herbs sprinkled over the body. I saw lampshades made of human skins, covering black candles that flickered and sputtered as the wind came in from outside. In the corner, a little girl crouched in a cage, a cage that was only big enough for a dog. She couldn’t stand up, and cried constantly. When she saw me, her eyes widened.
“Please, help me!” she screamed. “She’ll be back any moment! Get me out of here!” She looked like the spitting image of Irina, and I wondered if they were identical twins.
Yakov grabbed a knife from his pocket, going over to the cage and looking closely at the lock. He flicked it open, and began feverishly pulling at the ancient-looking padlock that held the cage closed. It didn’t seem nearly as secure as a modern deadbolt, and I wondered how many years the old witch had possessed it. I walked over to the window and looked outside- and my heart jumped into my throat.
Outside, I saw Baba Yaga getting out of what looked like a flying pestle as it slowly lowered itself towards the ground. It stood about four-feet-tall, enough to hide Irina inside if it came to it. The wood looked beautiful, like smooth mahogany, perfectly fit together without cracks or gaps of any kind. It had strange runes burnt into the exterior. The writing was not Russian, or any Slavic language I knew.
She had a mortar as tall as herself. She had her hands wrapped around the dark wood of the mortar, using the flaring, wide end on the bottom to push herself up and over the wall of the pestle. She had extremely thin legs, like those of a skeleton. They looked like two iron bars wrapped in skin.
I looked closer through the window, squinting to try to make out every detail. I wondered if she used that mortar and pestle to grind up the bodies of children, to prepare their bodies for a meal. I saw dark stains on the bottom of the mortar, dark red and soaked deeply into the wood. I figured that answered my question.
She put the mortar back inside, then turned and looked directly inside the hut. Her eyes met mine, one blind and staring, one filled with intelligence and fury. I ducked away, hoping she hadn’t seen me.
“Hurry up, hurry up,” I said, turning to go help Irina and Yakov. “She’s coming! She’s got a flying barrel, too.” I saw they nearly had the lock broken by this point. It was fairly flimsy and ancient-looking, and Yakov had a folding knife which he used to pry it loose. Realizing there was nothing I could do to speed up the process, I ran back towards the window.
Baba Yaga was gone. She wasn’t standing next to her mortar and pestle anymore. In fact, her mortar and pestle was gone too.
A moment later, a deafening cacophony exploded across the hut as the roof collapsed inwards, covering us thin branches, thatch and straw.
\*\*\*
I found myself on the floor, unable to remember where I was for a moment. The cold steel of the gun was still gripped tightly in my hand. Then I heard crying and screaming, and it all came rushing back to me. I pushed some boards off of myself, feeling blood run down over my forehead. I felt weak. The fireplace on the other side of the room gave off some light. I saw the ceiling had collapsed, and as I looked up, I saw the full moon illuminating the cracked and ragged edges of the ruined roof.
A gunshot rang out, very close by, and I heard a guttural cry of pain and surprise. I ran towards the sound, and after pushing a few beams from a section of collapsed wall to the side, I made a path towards Yakov and Baba Yaga.
Yakov stood only a few feet away, and had just shot her in the neck at point blank range. Thick, black blood ran down her tattered rags of clothing, staining the coarse brown cloth and making it cling to her skin. She screamed in rage, opening her mouth wide and showing many sharp, yellow teeth, running forwards towards him and tackling him.
I pushed some more rubble out of the way and ran forwards, the gun still clenched in my hand. Baba Yaga used her shark-like teeth to bite Yakov over and over in a space of mere seconds. He squealed like a pig being slaughtered, an inhuman wail that made me want to cover my ears and look away. Without thinking, I raised the gun and fired.
The shot hit her in the shoulder and came out her chest. With a grunt, she fell sideways onto the ruined floor. I saw with horror that the wound in her neck was stitching itself closed before my eyes. Whatever dark magic had made this creature had clearly given her superhuman healing abilities. I wondered how we should kill her, if possible- whether multiple gunshots to the head would do it or not. I had a creeping suspicion it would not be so easy.
I saw Yakov writhing on the floor, his face a mess of torn flesh and gore. His nose was missing and pieces of his cheeks, lips and foreheads had deep slices, leaving flaps of skin hanging over his face. I started to run to him but he shook his head vigorously.
“Get the girls!” he said through a mouth full of blood, choking, his sounds coming out strange, maybe due to the bites that had split his lips and taken part of the top one.
Instead, I began to walk over to Baba Yaga, planning to put the pistol to her head, point-blank, and pull the trigger. But the ruins of the thick hut door creaked open at that moment, and I turned, stunned at what I saw.
Across the pile of torn beams and splintered boards, I saw the creatures I had told Yakov about, the ones I had seen next to the empty car stained with blood. They had hidden in the woods, saying, “Please help me,” over and over in a perfect, parrot-like fashion. And now they had come- the same pure black eyes, thin bodies and sheet-white skin. They looked like cancer patients, without a shred of fat on their bodies, totally hairless and alien, lacking sex organs or nipples, ears or noses. But they were much faster than their emaciated condition would suggest and they began to rush in, pushing some of the rubble aside and approaching where Yakov and I stood.
I looked from Baba Yaga to the newcomers quickly, my mind racing. She looked up, a sensation of pain in her one good eye, the other flat and white, but her face lit up when she saw who had just arrived.
“My servants, my sweet children,” she said in a deep, cooing voice, “you knew your mother was in trouble and came, didn’t you? You always know, always. That makes you so beautiful to me. You’ll always be mine.” I turned back to Baba Yaga, meaning to finish her off, but she sat up rapidly and grabbed my wrist, twisting. I cried out in pain and the gun went flying, settling under debris and rubble. I smelled smoke, and to my horror, realized the fireplace had ignited some of the ruined beams.
Baba Yaga pushed me back, and I went flying into the wall, my wrist swelling and burning. In the corner, I saw Irina helping her sister out of the cage. The fire caught the old, brittle wood as if it were soaked in gasoline, and I saw with horror that soon, it would cut off the escape route for Irina and her sister. Groaning, I got up quickly.
Yakov had reloaded and began shooting at the creatures that approached him. Baba Yaga stood up slowly, still dripping black blood on the floor, looking much weaker than before. I counted that as a blessing, though I didn’t think it would last. Whatever dark magic kept this monster alive was more powerful than a flesh wound, apparently.
I had to choose between helping Irina or getting the gun, and I saw no choice. I dived into the rubble where I had last seen it, feeling splinters and nails poking into my skin. A few pierced my arms and legs through my clothes, and I felt sticky trickles of blood soaking them. I ignored the pain of my hand, the throbbing migraine I still had from the concussion and now this new insult to my body. The adrenaline helped, but I knew that, if I survived this, I would be sore and cut for weeks.
The black-eyed creatures ran at me, and one grabbed my leg as I ducked and felt around furiously in the dark for the pistol. The fire kept spreading, giving me slightly more light through the crooked beams and collapsed roof, and I saw a glint of metal in the dim illumination. Just as the creatures pulled me out, I grabbed frantically, feeling the cold grip of the gun against my hand. Turning around quickly, I fired without aiming, shooting point-blank at the creatures standing there. One got hit in the chest, a splatter of the same black blood as Baba Yaga’s staining the wall behind it. I missed the other one, and it lunged, snapping with its twisted, yellow teeth, going straight for my throat or face. Without thinking, I fired again, and the shot went through its nose holes, disintegrating the front of its face and sending a dark spray of blood out behind it. It fell on me.
I struggled, pushing the body off. All I could smell was smoke now, and I began to choke and sputter. I looked around wildly, but the smoke had grown thick, and I could barely see a few feet in front of me. I looked for Irina and her sister, moving towards where I had last seen them, but quickly gave up and started calling out.
“Irina! Get her out of there, now! We have to go!” I said. I felt a small hand thrust into mine, and thinking it was Irina, I pulled, running towards the door.
I ran straight into Yakov, who was choking on the smoke. I looked into his eyes and gasped.
His face was a mask of blood. Only two dark eyes peered out from the destroyed flesh below. He kept spitting blood as he coughed. Without thinking, I pushed him towards the door, continuously pulling the little girl behind me. More creatures stood there, but we shot the ones on the stairs, and the others retreated away, galloping on all fours like some strange animal. They looked back with hatred, their eyes black and shining. They ran towards the gate, which was now open. I wondered if one of them had a key.
Turning around, I saw the hut had turned into a blazing inferno. To my horror, I saw I did not hold Irina’s hand, but her twin sister’s.
“Where’s Irina?” I asked, panicked, and then the screaming started from the hut. The floor began to collapse, chunks of molten wood falling between the dead, skeletal chicken legs that held up the hut. LIke something from a nightmare, I saw Baba Yaga stumbling out, her skin melting, her hair on fire, her one good eye still peering out from the mask of burning flesh. Her shrill, ear-splitting shriek echoed through the forest around us, and I heard another, quieter scream start coming from the hut. It sounded like a little girl.
Without thinking, I began to push Yakov and Irina’s sister out of the gate, praying for Irina’s safety, but knowing that the only thing she could hope for was a quick death from suffocation. No one could survive that inferno. She was right when she said we shouldn’t have come here, but I had forced her, and now she was dying- or dead.
We ran out into the woods, following the trail back to the truck. Yakov kept stumbling and falling.
“I can’t go on much longer,” he said. “I think I’m dying. She really did a number on me. I feel light-headed… I think I might pass out soon.”
“That’s just the blood loss,” I said, reassuring him but not believing it. “Once we get you to a hospital, you’ll be fine. You just need some stitches. It’s… not as bad as it looks.” He laughed, a sarcastic, bitter sound.
“Don’t lie to the dying,” he muttered. And just as the truck came into sight, the black-eyed creatures came galloping silently out of the woods on all fours, a dozen of them, surrounding us. They didn’t blink or show any emotion, but as if a signal had been given, they swarmed us all at once.
I began shooting, having refilled the chamber with bullets from my pocket, but there were too many. I cleared a path towards the truck, shooting five in the chest, aiming for center mass. Yakov began to fire, but many of his shots missed as blood streamed over his face and eyes, and soon, we were both out of bullets.
I grabbed the little girl and ran towards the truck as Yakov held his place, roaring with blood-lust and excitement, pulling out a folding knife from his pocket.
“Come on!” I screamed, but he just smiled.
“Goodbye, friend,” he said as the creatures jumped on him, and he began stabbing and fighting in his last moments, cutting at their throats and faces as they ate him alive.
\*\*\*
I took Irina’s sister to a hospital and told the police about everything that had happened. They looked at me like I was a madman. The little girl corroborated my story, but they just dismissed it as the imagination of a child. Nonetheless, they went out to the site and found Yakov’s body. They ruled that he had been mauled by animals. There were, after all, many bears in the area.
They also followed our footsteps into the woods, but said they found no hut, no fire, no clearing. They said the footsteps just stopped suddenly, as if we had been abducted by a UFO. The hut had gone, and so had Baba Yaga.
After that day, I finished my route, sold my truck and made plans to move out of Russia forever. I had seen enough.
But still, I wonder what else lies in those woods- what other secrets remain to be found. |
“Holy shit!” José exclaimed. “I’ve seen that hat before.”
“In a video game?” I asked. “You’ve played *Desert War*?”
He shook his head. “Nope. But I remember now where I heard that name. I was in 9th grade, think it was around the time Jason disappeared. One day, as I was walking to school, I saw these flyers taped up all around the neighborhood. These were professional flyers, not something someone would create in MS Paint. They showed two soldiers fighting in a desert. And watching over them was a creepy-looking skeleton wearing that sorcerer’s hat.”
I pulled out my iPhone and showed José the photo I took of the cartridge yesterday. “Was this design on the flyers?”
“Yeah, it looks similar. The flyers were advertising some sweepstakes. Said that you had the chance to win an early copy of what would be the last officially licensed N64 game—*Desert War*. There was a URL to visit. I went to it, thinking it might be a scam. But it didn’t ask you to enter your social security number or anything like that, just your email, which I did. Never heard back from them. And now you’re saying you got a copy of the game?”
“Well I did, but it’s vanished.” I told José about yesterday’s events. All of it except for my 'dream.'
“That’s crazy,” he said. “I bet Jason was lured to the game maker’s house and killed there…Actually, wait. It’s a little too coincidental that his brother showed up with the game. I bet his brother is a serial killer. He probably got tired of waiting all these years without the cops finding any leads, so he’s dropping clues.”
“I know this is the longest of long shots, but do you remember the URL on the flyer? Did they send you a confirmation email that you still have access to?”
He shook his head. “Think I used AOL back then, my account’s long gone. But we better call the cops. This is crazy, man.”
“I’ll call them in my office. Can you try to find the cartridge? Maybe it got misplaced somehow.”
\*\*\*
Before I called the police, I wanted to do some research. I booted up my computer and searched for articles about the disappearance of Jason Statler.
He vanished on the night of Thursday, April 4th, 2002. His mom said that she had wished him good night at around 10 pm, but when she went to wake him up for school the next morning at 6, his bedroom was empty.
There was no sign of a struggle or forced entry. The cops initially thought that he ran away, but his wallet was still in his room and all his shoes were in the front closet.
A search party was organized. Bloodhounds were brought in, but they couldn’t pick up a scent. The woods were scoured and a dive team searched Lake Laurel and other nearby bodies of water, but no trace of him was ever found. Until today.
I tried to find the name of Jason’s brother. José’s theory that he was the killer seemed a little farfetched, but I didn’t have any other suspects.
As it turned out, he was only nine at the time of his brother’s disappearance. I found a current photo of him—it was definitely the same guy who came into my shop yesterday—but I doubted that an evil nine-year-old mastermind had made the game.
I went back out and asked José if he had found the cartridge. As I suspected, he hadn’t. I returned to my office and pulled up the security footage from yesterday on my computer. There was no camera in my office itself, but there was one right outside it. The footage showed me entering my office yesterday afternoon, the emerald-green cartridge in hand. An hour later, I walked out without the cartridge and locked the door.
The camera didn’t start recording again until 2 am. Just for a second or so, nothing visible but a white blur on the screen. I tried to zoom in on one of the frames. The camera wasn’t the best quality, and the footage was rather grainy, but I thought I could just make out a translucent, skeleton-like figure heading towards my office.
The camera stopped recording for a few minutes, and then there was another white blur on the screen. I zoomed in again. This time, the skeleton was holding a cartridge. That was the last bit of footage until today.
I had tried to convince myself that it was just a bad dream, just a series of strange coincidences, but I knew now that the skeleton was real. *And what was I to do about it?* I sure as hell couldn’t call the cops. This wasn’t like the movies, they didn’t have some elite paranormal investigation unit. Not to mention that they were hopeless when dealing with mundane crimes—when there was a break-in at my shop a few months ago, they didn’t do a damn thing, even though there was footage that showed the suspect’s license plate. A burglar alarm went off, but it took them two hours to get there. Yeah, they’d be completely useless when dealing with a skeleton.
I’d most likely be useless, too. But I had to try. I may have knocked off the skeleton’s hat, but that was only the first level.
I decided my best course of action would be to try to track down the origins of the emerald-green cartridge. They weren’t mass-produced, no game had ever been published on them. I doubted more than a hundred or so were ever made as samples. I emailed all of my contacts at Nintendo, asking if any of them had information on what publishers had requested the distinctive green cartridges.
I then tried searching the web again, seeing if there was any information on Desert War that I had missed. As was the case yesterday, I found nothing. Just in case something came up, I set up a Google Alert.
Next, I looked for more information about the death of Jason Statler. Since his body was found, several threads were started on various forums. I quickly read them. Unsurprisingly, the web 'sleuths' knew nothing, but I bookmarked the threads just in case something useful would pop up.
Finally, I made a Reddit thread, asking if anyone had a photo of the flyers that had been tacked up 20 years ago. Another long shot, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I considered contacting Jason’s brother, but from my interaction with him yesterday, he didn’t seem to know anything about the game.
\*\*\*
Around 4 that afternoon, I received a reply from one of my friends at Nintendo. Apparently, only three publishers had requested sample emerald-green cartridges. I had emailed contacts at two of them yesterday. The third was a small, now-defunct studio called Gooseberry Games. Their headquarters had been located about 20 minutes away in Redwood City.
I didn’t know anyone who had worked there, but I was vaguely familiar with them, having reviewed their only N64 game, *Raucous Raccoon Racing*, for the magazine *Game Informer* in 1999. It was truly an awful game—I had rated it a 1.25/10. Unsurprisingly, it completely bombed.
I went on LinkedIn and messaged everyone who had ever worked there, praying that they would not remember that I was the guy who had slammed their game. In addition, I Googled their names, hoping to find something interesting in their backgrounds. Nothing suspicious came up.
\*\*\*
The cops gave a televised press conference at 7 that evening. They managed to talk for 30 minutes, but they had no new information about the murder of Jason Statler. My investigation wasn’t going any better; none of the people I had contacted from Gooseberry Games had gotten back to me and I had no other leads.
\*\*\*
I wasn’t planning on going to sleep that night. I didn’t think the skeleton would return in my dreams—I thought that with the cartridge gone he would target someone else—but I didn’t want to risk it. I drank loads of caffeine. Normally that would be enough to keep me up all night, but the Sandman still found me and I was out by nine.
I was sitting in a small green rocket ship. A few feet to my left, in another rocket, was the skeleton from before, sans hat. He looked real—but the rest of the game—the rockets, the ringed planet in the background, the meteors flying through space—were not impressive. No texture had been mapped onto any of the objects—the meteors looked like solid brown spheres.
I pinched myself, trying to force myself to wake from this dream that was not a dream, but, as I suspected, it was no use. It seemed like the only way to get out would be to win the race.
A giant green 3 appeared in front of us. Then a 2, then a 1, and we were off. It was honestly the worst racing game ever. There were no power-ups and the only obstacles were the meteors, which moved so slowly that you would have had to try to hit them. Even though we were in space, you could only move left or right and had to stay on a narrow course that was bounded by invisible walls.
Somehow, I managed to get way out in front of the skeleton. There was no minimap, so I didn’t know how far I had to go, but after what seemed like hours, I could finally see the finish line. A tiny monkey in a space suit was waving a checkered flag. I looked behind me—the skeleton was nowhere in sight. When I was nearly at the finish line, the skeleton’s rocket materialized out of thin air in front of me. As he crossed the finish line first, my rocket exploded into thousands of tiny pieces.
Like last night, I was transported to the skeleton’s lair. But this time, I was unable to move. The skeleton walked slowly towards me, picked me up, and opened his monstrous maw. I could smell the decay and the rot emanating from it, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not move, could not scream. I was going to die, but it would not be a video game death. I would not respawn, would not have the option to insert another quarter to keep playing.
His teeth chomped down on my neck and I felt the most horrific pain of my life before everything faded to black.
Then I saw the skeleton’s face. There were three hearts in front of it. As the skeleton laughed, one slowly faded away.
\*\*\*
I awoke on my kitchen floor, the clock showing 9:14. I had been out for over 12 hours. *It was just a dream*, I tried to tell myself.
On the floor, a few feet away from me, I saw something glimmering in the morning light. I walked over and picked it up. It was a piece of green metal, the same exact color that my rocket ship was. On it, an image of a skeleton was engraved, along with the initials F. S. I knew all along, but I could no longer deny it. There in front of me was incontrovertible proof it was not a dream.
I would have two more chances to beat the skeleton in the race. There must be some shortcut on the course or some power-up I needed to find. Or maybe I needed to try to ram the skeleton’s rocket, perhaps that was the only way to defeat him. Whatever the secret was, I needed to find it or I’d be dead.
That is, unless I could somehow defeat him in this world, the real world, instead of in the world he created. I checked my email, hoping that someone from Gooseberry Games would have responded. No one did, but there was a Google Alert in my inbox. A GameStop in a mall near Fremont, about 40 minutes away, had listed a copy of Desert War on their website.
|
Lately I’ve been hearing strange noises coming from up in my attic. Don’t think I’ve immediately jumped to conclusions, I’m writing this in my journal hoping it is found if I don’t make it out of here alive after weeks of assuming it’s just simply raccoons or bats flying amuck my dirty, cobweb ridden attic. Hell, I haven’t been up there in years, and I’ve been too scared of whatever the hell it is up there to check.
It started with just little padders, the noises it would make would line up with a small animal running about. Honestly, the first time I heard it I didn’t think much of it at all. I live in a pretty old house and if you’ve ever lived in one, you know about all the creaks and whatnot that the ancient homes can produce. It really wasn’t all that shocking to me. I’ve lived alone since my husband peacefully passed in his sleep 5 years ago, and as I’ve gotten older I have to admit I’ve let both myself and the house, my once prized possession, go. With my husband’s passing my daughter, who has never quite been all there, worsened even herself and I haven’t heard from her in years. His passing took a huge toll on the family, he was the true thick glue to hold everyone together whether it be from planning Thanksgiving gatherings, reunions, or just a simple stop by family members houses.
I can’t say I haven’t been concerned its my husbands ghost returning to try giving me a wake up call. He always was the big cleaner, lecturing me every now and again to help him tidy up. I’ve never been messy, don’t get me wrong, he just had a strong touch of OCD, specifically about cleaning. If he were to spot a single dirt speck on the kitchen table you could only pray to God he’d still eat that day. Sadly, I feel now it’s something more malicious than just my husbands ghost telling me to get off my ass and clean. Over the span of the last few weeks the padders turned into thumps, which turned into bangs, and eventually I called the police.
I just wanted to check, you know? I’ve heard the horror stories of homeless people living in homes amongst the unknowing owners. Me being an old woman I figured I’m one of the top targets to these crimes. Honestly, I’m unsure if I could even walk up the stairs to my attic without breaking a hip these days. But, to my demise, when the police officers arrived they didn’t seem to really take me seriously. They made me feel as if I was just an old bat starting to hear things, and I believed them. They checked my attic, came down and shrugged. “Nothing up there. No trace of any animals nor scary homeless people waiting to drink your blood.” The officers laughed with each-other, teasing the old lady who’s gone a little cuckoo.
That was three days ago. I’ve tried my best to ignore any noises since then, I’ve even figured myself I’m just getting too old to be living alone. No one visits me anymore, especially after Harold, my husbands, passing. But, now, as I write this with my shaky hands, I’m here to tell you I am going to my attic. I need to prove to myself that it isn’t real, that it’s all in my head. The noises are simply too much to bear anymore without proof there’s nothing up there. And a few minutes ago, I swore I heard the sounds of a woman whimpering with the most melancholic noises I’ve ever heard in my seventy four years of living.
Fuck. It was fucking her, god how could the police have missed her? My daughter, the one I had raised her entire life, HAROLD raised his entire life, I found in a metal stand up cabinet sitting, smushed into the sides of the interior. I screamed when I first saw her, horrified at what I had found, what I had saw. Seeing my daughter gnawing on Harold’s bones, her teeth surrounding her as she continued to chew with a full bloody mouth, blood dripping out as she tried to eat bone like a rabid animal. There were dead squirrels, raccoons, hell even a cat I found half eaten sitting in her lap, dark blood splattered all over the inside of the cabinet, even on the ceiling of it. I’m so sorry mommy…” she kept mumbling over and over again as I had just kept screaming in true damn horror.
I passed out eventually. She looked me in my eyes after saying she was sorry over and over again for what seemed like hours. I’ve never been more terrified than when I looked into her eyes, they were empty, cold even. It was similar to the look of a rabid animal, or a hungry Gorilla. Have you ever seen a look of such just pure hunger? But not in the, “Oh, I could go for a burger.” way. Bloodthirsty. I was preparing myself to be attacked, to use any of my energy to fight her back, but the last thing I remember is feeling something similar to possibly a hard rock hit my head. I know now it was none other than my beloved Harold’s bone, my guess being his femur.
When I woke up I was greeted by laying in my own pool of blood, touching my head to feel a large open wound. Truthfully, the reason I’m writing this is because I don’t want to seek medical attention. I think I’ll be lucky to die. I feel as if my daughter gave me a warning message, looking into my eyes with such negative emotions, a negative soul.
So, i’m warning you now. If you hear those noises in your attic, leave and try far the hell away. Don’t worry about your bags, it’s better to lose everything than to have this outcome. Because when I woke up, and finally was able to see and recognize my surroundings, the words “I’m going to get you.” and “It’s your fault” were written all across my attic wall in a mixture of likely animal shit, animal blood, and maybe even some of my own. The worst part? I can hear loud thumping and movement coming from below me, and all I can do is pray for you to find this and for me to die quickly, before she comes back up for me. |
Simple innocent words....twisted and corrupted.
"Hitters gitters!" Jamie shouted.
"You gotta be kidding me!?" Gary replied sharply.
"Rules are rules," Shrugged Jamie with a grin.
"Hey, I don't mind playing by the rules when it's a bad pass, but you practically let the ball roll right past you!"
We had been aimlessly wandering the neighbourhood, passing a ball back and forth to each other as we went. It was a meagre source of entertainment to keep us occupied while we hoped to stumble upon something more interesting. But as usual, this town was as boring as it was small, and unwilling to deliver.
"You know what” said Gary extending his hands outwards.
"Fine...I'll get the damn ball, but I'll remember this next time you mess up, asshole."
He put on a light jog down the street, passing by Jamie, and towards the ball. Jamie swivelled to watch him pass with the same grin still plastered on his face.
"You lazy, bastard." Ryan said, shaking his head. "You were way closer! You should have just went an got the stupid ball."
"That's not the point," said Jamie. "He hit it. He gets it. Simple."
"Was still lazy, and you definitely could have stopped it rolling all the way back down the street if you, I dunno, actually tried moving."
"Whatever, man" Jamie said rolling his eyes.
The four of us had been friends since as far as I can remember. Sure, we did some shit talking now and then, and we didn't always see eye to eye on everything, but we were close, and we had each others backs.
Gary being the most into sports would never leave home without a ball. He was always on the move. Never able to stay still for even a few seconds without fidgeting. Even on the rare occasions when we got him to play video games, he would turn and lean in directions as if his body was the control stick.
Ryan was a bit of a goofball. Never took anything too seriously, and generally just called things as he saw it. He was one of those guys with waste disposal genetics. Ate what he wanted, when he wanted and converted it into pure energy. I’m talking cakes, pizza, whatever, and he still just kept in shape. If you ask me, that should be considered a super power.
Me and Jamie were more into video games and cartoon shows. That’s not to say we were physically inept stereotypes. We still played outside, got muddy, and had our fair share of scraped knees and bruises over the years. We just liked some indoor time as well, especially if one of us got a new game to play.
Originally me and Jamie didn't really get on. Our opinions clashed with nearly everything. From what game series was better, to what character could beat who. After a while we just learned to put our opposing opinions to the side, and focused on the stuff we could agree on. Well most of the time anyway.
"Hey guys," I said, looking up to the cloudy sky. "it's starting to get dark…streetlights gonna be coming on soon."
The streetlights were our signal to get our butts moving, and head home. We were at that awkward in-between age where we were too old to be playing in kid parks, but too young to do much of anything else, and curfew was most definitely still in effect.
"Yep. Looks like it." Ryan said looking up to the darkening sky.
"Getting damn cold too," Jamie said putting his hands in his pockets.
"Well maybe you'd keep warmer if you actually chased the ball now an then." we heard Gary saying as he walked towards us with the newly retrieved ball.
"Heh! Sure, I'll keep that in mind.....maybe." Jamie laughed.
We headed towards the main road at the top of town for the rest of the walk home. That worked out well for me, as I stayed on the main street. My house was just along the road about 10 minutes from where we were, maybe 20 minutes if we wanted to drag it out a bit.
The road itself is a long straight cutting from right, to left, separating town, from the woods to the north. It was perfect for us to kick the ball about at this time of night, given it’s a nice stretch of even ground, and it's a rare sight to see any cars passing through here at this hour. Only the lost wind up here at night.
Taking it slow, and trying to squeeze the most out of our remaining time before curfew, when suddenly an electrical humming emits overhead.
"Seriously? Already?" Gary says looking up to the streetlights as they started to flicker to life.
"Yup, that's winter for you," I said, feeling a shiver run through me. "shortens your daylight, and freezes your nuts off."
"Woah, so they finally dropped? Congrats, champ! I’m proud of ya!" Ryan said, patting me on the back.
"Hurr Hurr! Funny guy!" I said, shoving him away.
I could hear Jamie, and Gary laughing behind us. Hell, even I couldn't help but let out a little laugh in the form of a suppressed nose exhale.
Ryan was never the smartest guy, but his wit was sharp as a tack when the opportunity arose.I walked on a few steps to make some distance while planning to get Gary to pass me the ball. It was then that I heard it.
A slight almost unnoticeable whisper. Like someone trying to whisper a secret? No. Trying to get my attention.
My logical side passed it off as the wind whistling by, and I continued onwards, but with each step I took, I felt increasingly more uneasy.
There was something very wrong here.With a growing intensity, the lone whisper changed to whispers. Multiple voices, all in varying speeds and pitches, desperately trying to snare me. To get me to notice them.
My mind was screaming. RUN.
Then I saw it. Something out of the corner of my eye. I could see it, but I didn't dare look towards it. I couldn't.
In the trees on the other side of the road. Something was there. I could feel its horrible, unwanted presence just at the edge of the woods.
Cold dread washed over me, as this unbearable feeling of being watched had me rooted to the ground.
I wanted to will myself to look over towards the woods, in hope to prove to myself it was just my imagination, but I failed to turn my head. I was too afraid to see, what i prayed wasn't there.
Then it started to move.
"WAKEY WAKEY!!"
I snapped out of my trance, immediately turning to look towards the trees! Seeing just the slightest glimpse of it before the branches closed over.
"You okay?" I heard Jamie ask. "You’re kinda freaking us out!"
Suddenly aware that I had all three of my friends eyes locked on me with confused worried faces.
"You alright? Ryan asked, genuinely looking concerned. "I was only joking about your balls dropping." he said with almost comical sincerity.
"What!? No! It wasn't that, it was..." taking a second to think, as my eyes darted between the three of them.
They hadn't heard it. They never felt that awful presence. Were they not close enough to the trees? Or was it just a moment of madness?
I exhaled a deep breath I didn't realise I was holding. "It was....it was nothing.... I just zoned out is all." I said trying to shrug it off, and pull myself together, failing miserably.
I could tell they weren't buying it, but I didn't care. I just needed us to start moving, and get out of here.
"Hey, come on! Pass me the ball!" I shouted to Gary, as I side stepped away from the woods, and put on a small jog towards home, further away from here.
"You sure, man? I thought you were about to take a seizure on us."
"Just pass it." "Okay....you’re the boss."
Gary kicked the ball over to me. I stopped it with my foot, trying to look as casual as possible, but still unable to get that image out of my head. That thing out of my head.
I stalled for a few seconds, letting my friends close some of the distance between us, in an attempt to get them closer to home. I eventually, and reluctantly kicked the ball over to Ryan who was the closest to me, but he immediately turns and passes it all the way down to Jamie.
I stood my ground, refusing to go another step back. Not that I felt much safer here. These damn woods stretch the whole way up the road spanning the width of town, and further. But at least every step this way was another step closer to my house.
Ryan approached me after he had kicked the ball to Jamie. "What's up, Mike? You looked pretty out of it there."
"Nothing, I just thought I heard something, and...." I trailed off, breaking eye contact.
"And what?" he asked quizzically.
I look back to Ryan, staring him dead in the eye for a long second before uttering the truth.
"I saw....a face."
His expression instantly changing from one of concern, to perplexed. Raising an eyebrow he asked.
"A face? What do you mean a face??"
"Like, a fucking face!" I snapped.
"Where the hell did you see it?"
"Over in the tree's! For like, a second! Just staring at us! It looked dead! Pale white skin, black slits for eyes, and a damn black empty mouth hanging open looking like it was....like it was smiling! It was a fucking nightmare!" I whisper yelled at him.
"Okay, okay, calm down, Man." He said putting his open palms up like he was trying to reason with a rabid chihuahua.
"Is there any chance you were maybe just seeing things? You know, like a plastic bag stuck in the bushes or something?"
I inhaled sharp, and deep. Preparing to volley Ryan with every curse word in my vocabulary.
"Buuuut" he quickly interrupted me, raising his hands up even higher, and stretching his fingers out.
"...to be safe though, let's grab Laurel, and Hardy back there, and we'll all start a fast walk home, and we can talk about this tomor...."
But before he could finish his sentence, a loud "HA!" cut through the air.
"HITTERS GITTERS!" We heard Gary shout. We both turned to see Jamie down the road shaking his head and muttering to himself. My heart sunk as I realised what had happened....as he started towards the edge of the woods. |
Things got worse after that.
Kindergarten was a pain. I quickly learned that I was a sensitive child; prone to panic and hysteria. Mom said I was just a gentle spirit and that crowds "weren't my thing." Dad told me I needed to toughen up. His solution was to make me responsible for Sammy's training. According to my dad, Sammy was only allowed on furniture by invitation, was always to be present when I answered the door, and had specific command phrases he had to know. They were the typical things: "sit, down, stay, come, heel, off," and "no." It wasn't easy. I was barely five years old and I was training a seven-month old Rottweiler that was already big enough to ride. It came in handy though whenever I'd wake up in the middle of the night to find Sammy perched over me, looking out the window.
"Down!" I'd hiss, trying not to be loud enough to wake my sisters. His head would glance in my direction for half a second before snapping back to look outside. This would happen for several nights. I wasn't having any nightmares, but that's because I was too stressed to sleep. I'm not sure I even remember this properly, but apparently that's the story I told my Mom.
"You were so scared about starting school," she told me years later when I brought it up. "That's why we put that lock on your window. Sammy could probably sense your unease too. He was such a good dog."
Sammy wasn't just a good dog; he was an amazing protector. Over the next few months, he became my best buddy. He and I would wrestle and play and go on walks. The Kitters would send the cops over because of our "aggressive dog" but, honestly, Old Man Wilkin's cat was more aggressive that Sammy. Sammy growled a lot, but Rottis do that as a sign of affection *and* aggression, so who's to say?
By winter break, Sammy obeyed all seven of the core commands and knew several tricks. Our favorite trick was "bang!" This was before the internet so I learned about it when one of the cops the Kitters called on us told me that Sammy could "play dead" as if I shot him and being a kid, that sounded cool. I'd get home from school, burst through the front door with finger guns blazing and yell "Bang!" Sammy would leap like a rabbit out of my room and flop onto his side dramatically, smile wide, eyes fixed on me and waiting for me to say "good boy!"
My sleep had improved significantly by this point. No more nightmares, no more unease. Even Sammy slept soundly. That Christmas, my Dad's parents reached out. They had been wracked with guilt for years and finally worked up the courage to beg for forgiveness. They wanted to know their grandchildren. My parents reluctantly agreed that they could visit on Christmas Eve.
That day, I met my Dad's parents. I don't remember anything about that day, honestly, other than treating them like the strangers they were. I wouldn't hug them or engage in conversation. I would just show them Sammy's tricks. Sammy seemed to like them immediately, which did ease me a bit. After dinner, they said a teary goodbye and wished us a merry Christmas.
That night, Sammy was on high alert. My Dad later said it's because the grandparents spooked him, but I don't think that was it.
I was in bed, having one of my out-of-body dreams again. I was observing myself, but I didn't feel like I was a second me. I was just... seeing my room, like a camera on a tripod facing my bed. Sammy suddenly perked up and faced the window again. I was fed up. I was a frustrated 5-year-old. I looked down at my body and *demanded* that I wake up.
Then I heard a loud tap.
My gaze lurched back to the window and I saw someone at the edge of the shadows again. This time, though, they didn't run. Sammy growled at them. His fur prickling and standing on edge. His face twisted into a snarl. I felt sick to my stomach. The figure took a step forward.
"GET MOM!" my own voice shouted from the bed. My body was sitting up, head slack, eyes wide open but rolled back into my skull. My hand hung loosely in the air, pointing towards the bedroom door. "GET MOM! GET MOM! GET MOM!"
I tried to run out of the room, but every step was like moving through quickly-drying cement. I panicked. I couldn't breathe. The girls were screaming. Sammy started barking. My body yelled "GET MOM! GET MOM!"
I glanced at the window and saw the finger plunge into the shadows and out of sight. Sammy tore from my bed, sprinting in a mad dash out of the room, and knocking my body over. I felt the impact, felt him slam into me, felt my head hit the pillow and I felt dizzy. My eyes opened and I was back in my body, my arm still outstretched towards the open bedroom door.
My sisters were crying and I started panicking. My Dad was already by the front door when my Mom rushed in. She asked what was happening and the girls said I just started screaming. *I* scared them. I told my Mom my dream and she told me that I didn't need to worry. She took all of us to her room and we slept in her bed that night.
On Christmas morning, we opened a couple small presents and ate our breakfasts with glee. The nightmare of last night melted away when we drank hot coco and scarfed down homemade waffles. I remember getting Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figure. Donatello. Classic. I went to put him on my windowsill where some other knick knacks and toys waited for me, but as I stood him up, my gaze slid down along the windowsill to the latch.
A long, thin crack had formed along the glass near the latch and lock was missing.
#x200B; |
*The following is a transcription of an interview that occurred on July 22, 2023. The two parties involved in the conversation are Mica Phillips, a freelance blogger working on an article for the website **Strangerdangers** and the subject of the interview, an individual identified as Nelson Platt. The website catered to bizarre and macabre stories, and apparently when Mica agreed to meet Mr. Platt in a back booth at the Sleeping Robin diner, there was already some idea that he might have such stories to tell.*
****
*Mica: Hey! You must be Nelson.*
**Nelson: (short laugh) Well, if you say I am, then I must be.**
*Mica: (laughing in return) I hope you haven’t been waiting…*
**Nelson: If you don’t mind, sit over here at the end of the table instead of across in that other booth.**
*Mica: Um, okay…*
**Nelson: Sorry, I know that might seem strange, but I don’t like people directly across from me when I’m in a booth like this, and I also don’t want anyone overhearing what we’re talking about.**
*Mica: Sure, yeah I get that. (The sound of a metal chair being pulled up to the table) So, um, how do you want to start? You were saying on the forums that you had a very strange job with a list of rules?*
**Nelson: What? No. No, no. I said my job is making lists of rules. And some of my work orders have been pretty weird. So I…you know, have stories. To tell.**
*Mica: Huh. Okay, well, tell me about the job first, I guess. What kinds of rules or um, lists of rules do you make?*
**Nelson: Oh, all kinds really.**
*Mica: Yeah…but I mean, are these like rules for businesses or schools or what?*
**Nelson: Usually nothing quite that banal. For instance, last week I created a set of rules for how to survive a night in a house haunted by an evil dead child.**
*Mica: (laughter) What? You’re shitting me. Um, I mean, you’re kidding.*
**Nelson: No, no. I’m not shitting you or kidding.**
*Mica: So you wrote some tips for someone to survive a night in a house that’s haunted by an evil dead kid? For what, like the internet or something? And isn’t that a bit spec…*
**Nelson: Not tips. Rules.**
*Mica: Oh, sh-oh shoot. Yeah, my bad. I wasn’t trying to make fun. I think I just don’t understand yet. So you made rules on how someone could survive a night in a house if the house was haunted by an evil dead child’s ghost?*
**Nelson: Not a house. The house. It’s in Utah apparently.**
*Mica: And so…this house in Utah, it has an evil child ghost?*
**Nelson: So they say.**
*Mica: And you make rules so people can spend the night there and survive the, um, the ghost?*
**Nelson: I make rules that, if followed closely enough, they would survive the ghost.**
*Mica: Isn’t that what…oh, thanks. No, water is fine for me. Are you eating?*
**Nelson: I am if you are.**
*Mica: Um, sure. I’ll have a cheeseburger with just ketchup.*
**Nelson: The same, but with pickles as well.**
*Mica: So…I think I’m still not following entirely. Maybe we should back up and start from the beginning. How did you get into this line of work?*
****
How does any job start? You find it or it finds you. In this case, it was more the latter. I had recently survived a tragedy that took my girlfriend and best friend, and I was adrift in my own pain and sadness. When my employer approached me, I think I already knew it wasn’t an accident, but in the state I was in, it didn’t seem to matter. I was a drowning man, and any lifeline, even one thrown by a strange hand, was welcome.
I understood the work a bit from the start, and I took to it right away. I was never very good at math, but there’s a mechanical precision to words as well. I was taught that crafting a good set of rules was a lot like building a clock—now I’d never known I was good at words or clocks, but it turns out I am. Understanding the parts and how they fit together for their intended purpose.
My first set of rules was fairly mundane. A man had come to my employer based on rumors, and while typically customers without references are turned away, this one was accepted and handed over to me. The man was a nasty sort. He had a kind of intellectual contempt for those he saw as his lessers, though from my time with him, he was of middling intelligence outside of a certain creative streak when it came to ways to torture his victims.
He wanted a series of rules that were based upon Ancient Egyptian morality. His notes and suggestions were a convoluted mess with questionable sources and no discernable pattern or thematic throughline. Those are big no-nos in our line of work, and I tried to explain that to him, but he wanted to argue. When I finally pared him down to just twelve rules—which was still way too many by the way—then we reached the next problem. He wanted the hatch to be sealed.
Sorry. You don’t know what that means. In any set of rules we make, there has to be a legitimate way to succeed. It can be hard or tricky or whatever, but if you reach the escape hatch door, it has to be there and it can’t be locked. He didn’t care about that. He was a dick and didn’t care about the process. I went to my employer and asked what I was supposed to do. If this was a “the customer is always right” kind of thing or what. You know what I was told?
Fuck the customer. Only the rules matter.
So he got his rules, according to his specifications, but done in a way where the rules were legitimate and had some power, though they were hampered by his insistence on a convoluted and confusing mess of obscure references and poorly thought-out concepts. But it had a complete structure that wasn’t escapable except by the hatch at the end, which is ultimately all we can promise.
You can imagine what happened next. He tried to alter the rules and cut out any way to succeed. Two weeks later his first victim was being interviewed on the news and he was found crushed to death in the bottom of an abandoned factory’s elevator.
Some might think that taking on his job was a mistake, but I saw it for what it was. It was a way of teaching me several lessons at once while also seeing how I’d handle the work when it wasn’t easy. Did I have the integrity to stand up for the quality and sanctity of what we were doing. If you’d asked me that two months earlier, I’d have probably said no. But now…well, it didn’t take long before I realized how much I was changing—more and more with each new job. And over the last few years, there’s been lots of them. Thank you, dear.
****
*Mica: Man, I didn’t realize how hungry I was, but this burger looks great.*
**Nathan: Oh, great. They put onions on this. I can’t eat onions. Would you be up for swapping?**
*Mica: Plates? Um, yeah, that’s fine. I don’t mind onions.*
**Nathan: I appreciate it. Mmm. It tastes great too. Now where was I?**
*Mica: Other jobs you have had making rules.*
**Nathan: Sure, yes. So I’ve made rules that look like rituals. You know, the kind of thing where you do these weird or seemingly arbitrary steps and something exciting or dangerous or scary will happen. Maybe see a ghost or summon a demon or see the date you’re going to die.**
*Mica: So you’re saying your job, or at least part of your job, is making up rituals for magic?*
**Nathan: No. Not being rude, but you need to pay closer attention. We do not make actual magic rituals. That is an entirely different thing that requires different knowledge and skills among other things. What we do is make rules that *look* like rituals to people that don’t know any better.**
*Mica: Okay, sorry. I see the distinction, but can you explain how it’s practically different? I mean, if you have a real magic ritual that’s designed to summon a ghost and it does, okay? And then you have your rules that look like a real ritual that’s also designed to summon a ghost, what’s the difference?*
**Nathan: That’s a better question. There are several differences. The first is where the power comes from. The second is what the designed purpose actually is. You’re assuming my rules are to summon the ghost, when it’s actually something quite different. The fact that the person using the rules doesn’t understand the real point is irrelevant. That’s the third difference between a ritual and rules. Rituals require specific intention. Rules just require some basic belief and consent.**
*Mica: So you’re saying that the rules you make aren’t necessarily being made for the reasons that are obvious on their face. Like the asshole killer guy who really just wanted rules to fuck with people and give them false hope when he planned on killing them anyway.*
**Nathan: Exactly. Though as I said, to work at all, the structure of the rules has to allow for the possibility of success. The rules can be tricky, but they cannot explicitly lie. If they offer a path to survival, that path must actually exist, however crooked and narrow.**
*Mica: But just because the rules say they’re meant to help you doesn’t mean that’s their main reason for being made?*
**Nathan: Yes, you’re starting to see it now. I’ll give you some other examples.**
****
So there are a lot of ways you could classify or group the kinds of rules we make, but for the sake of simplicity in our discussion, we’ll talk about them in terms of what they would look like to the player. I say player because every game is essentially an intellect and will navigating rules. Conversely, every set of rules is, at least by some definitions, a game waiting to be played. So what kinds of games do we make?
There are the basic summoning games, like I mentioned before. Do these things in this way and you’ll call forth this scary or dangerous or supernatural thing. Maybe it’s come to kill you or kidnap you. Maybe it’s come to be your slave or grant you wishes. The prize doesn’t really matter, just the rules.
Then there are the location games. Go to this place and do these things just right and you’ll get a certain result. This can still be a summoning kind of thing, but it can be lots of different stuff. Maybe this particular spot will let you see how you die or who your true love is. Or you can throw your enemy’s name or likeness off a bridge and they’ll have bad luck by the next full moon.
But my favorites are the survival games. These can be tied to summoning something or a particular spot, of course, but there’s other varieties as well. And they can be very simple or very complex, both of which have their virtues.
****
*Mica: When you say survival games, you mean like things you have to do to survive in a particular place or situation?*
**Nathan: Or occupation. You’d be surprised how many of those we wind up creating these days. Oh, come on, you know what I mean.**
*Mica: I do?*
****
Sure.
The rules to surviving Humble Hall overnight.
Never go on the Stork River in the moonlight.
I’m a park ranger. We have a series of odd rules.
I’m a search and rescue officer. This job has some strange rules.
I’m a bag boy. This store sure does have some weird rules.
A thousand variations, but at their core, most of them are the same. They are an enticement dressed as a threat. A trap that looks like a shield. A doom made to seem like an escape.
****
**Nathan: You still look confused, so let me explain it this way. In your interests in the bizarre and the macabre and the otherworldly, how many times have you seen stories or real accounts where people talk about the rules for avoiding some dangerous or scary thing?**
*Mica: Um, lots I guess.*
**Nathan: Sure. Now why do you think those stories and real accounts exist?**
*Mica: Because people find them interesting? And people like to be scared. And people like the ideas of rules that you can follow or break, well, because people like puzzles and games.*
**Nathan: Exactly. Especially when there are stakes attached, right? That danger, that urge to test yourself and flirt with self-destruction, that’s part of where the power comes from. Take the job ones for instance. Who would take a job as a ranger or a cop or a chef or a whatever where, aside from whatever normal risks you have to take, you have some weird, arbitrary set of rules you need to follow or something really bad will happen to you? Why do people want to go to a suicide forest or try to summon Bloody Mary?**
*Mica: Why do you think?*
**Nathan: I think it’s the same reason that the best part of Gremlins is after they get food past midnight. People crave danger and death while simultaneously being so egotistical that they think they’re special. That they will follow the rules better than those that have failed, or if they fail to do so, the rules won’t really apply to them.**
**Nathan: But that’s just part of it. They also assume that rules mean structure which means order which means safety. If they’re given a job watching a woman in a room, well it’s just an easy, well-paying job. Nothing bad can come from it. Until it does, of course. But then the point of the rules is very rarely what you would think.**
*Mica: Like the survival rules not being for survival?*
**Nathan: Yes. Like that. Those rules, if followed exactly, should lead to your survival if that is what was promised. But the point of the rules is to challenge and intrigue you. To get you to enter the rules in the first place. And once you’re inside, if you make the slightest mistake, you’re trapped. So we make the rules and then send them out into the world to spread and grow and infect enough people that they become real.**
*Mica: Okay, I think I get all of that, but what’s the point? Let’s say I believe you, and you and your employer make all these rules up for different places, spread them around like a virus until people pay attention and start believing them. Using them even. What does that accomplish? I mean, what’s it all for?*
**Nathan: Power and control, mostly. You know the old saying, Power is given and control is taken? That’s very true. Do you have an extra pen I can borrow?**
*Mica: Uh, yeah. Do you need paper?*
**Nathan: No, this napkin should do well enough. What I’m drawing… very crudely…are some of the parts of a clock. Now one way of talking about these parts are by describing three categories: Power, Movement, and Escape.**
****
In a mechanical clock, the power is provided by coiled piece of wire called a mainspring. The more you twist the knob on the outside, the tighter the wire is coiled and the more tension that builds. The more power. Now that power has to go somewhere, right? And it does. That kinetic energy is transferred from the tension of the wire to the gears in the clock, moving the gears and amplifying that power even further as it moves from one wheel to the next.
But what is the point of the power that’s been harnessed and amplified if it has nowhere to go? No way to be expressed? That is why you have what is called the escapement. It gives the power a release and a purpose.
It is the same with our rules, our games. The player provides the initial power either intentionally or unintentionally. Their interest, their fear, their arrogance, their belief, whatever form that initial contact and interaction with the rules takes, it provides power and life to the rules, the gears, of our machines. Except they aren’t just winding a watch, they’re going into it, trying to navigate the wheels and teeth without getting caught or chewed up. This generates more power, which is further amplified by the motion of the rules, until it reaches the point of release. While some sets of rules are truly meant as a conduit for sacrifice, whether the player escapes or not is usually secondary. The real escapement is the release and harvesting of the power generated by their passage and the rules themselves. And every time someone uses the rules or comes to believe them, they are helping solidify another structure of control for someone or some thing.
****
*Mica: Kind of like a tulpa? Like the more you believe it, the realer it can become?*
**Nathan: Similar in concept, but much more profound. Take Hell, for instance. It is, regardless of your personal thoughts on the matter, a very real place. And it is very, very difficult for anyone or any thing to leave once they are there. Long ago, my employer created one of the only methods for such an escape. It requires special talent and knowledge, and strict adherence to certain rules. Many have tried to use these rules to their benefit, and all but a few have failed with spectacularly hideous results. All because they don’t know how to properly play with dolls, if you can imagine.**
*Mica: Dolls?*
**Nathan: Oh yes. It sounds silly, doesn’t it? But that’s part of the artistry of it all. Part of the allure. Why would you go somewhere dangerous in the dark? Why work a job where a misstep could mean your doom? Why would you trust a doll to get you out of Hell? Because there’s something in us that wants to feel that doom’s teeth on our neck, sure. But it’s more than that. We also can sense the truth in it. A truth that excites us. That we want to see and hear, maybe even touch, even if we don’t understand it and that lack of knowing terrifies us. It attracts us like a magnet, even when we don’t know it’s there.**
*Mica: Yeah, that brings up another question I had. What if you don’t know about the rules? Like if you go to the woods or the haunted house, or you say Bloody Mary or you work a job with a strange set of rules that nobody tells you? What then? You’re just immune to it?*
**Nathan: Immune? Oh no. If a person that didn’t understand what a shark was decided to swim with one, would they be immune from being eaten? You haven’t paid enough attention. The rules are what matter. Not the customer. Not the player. Just the rules. Take you for example.**
*Mica: Me?*
**Nathan: Yes, you. See, in this place, this particular diner that is hard to find unless it is looking for you, there are several rules you must always follow. First, you never sit where someone else asks or tells you to sit. Second, you never eat food that is offered by another patron. Third, you never give anyone anything other than as due payment for your meal.**
*Mica: W-what?*
**Nathan: Unfortunately, you sat where I requested. You notice the sign up front says “Seat Yourself”? Now you know why.**
*Mica: But you…*
**Nathan: Then you took the food I offered and ate from it. Nice in the moment, but another violation of the rules.**
*Mica: I don’t know what you’re trying…*
**Nathan: And then you gave me your pen. That’s three strikes, I’m afraid.**
*Mica: Why the fuck can’t I get out of this booth?*
**Nathan: You know why. I’ve just explained it.**
*Mica: But this is bullshit! I didn’t know about any of this! It’s not fair!*
**Nathan: At what point in our conversation did I say the rules had to be fair? A means to escape, sure. But fair? Fairness is a fairy tale told by the stupid to console the weak.**
*Mica: But…why? There’s…there’s no point! No power…I didn’t know about this place or these rules. So there’s no belief or whatever, right?*
**Nathan: (laughter) Well, that was before. You know now because I’ve told you. And judging by the state of you, I think you believe plenty. Look, I have to be going. If you don’t mind, I’ll take this little recorder with me. Get your story out into the world. I think it will spark some people’s imaginations.**
*Mica: Don’t leave me…don’t…wait! Ha! I’ve got you fucker! You broke a rule too!*
**Nathan: What’re you talking about?**
*Mica: The food! You gave me your fucking burger, and you said you couldn’t give people anything. So if you don’t let me go, you’re stuck too!*
**Nathan: Well, that’s a good try, kid. But this isn’t my place, so I couldn’t let you go if I wanted. And I didn’t break any rule.**
*Mica: No! You did. You said you can’t give anyone anything…*
**Nathan: …except as due payment for your meal. The food I gave helped you break the three rules of this place. That means my payment…**
*Mica: You motherfucker, you…*
**Nathan: …is you.**
|
im now 19 and I think its time for me to get this off my chest. It started when I was around 5 just after my grandma came to visit. sleeping in my single mothers bed while she slept next to me. I woke up to a terrible headache and someone, no something staring at me. it was 4 am the clock read. i couldnt move as more and more of these things started to appear in front of me. I rubbed my eyes but they were reaching out to me slowly, making sounds as if it were another language, but I was able to make out a few words; "Downstairs", "House", "Room". these were the only words that I was able to make out that morning. they disappeared and I suddenly woke up, the clock now reading 8:42 am. Little did I know this wouldnt be the last time I saw these things.
as the months went on I completely forgot about that dream, I was 5 anyways my brain didnt know how to remember such things yet. I was quickly reminded of that night though, as my mom would walk into my room while I read "amulet book 5", she told me "we're going to grandmas tomorrow for the week, dont forget", I was 5 so my luggage was already packed for the trip. The next morning as I woke up I saw it again, staring at me but i could move this time. It was resting on a tree outside my window, its eyes black as midnight and its mouth slowly opening revealing sharp needle like teeth lined up perfectly all the way around its mouth. For some reason i didnt want to run, i went closer to my window and stared back but when my mom called my name it suddenly disappeared. The 2 hour drive to grandmas was peaceful, she lived in a huge house next to remote lake on the top of a small mountain. It was scenic. As we pulled into her driveway I could feel as if something was watching me from a distance, I always did get a weird feeling every time I visited. My mom rings the doorbell, grandma as if she was standing at the door waiting, quickly swung open the door startling me and my mother. She didnt look like herself, her eyes were darker and her hair was beginning to thin even more than it already was. Her voice was raspier too, my mom didnt seem to notice the changes in her appearance or voice, so i went along with it. I guess I thought i was just imagining things.
Grandmas house had four stories, the first was where the storage and jacuzzi were along with the dock for the boat. The second story is where the master bedroom was, this is where grandmda slept, it also included 3 closests, a guest bedroom, and the laundry room. The staircase to the third floor from the second was steep, and creepy. There were photos of my great uncles and grandparents hung up along the wall, their eyes would follow you as you walk up or down. The third floor had the living room, dining room and 2 guest bedrooms along with the garage. The third floor overlooked the lake and had a view of the mountains behind. The fourth floor, I cant say with certainty what was on the fourth floor, but I know i wasnt allowed up there.
Me and my mom would sleep on the 3rd floor in the biggest guest bedroom. This was the night where i decided to never go back. it was 11pm when we decided to sleep, as i walked to the bedroom my mom would stay back and talk to grandma, what i heard still haunts me to this day. "Its coming back" my grandma said to my mom "its worse then i was before" my mom was silent, thats when she suddenly yells "I CAME HERE WITH MY SON AND THIS IS WHAT YOU TELL ME". The conversation ends as my mom walks into the bedroom. She tells me to go to sleep and that we are leaving first thing in the morning. Thats when it started. I was suddenly hit with what felt like a truck but as a headache, my head was throbbing and all i could hear was faint screaming. everything was grainy as i laid on the bed. I could hear my mom snoring loudly next to me. The headache soon stopped but i could still hear muffled screams coming from the 4th floor aswell as the 2nd. I decided to walk out of the room down to the 2nd floor. walking down those stairs I could see it again, the thing was sitting on the foot of grandmas bed. it smiled at me and let its long skinny arm reach out to me. I tried to run back upstairs but i could only walk forward towards it. I looked at my grandma, but what i saw was no longer her. |
It was a starry night in rural Georgia when I decided to embark on a nighttime adventure. The moon was high in the sky and the clock read 2 a.m. when I made my decision. The idea of exploring the abandoned church on the outskirts of town had been appealing to me for a long time. Equipped with my flashlight and a camera, I began my journey.
The wind whispered softly through the trees as I approached the old church. It stood majestically, once a place of prayer and community but now scarred by time and neglect. Most of the windows were broken and the roof had partially collapsed.
I entered the church and was struck by a sudden cold that seemed to eat into my bones. The flashlight cut through the darkness as I moved gingerly through the abandoned building. The clock read 2:30 a.m. as I stood in front of the ornate altar that had once been the centerpiece of the services.
As I pointed the camera at the altar to take a photo, I suddenly heard a quiet but eerie knocking. It came from the direction of the nave. My heart began to beat faster and I decided to investigate the source of the noise.
The footsteps on the old wooden floor echoed through the church as I approached the nave. Suddenly I saw movement at the edge of my vision. The flashlight trembled in my hand as I aimed the beam in that direction. A shadowy figure stood there, half hidden in the darkness.
I froze in fear as the figure slowly approached. An icy shiver ran down my spine when I realized it was a person. The clock now read 3 a.m. when the figure finally stepped into the beam of my flashlight.
It was a man in dirty and tattered clothes. His face was marked by immense sadness. He looked at me with empty eyes and began to speak, quietly and pained. "Help me," he whispered. "I'm trapped here, trapped in the darkness."
I couldn't help but feel repelled by this eerie apparition, but at the same time I was overcome by a mixture of pity and curiosity. "What happened here?" I asked him in a shaky voice.
The man began to tell his story. He was captured in this church many years ago, tortured and tormented by unknown forces. His words echoed through the deserted church and I could feel the chill in the air growing.
The clock now read 3:30 a.m. when I decided to accompany the man and help him. He led me to a hidden cellar beneath the church, a gloomy place that seemed steeped in dark secrets. The air was stuffy and the smell of mold hung heavily in the air.
I discovered a gruesome scene down there. There were signs and symbols carved into the stonework on the walls, and in the center of the room was an ancient altar surrounded by candles. The man explained that dark rituals had been held here to summon the power of darkness.
Suddenly we heard an eerie whisper that seemed to come from everywhere. The candles flickered and the symbols on the walls began to glow. The clock read 4 a.m. when I realized we weren't alone. Something dark and sinister was here, and it had discovered us.
The man and I escaped from the basement and ran up the stairs, but the darkness seemed to follow us. The church shook as if it were being shaken by an invisible force. The clock read 4:30 when we finally reached the threshold of the church.
We stumbled out into the darkness of the night, and the church seemed to collapse behind us. The eerie whispers faded and the darkness retreated. The clock said 5 a.m. when we were safe, but the memory of that scary night will haunt me forever.
I could never fully understand what had happened in that abandoned church. But I knew there was something dark and sinister that lurked in the solitude of the night, ready to devour anyone who ventured into its clutches. |
Some strange things happened in my childhood home. It wasn't a particularly old house, it was built in the mid 80's and as far as I know, no one had died there by the time these things started to happen. Nonetheless, it was in a very old part of town, in a part where very dark things happened in the times when Spain governed over our country. Just one block away from my house, there once was a former lake (that dried and was filled a long time ago) where the colonial authorities threw the bodies of a group of Senegalese slaves that were executed for trying to return to their homes.
I don't know if any of you believe in the spiritual sense of the word "energies", but I certainly do. And I believe this is a good explanation of the things that happened in my house.
Some time before I was born, my parents were having dinner with my brother and older cousins, who at the time were living in our house because they were in a university in our city. All were having a good time making chatter during dinner, when suddenly they all heard the same thing: The strident cry of a baby coming from my brother’s bedroom. My mom recalls that it was loud and short, just one single cry that got everyone out of the loop. And as soon as it appeared, the sound was away. The weird thing is, there was no baby living in our neighborhood at the time. Our neighborhood consisted of twelve semi-detached houses, so it’s not a far shot to theorize that it could have been a baby that stayed the night in one of our neighbor's houses, but the walls were very well insulated. Also everyone remembers that the cry wasn’t muffled, it clearly sounded as if it was inside of our house.
Old TV's tended to turn off by themselves. Also things used to get lost pretty often and then they reappeared in the most obvious of places, usually in the places we had searched previously to the point of exhaustion. My brother blamed the gnomes.
A more shocking experience happened to me when I was about 7 or 9 years old. My brother threw a party in our house with a couple of friends from university. I was on our old family computer, probably playing Runescape, in the same room where the party was going on, and then I heard a woman screaming. It was a friend of my brother's former girlfriend (for anonymity’s sake let’s call her Carla). She stood below the arch that leads to the living room, just in front of the stairs, staring with horror and yelling at an empty space on the wall. She began to cry and Carla tried to calm her down, but it was in vain. She insisted on leaving, whatever she saw had disturbed her deeply.
My brother says that, once she was more calm, she claimed that she saw a man standing on the stairs, staring at her with wrath. It was wearing a long trench coat and a cowboy hat, and everyone seemed to ignore his presence. Everyone but her. The thing that scared the f out of her were his eyes; she claimed that she sensed some kind of ineffable anger in his gaze, and then she was too scared to be in that house. Understandably, she never came back to our house.
But there is one thing, one particular encounter I remember the most, as it is the most unbelievable, unexplainable, illogical and baffling, not just of these stories I have told you, but of my entire life.
One night not so distant from the other story, my mom wasn’t at home for reasons I don’t remember anymore and my brother had just left for a party at Carla's house. I remember him wearing a black trenchcoat and a brown leather hat.
And so, my dad and I were home alone for the night. We were on the couch watching History Channel, as usual, in those years when it was still half about history and half about aliens, antiquities and trying to catch bigfoot only to find nothing at all.
All of a sudden, we heard the front door slam shut. We naturally turned our heads, and there he was… A man in a leather trench coat and leather hat; his clothing seemed anachronistic, out of his time. At the moment I couldn’t get a glance of his eyes as the rim of his cowboy-like hat was tilted down, but I remember he had a 3-day stubble beard and a sharp face complexión. He was dressed almost exactly like my brother and had the exact same beard style. I remember thinking "oh, my brother's home early".
Also thinking he was my brother, my father tried to talk to him. But he went directly upstairs, ignoring us completely. In that moment I could get a glance of his eyes, they felt soulless, inhuman. I could not sense any evilness in his eyes, like Carla’s friend claimed it did. I remember how he stomped on the steps with haste, almost with anger. I also remember thinking that that man wasn’t my brother, his face was not similar at all…
My dad, skeptic and stubborn as he was, still thinking it was my brother said to himself: “This f*cker came back home drunk again” or something along the line.
After pondering on the strangeness of the situation, my dad asked if I remembered hearing the door being opened, but can't recall if I did, and also I’d be lying if I said I remember what I answered. Probably I just shrugged.
My dad then tried to made me go upstairs to check on my brother’s bedroom, but I was scared sh*tless and refused to go there alone. Finally, we both went upstairs and we entered my brother’s bedroom. Behind the threshold there was nothing but darkness. The lights were off, the windows were closed shut, and there was no sign of anybody being there. My dad checked on the closets, checked on the windows and then checked on the other bedrooms. We were all alone, there was no trail of the hat man. He banished in thin air.
We went back downstairs to continue watching our show, trying to forget what just had happened. But it simply wasn’t possible. The absurdity of the situation didn’t make that possible. Shortly after, my brother came back home. My dad questioned him about the whole situation, asking him if he had jumped out of the window or something. My brother denied doing such a thing with an expression of bewilderment on his face. And that was that, we didn’t touch the matter and we moved on with our lives. Some days we would remember while watching a horror movie and say “hey, remember the hat man?”, and time passed and so on and so forth. At a time I even had forgotten the whole situation for years, and then, it simply went back to my head, I remembered the hat man just out of the blue.
According to chilean rural folklore, the hat man is the angel of death, to some others he is the devil, and his presence is nothing but the promise of loss and misfortune. That makes sense, because my dad’s life was cut short by an anaphylactic shock when I was twelve years old. My life hasn’t been the same since his death, both economically and emotionally. After my dad’s passing, we eventually moved away from that house.
To this day I still wonder, will I see the Hat Man again? |
Following the advice of u/BathshebaDarkstone1, I chose not to tell my father what I inferred from his story. But I do have to get to the bottom of this.
So, this morning, I returned to my old ways of badgering Dad.
“You must know more,” I said. “Grandma could still be hurting people.”
My dad scowled. “Cara, please. She’d be a very old woman by now. Even if the police never find her, she’ll be gone from this world eventually. You're safe. I'm safe. Let’s just move on. I thought you’d stop asking questions if I were to finally tell you the whole story.”
*But it’s not the whole story*, I thought.
“You must have read some of the letters she sent? Maybe she left clues,” I said.
“I read all of them. And I took them straight to the police. She hasn’t written to me in about five years, so just drop it,” Dad pleaded.
“I’m sorry, Dad, but… I can’t get it out of my head. I keep thinking of those poor people. How they suffered. And this is coming from me — I didn’t even see the photos. I don’t know what things he— *she* did. It must be far worse for you. You must want to do something?”
“Nice guilt-tripping,” Dad said. “Yes, I do want to do something. That’s exactly why I’ve been helping the police for years. I’m not protecting her. She may be my mother, but what she did to those people… Yeah, you’re right. You have no idea. And I wouldn’t want you to know. No human could do those things.”
“Sorry,” I sighed. “That was a cruel move… I just feel horrible knowing she’s out there. And like you said, I’m an adult. I make my own decisions. So, I want you to know that I’m not going to let this lie. I’m going to look for her.”
I expected Dad to shout at me, but he didn’t. He sat thoughtfully at the kitchen table, twiddling his spoon in his cereal, and I waited patiently for a response. Yet again, he surprised me.
“I’ll tell you something,” He finally said.
I perked up, leaning across the table inquisitively.
“The lead detective would check on us regularly,” Dad continued. “Keep me updated on the investigation. And he told me about the immediate connection he drew after they finally pored through the thousands of photos. 36 victims. Every single one was brunette. Could’ve been a wild coincidence, but the lead detective didn't think so. Serial killers often have a pattern.”
I instantly shuddered. Another horrifying memory emerged from the fractured recesses of my mind. A memory that, yet again, I didn’t have the stomach to share with my father.
Around the age of 8, I distinctly remember waking from a sleepover at my grandparents’ house to find a chunk of my hair — my *brunette* hair — missing. It had been sloppily chopped from the left side of my head during the night. I remember blaming Francesca, as she was the main prankster out of the three of us, but she blamed Sophie. Neither of them owned up to it. I got in big trouble with my parents for that one.
I really hope Dad doesn’t remember that, or he’d probably put two and two together. Fortunately, his memory is abysmal.
Oh, and, of course, my grandad’s insistence that Sophie and Francesca attend sleepovers makes so much more sense now. They were both brunette too. I had a blonde friend called Lucy who would come over to play from time to time, but the sleepover invitation was never extended to her.
It all makes me feel a little bit sick.
“I doubt that helps with your investigation,” Dad said. “But then we’re not police officers, are we, pet? Best to leave it to the professionals.”
“And you’re not going to tell me about anything you read in the letters?” I asked.
“She never gave me any details as to her whereabouts, Cara,” Dad sighed. “She didn’t want to be found.”
“Then what did she write?” I asked.
Dad shrugged. “Nothing that was ever of much use to the police, in all fairness. But I gave them the letters anyway. She endlessly requested forgiveness. And she asked questions about… well, about you, of course. About your mum too. It made me angry when she asked about the two of you.”
“Maybe she was worried about our safety,” I absent-mindedly replied, without thinking about the words that had left my mouth.
Dad raised an eyebrow at me. “Cara… I know she was your grandma and you loved her, but she wasn’t the kind woman you remember. That was a lie. A façade she maintained for decades. It’s taken me many years to come to terms with that, so I understand that it might take time for you too. I just… don’t want you to live in denial.”
I nodded my head, dejected at the prospect of never having any closure. But then my dad, as he always does, dropped the biggest bombshell as an afterthought.
“I suppose… Well, in one letter, she did write something that reminded me of my childhood… ‘Love you, my North Angel. I miss our happy times.’ She used to call me that whenever we visited Gateshead. And I think we all went as a family, didn’t we?” Dad asked.
I nodded. I remembered Grandma calling me the exact same thing.
“Anyway, the detective contacted police in Gateshead, but nothing ever came of that lead,” Dad said, shrugging.
But the line was far more significant to me. Dad was forgetting something, so I excused myself and headed upstairs to the main bathroom.
Sure enough, atop a forgotten shelf, there it still stood. The rather large Angel of the North figurine that Grandma had bought whilst we were in Gateshead.
“A souvenir to remember happy times.”
She said that to all of us. And those words were used again in the letter to Dad.
It seemed a bizarre reference to make. But as I removed the figurine, which had been untouched for more than a decade, I noticed a slip of paper stuck to the bottom of the ornament. It read:
*John, something’s wrong. You should know that by the time you read this. If not, you might have stumbled upon it by accident. I suppose that would be better than it sitting unnoticed for years.*
*Whatever the case, you need to tell the police that we’re in Devon. Remember your dad’s old caravan? That’s where we’ll be. He’s leaving Lancaster soon, and I’ll follow when the time’s right. It’s the only way he’ll spare them. I can’t do anything else to protect you. He's always watching.*
*I don’t have time to write any more. I’ve already spent too long in here.*
Heart racing, I immediately crumpled the piece of paper and shoved it in my pocket. I didn’t want Dad to find out. But this is, perhaps, one of the most perturbing pieces of the puzzle. Grandad forced Grandma to take the blame. He threatened our safety.
Even though the note dated back to 2009, I knew that I had to go to Devon. Grandma might be long gone, as Grandad might, but I wasn’t going to let this horror rest without finding out the truth for myself. And fortunately, I knew exactly where to find the caravan — that was another family holiday Dad’s parents had repeated with me as a child.
My dad was already at work, and I called in sick to my job. I didn’t tell my dad where I was going. I jumped into my car, set the destination, and drove for five long hours from Lancaster to Devon.
When I arrived, it wasn’t quite the picturesque place I remembered. The UK has been bombarded with torrential showers over the past couple of days, and the sky was painted a murky, near-colourless grey. The horizon was an endless expanse of nothingness, footed by rolling green hills. And, in the midst of a mostly-neglected caravan park, there stood a rusty, forlorn static home.
Grandad’s caravan.
Yes, it was still there. And as I clambered out of my car, I was suddenly overcome by all-encompassing terror. The realisation of what I was doing had hit me. I wasn’t telling stories with my dad in the comfort of our home. I wasn’t reminiscing on near-misses from my childhood. This was real.
I was standing before the home of the Bogeyman.
My boots squelched in the sodden, muddy footpath leading up to the caravan’s front door. Rain beat mercilessly down on me, but I was glad of it. The deafening sound of the downpour was drowning out my footsteps. I had the element of surprise on my side. And when I reached the front door, I took several long, measured breaths before finally knocking on it.
To my surprise, it swung open.
I knew I shouldn’t step inside. The lightless lair of the beast terrified me more than any of my childhood sleepovers. I suppose the knowledge of his heinous crimes — crimes of a real-life man — made me fear him more than any imaginary monster.
I bravely moved one foot in front of the other and crossed the threshold. Clearly nobody had stepped foot in that place for a few years, at the very least. There were mould-covered plates in the kitchen sink, and I screamed as a rat scurried from a cupboard, disappearing somewhere into the blackness of the house.
“Grandma?” I called.
I don’t know why I announced myself. I suppose I’d already accepted that nobody could possibly be living there. I should've just called the police like Grandma said, I thought. But if I’d done that, I would've forfeited my one chance of finding any sort of evidence. So, I pressed onwards, flipping any light switch I could find. Nothing. Probably the result of unpaid electricity bills. Another good sign that nobody lived there. Instead, I fumbled in my pocket for my phone, pulled it out, and turned on the flash-light.
I wish I hadn’t.
The open-plan living area, comprising of a kitchen and sofas, was an expansive room for a static home. It probably took up most of the caravan. Thirty by ten feet. Humongous. And every inch of the walls — every single inch — was coated in hair. A hundred-thousand pieces of brunette hair. Most strands had a red tinge to them. And the entire demonic decoration was knotted in a criss-crossed pattern. The interwoven pain of a nightmarish man’s victims.
Terrified and sickened beyond words, I bent over and hurled onto the floor — thankful, at least, to be eyeing something other than the horror which lined the walls. I quickly turned my flash-light to the corridor which led to the back of the static home. I’d seen enough, and the sooner I could say I’d checked every inch of the caravan, the better.
The bathroom was another mouldy, forgotten room — hairless, thankfully. And so, I moved towards the final room of the house. The bedroom. A room emanating a stench so powerful that I feared it more than the horror behind me. I didn’t want to open the door. I really didn't. But I had to do it. And so, door-handle in my sweaty palm, I lightly pushed forwards.
Vomit bubbled to the top of my throat again, as I found myself eyeing another room lined with meticulously-intertwined hair — hair that covered not only the walls, but the floor, and every inch of the bed. Every inch of the room. But that wasn’t what horrified me most. What horrified me was the hairy lump merging with the bedding.
Grandma.
Little more than bones. Well, I can only assume that to be the case because she, too, was coated entirely in hair — I'm only assuming it to be her because there was no way of identifying the body. I didn’t have to get close to know she was dead. And I didn’t want to do so.
She was interlaced with the room’s hair blanket, which had spread like a fungus throughout the interior of the house. I can’t decide whether it would have been better or worse to instead see the corpse beneath.
I turned to run. But on my way out, I noticed the wardrobe door was ever-so-slightly ajar. It beckoned me, though I knew great horrors lay within. But I had to do it. It was why I travelled so far. And so, stepping onto the soft, hair-blanketed floor, I walked towards the wardrobe and pushed the door fully open.
I shrieked.
*The Catalogue*
Those words were printed on a slim slip of paper, which was attached to the inner door of the empty wooden wardrobe. And a new collection of photos could be found glued to the back panel. Photos of me. My first day at uni in Manchester, back in 2017. Photos of me in clubs. Restaurants. Even a photo of me sleeping in my dorm.
He watched me sleep.
I thought I had an empty stomach, but I surprised myself, unleashing another horror-driven stream of bile across the floor. But I collected myself and returned my gaze to the inside of the wardrobe. *At least they’re all photos of me*, I thought. Maybe he hasn’t taken any other victims. But they weren’t all photos of me. On the inside of the other door, there was another collection of candid shots.
Pictures of my mother.
**EDIT:** I called the police. I’ve also taken photos of the wardrobe with my phone’s camera. Maybe something in those pictures could help me find Grandad. I just feel sorry for my dad. There’s no hiding the truth from him now. |
I may not know everything, but I feel like I know a little less every day. It started a few weeks ago. It began with me stumbling over my words occasionally, I’m not the most eloquent person in the world but I rarely ever stuttered or mumbled. At first I just thought that I’d had a little too much coffee, maybe not enough sleep. It got more concerning the more frequent it became. Next I’d start to space out in the middle of talking, as if I’d gotten lost, trailing off awkwardly like something else had drawn my attention, even though nothing else was there to do such a thing.
I couldn’t tell you any particular thing that might’ve brought this up. I’m not overworked, I’m not too stressed, hell I’m even sleeping as well as I can. So what’s happening? Eventually I started asking friends and family, while I received a myriad of answers and solutions, none of it seemed to do anything. “Maybe you’re not eating right, try some vitamins.” “Try cold showers, it helps with inattentiveness.” “Maybe you’re having some spiritual misalignment, try these essential oils.”
I wish I was joking about that last one. As time passed my spacing out got worse, my sentences falling into gibberish happened more often, I seemed to forget everyday knowledge, forget common sense. I felt like a small child first learning how to talk. Even now I can hardly focus on this keyboard. Ikeep looking away at the game I was playing before I started this. I haven’t even left the pause screen in an hour but for some reason it keeps drawing my attention. If I’m not doing that I look away into the dead space and just pick at my lip. I force myself to keep typing this but I can’t focus. It feels like my brain is being drained of everything inside of it.
I can tell that I’m getting more lethargic, it's been days and I still haven’t thought of an actual title for this post, it's starting to creep me out though how often my lapses in attention are becoming, it doesn’t feel natural, it feels like an old rubber band being held stretched. Each time it loses more elasticity. Each time I’m here less and less. How long until I don’t stretch anymore?
Everything has begun to smell strange. I can’t tell if it's the house or just my melting brain misfiring. I don’t understand what’s wrong. I can’t really keep track of how time passes anymore. I blink and hours pass, I stare at this screen for days and only minutes go by. Before you assume early onset dementia. I’m 25 years old. I work in a library. I have a- I have a girlfriend. I think. Maybe a boyfriend. Early onset dementia starts as early as your forties, very rarely your mid thirties. I’ve never heard of it this early. I don’t do drugs. I don’t think I do.
I keep walking away from the computer. I feel uncomfortable, I can’t sit still, I just want to finish this thing and put it up so someone can tell me what’s wrong with me. Why is this happening? Someone has to know. The walls are creaking. I hear things, there’s something inside I know. The moments of clarity are becoming few and far between, I feel so dizzy now. I need to write a note to myself, I can’t forget about this.
My head feels like it’s on fire, looking at the screen hurts my eyes but the note on the table says I need to finish this, how much more do I have to write? Why can’t someone else do this? I could hit the post button now and be done with it but I should probably listen to the note. I can hardly keep my hands on the keyboard. I just want to go home. I am home, it looks so different, what changed?
I don’t remember writing any of this. I can’t even remember the past week very well. I don’t understand what’s happening to me and I’m scared. I can tell this moment of lucidity won’t last but I need to keep writing as long as I can because I need help. For some reason my phone is broken, most of the food is gone, I can’t tell how long I’ve been here but I’m scared to leave because what if I don’t remember how to get back? I can’t just make food come to me. There’s something in the basement. I heard it. I know I might sound insane but something is down there. I can see a green glow through the doorframe, I don’t know what it is but it can’t be good. I’ve been writing this for days, I looked through and it seems like I never stay typing for more than a couple of minutes but what else have I been doing all this time? Should I investigate the basement?
Why is this computer still on? Are you listening to what I’m doing? You can’t see me anymore, I put tape over the webcam. You can’t change things in here now that I know what you’re doing.
I’m alone here, the sun is gone, it hasn't come up in days. The clock lies, it doesn’t tell you how the time really passes. You can’t trust them, they aren’t real. The basement is getting louder. It wants something.
Why am I still here? Why does the room keep changing? My clothes are different but I never took them off. My mind is different but I never took it out. Why do I keep typing this? Who is it for? Is it for me? Who am I?
The words are the only thing that’s left. I just need a little more and I can finish it. The man in the attic keeps stomping, can he hear the music? Is there music?
Can you hear?
What do the words mean? There’s a note next to the computer. It just says “Finish it.” Why should I? I can just keep typing, it makes me feel important. I can’t focus, I need to focus. What’s in the basement? I keep trying to read this but I can’t. It doesn’t make sense. Is something wrong? Nothing is wrong with me. Arthur C. Clarke's third law: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
How does a person remember something they’ve forgotten, apparently you can never really forget anything but I can’t seem to recall why I ‘m sitting at this desk.
There’s blood here.
The door is glowing so brightly.
I’m scared, I can’t think straight.
Please help
It’s coming, I can hear it coming. My mind is gone and it feeds off of me. My memories, my sanity, my sense of self awareness. The less of me there is the stronger it becomes and it wants me to know that, all I have left are my racing thoughts and a prayer that I can pry myself away from this before it's too late but I need to finish this. Why should I put more effort into something that's jsut insanity?
I can’t see my eyes without a mirror or a picture.
Why do we sleep?
He’s almost here.
The soul weighs 21 grams
Is it finished yet?
|
Warning for mentions of child and sexual abuse.
So... I finally talked with my mom after hitting rock bottom.
I had another dream. The woman and I where fighting, I don’t know why. She hit me with the wooden spoon again, but this time she also did something else. She pulled my hair, dragged me to the basement door, opened it, threw me in and closed the door, leaving me in the pitch black room. Alone.
I tried knocking hard and screamed, ordering her to let me out, but, no response would ever come.
I woke up, as you can guess, very distressed, full of bruising I’ve had nearly since the day I moved.
The feeling of loneliness, the feeling of being powerless, trapped, not being able to do anything, is worse that the visions of the lady or anything I’ve ever experienced.
Alone, seeing nothing but dark, only you and your thoughts.
I couldn’t sleep for days after that nightmare. Coffee was the only thing that kept me running. I would soon be hallucinating more and more, but only at the house. I didn’t feel safe in there anymore. I don’t think I ever did.
I was in the train to work, I blinked and woke up several hours later, it was now nighttime and I was very far from home. I called my boss, she was worried I never showed up but understood my situation and gave me some days off to recompose.
I’ve had enough, if the situation escalated and I lost my job, I wouldn’t have a form to sustain anymore and would never be able to forgive myself. They would put me in a mental institution, but I knew I wasn’t crazy. It was all real, it had to be.
The next day, I went to my mother’s house, confessing the visions of the woman I had been having—including the dreams—totally expecting her to say nothing.
She didn’t.
She told me everything.
When I finished my rant, I looked at her and she had more expression in her face than I’ve ever seen, her eyes bolt open. She was crying as she stood up abruptly. My mother came back with a photo in her hand. I took a glance at it, and sure enough, it was the smiling woman but... younger.
My mother said that the lady was my grandma, which I’ve never met because she went missing or something, her name was Grace. She never talked about her. It was a taboo topic I wasn’t allowed to ask about.
She started from the beginning. They used to live in my aunt’s house, my grandpa died when they were 10 and 8, that’s when my grandma became very abusive, she seemed to enjoy beating them up, and there was no one anymore who could stop her.
Grace would grab a wooden spoon—the same one I saw in my dream—and hit them all over their bodies. She was also strangely protective, they weren’t allowed to get out of the house or hang out with friends, but they would often sneak out, anyways. If my grandma found out, she would lock them up in the basement—the one I saw, too—in complete darkness. Just like I had seen.
One day she sneaked of to a party. My mother stopped talking at this point, seeming very conflicted to keep telling me what happened.
She finally told me she was taken advantage off by an older guy. She was only 16 years old.
My mother turned out to be pregnant—I knew she had me very young but she had never told me this. She had to tell my grandma. Grace didn’t take it well, calling her names I don’t even want to write, but you can assume what she said. She kept her in the basement for a week, only opening the door to give her food.
I was born, my mother was very honest and said she hated me, since I was the child of her rapist and the cause of more abuse from her mother. Still, she didn’t want me near my grandma.
Soon after I first birthday, my mom would meet my dad, he was 18 but he already had a job and could get my mom out of the house. She scaped and moved far away. But she left my aunt with her bully, her own mother.
She said she regretted it, she should’ve taken her, but they couldn’t afford another mouth to feed.
After 10 years my mother found my aunt on social media and contacted her. They reunited. My aunt hadn’t held a grudge on her, saying she understood why she left. She used to be like that, really altruistic and generous.
My aunt told her my grandma left one day and never came back, she reported her missing to the police. My mother thought it was weird that she would leave like that, but didn’t want to push it further.
We moved closer to my auntie not long after. My mom wanted to be closer to her sister like they once were. I was 11 when I met her and I’ll always love her since.
But, something doesn’t add up, I told her, the basement, there’s no door anywhere.
She told me there was one—right beside the kitchen like saw—but that my aunt had covered it up and wouldn’t talk about it. Probably trauma, my mom said.
The first couple of years, there was a weird smell coming from it, but my aunt would always be baking something—she was a really good baker—and it disguised it, so no one complained.
After that, my mother apologized to me for all she had done to me, saying she never intended to be like her mother, cold and unapologetic, but that she couldn’t hold the pain inside anymore.
We hugged, and I forgave her. I quickly said goodbye to my mom, thanking her for telling me the truth, but I was sure there was more to the story that my mom didn’t know.
I had to look into that basement.
I arrived home. Grabbed a hammer and began striking at the place I had seen the door. Sure enough, it was solid, but it seemed like they were old bricks, so they rapidly fell apart. I energetically hit them, more than once repeatedly. A hole was starting to form as I could hear the bricks falling through the stairs. So there was a basement after all! I lash out once again, the construction crumbled completely, taking me with it. I rolled through the stairs and hit my head on the floor, passing out.
I woke up in the dark minutes later, probably with a concussion, but I didn’t care. With the help of the little light that came through the door, I found the switch, and soon I could take a look at my surroundings.
Right beside were I fell, there were bones, bones that belonged unmistakably to a human! The skull, still had hair around it, but the femur, I realized, was broken in half.
In that moment, I was sure of it. That was surely my missing grandma, the one my mother and aunt never spoke about.
She was dead, and her remains were below me all this time.
I can only imagine what might have happened, since both of the witnesses are dead, I have no one to confirm my theories. But with my knowledge I can tell you what I think happened.
My grandma, Grace, must have fallen through the stairs like I did, but she probably didn’t have the same luck as I did. Hse had fractured her leg, unable to get up or walk.
My aunt, seeing her there, helpless, would take revenge upon her, doing the same thing she once did to her daughters. She locked her there.
Complete darkness, a broken leg, no food. My grandma died not long after.
It was obvious that the police would arrest her if they found out she had done nothing to change her mother’s destiny, so she covered the basement up and filed her as missing.
Basing it sorely on my visions, this happened not long before my mom contacted her, hence the smells. My grandma would’ve been around 48 at the time.
At the moment, I was still processing everything. But I knew exactly what I had to do.
Go to the authorities? No.
I had to get rid of her bones or she would never leave me alone.
The work is now done and I’m on my way to buy bricks and cement. For the first time, I feel safe in my own house.
I wish I could talk to my auntie one last time and tell her that I still love her, and that I understand her decision. That woman was the devil, and she deserved what she got.
Now her secret dies with me, and with you.
Thanks to everyone who commented trying to help, I appreciate it. |
I stood in the frozen food isle looking to the front of the store. My jaw hanging open like I was some kind of zombie. I never meant to be a creep... it's just the new girl Cindy, well she was the prettiest girl I had ever seen.
"Uhh..." I heard my managers voice from behind me. The rack of salad dressing seasoning I was leaning on mindlessly, toppled to the ground as I sprung out my trance at the sound of my name.
"Dennis!" I said ears flushing red with embarrassment as I bent over to clean up the mess I had just made. The clamor of the fall causing everyone around to look our way.
"Are you alright? You were staring out into space" Dennis said raising an eyebrow.
"Oh... oh.. yeah I was looking, I was uh... looking up front, because I thought someone was stealing" I said bumbling.
"Who? The guy in the red!?" Dennis said now scanning the front of the store.
"Oh no! Not him. I think... I think it was a false alarm" I mustered out.
"Alright then... listen, I need you to go cover cash. Susanne has to leave and the new girl has to have someone there who can help her."
"Absolutely!" I said probably sounding too excited. I had to make a good first impression...
I walked over trying to play it cool, doing my best cavalier nod in her direction.
"Sup." I said trying to imitate all the guys I had seen in every movie and show.
"Hi!" she said with a big bright smile.
Instantly my cool act crumbled. She was gorgeous. She looked almost *too* perfect...
For the rest of the night I tried not to seem like an idiot. A few times I had to help her ring some things through and I think she was kind of surprised by my knowledge (in a good way). I was getting more confident as the night went on.
"So anyways, I've been here a while, I basically know all the shelves by now."
"Wow" she said seemingly impressed.
"Yeah... you know I'm not gonna be here too much longer" I said smugly.
"Probably gonna get a job in the city soon, big money. Get out of this dump. "
"That's like totally cool." she said twirling her hair.
Maybe it was in my head but she really seemed interested in everything I told her. I mean she wasn't sharing too much but anytime I told her about myself she would listen intently, every once in a while interjecting with a 'wow' or a 'cool' and a smile.
She was way out of my league but I was going to shoot my shot. After work that night as we were all leaving I pulled up beside her.
"Cindy... I was uh, wondering, would you like to go out sometime" I was so nervous.
I'm not sure if I caught her by surprise or something but at first she stared down at the ground in front of her into nothing. It felt like it lasted an entire minute. Finally she looked up at me as if she had registered what I had said, her face switching to that happy bright smile I had seen earlier.
"Yeah... that would be like... totally cool" her voice with the tell tale valley girl accent that made every sentence sound like a question.
"G-g-great. I'll see you tomorrow then!" I said nearly giddy.
***
The next few months flew past. Cindy was amazing and I loved every second I spent with her. I took her to every hot spot in town I knew about. I kept telling her how I was finally gonna land that job one day so I could take her anywhere in the world she wanted.
At first I didn't notice, I mean I was just so happy to be with her. I really couldn't believe she was dating a guy like me and not flying around doing modelling gigs or something. I tend to talk a lot so I guess it was nice to have a listening ear; she always seemed interested.
After a few months I realized, Cindy didn't say much... much of anything really.
To be honest and I know it's shallow, but I think I was still so stunned by her looks I hadn't noticed. She didn't have a blemish. It was like she had filters on... in real life. One day I tried to get her to open up.
"Hey Cindy..." I said bashfully.
"We've been going for a while now and I think that I talk too much about myself maybe... I mean, you don't really ever say anything... like anything at all." I realized how weird it was that we had been seeing each-other for months and she had hardly talked.
"Oh.." she said sounding surprised. "Yeah... yeah I guess so!" at first spacey but then it was like she snapped out of it and was excited about it for some reason.
"Well... I mean why don't you tell me... I don't know, like what are you into?" I said feeling kind of foolish. I really didn't know anything about her.
Of course I knew some things about her...
I had met her family and been to her house, they all seemed friendly enough. I had been in her room briefly but only once or twice. She had some posters and books but not much else. A few porcelain dolls she called her 'friends' (*which I admit is kind of funny now*) and a vanity table where she would do her make up.
There was a TV show she liked that we watched together once, I didn't really follow the plot. I was too distracted by her. I kept glancing over and it seemed like she was enjoying it but her expression was kind of... idk, like monotone or something.
She just kept smiling at the screen with glassy eyes.
Afterwards I asked her what she liked about the show and all she said was...
"I don't know, they're... they're all so nice. I just like it." her voice trailed off.
We went roller skating a few times. We didn't talk much then either. I was infatuated with her though. Did I mention she was beautiful? She was like really really pretty.
I think she had fun. I remember looking at her when we were out and she sort of had this vacant expression; at that time I figured she was focused on not falling.
I snapped out of my recollection as she started to answer my question.
"Well..." her tone raising as if her brain was compiling data for some gargantuan task elongating the syllables. Her eyes blinking as she stared out into space.
"Well..." I said encouraging her as time dragged on.
"Like.. when I get this job. Where do you want to go? I said I would take you anywhere. Japan? Mexico? Australia?"
"Yeah!" she said with a bubbly laugh and smile.
"Yeah... but where do YOU want to go" I said trying to help her find the answer as she sat there contemplating like she was computing the final sequence of digits in pi.
Her brow furrowed slightly and her mouth opened, almost reminding me of that meme of the surprised Pikachu. What was so difficult about a simple question?
"You know what" I said interjecting. "It's cool, it's totally cool. We can go to all of them." I said trying to make light of the awkwardness of her apparent mental meltdown.
To be honest I was fine if the girl I was dating didn't have much in the 'brains' department, she had a good heart I thought. Plus, she was so so unbelievably pretty.
***
Friday evening rolled around and I had decided I was going to surprise Cindy. I had at least found out in the time we had been dating what some of her favourite snacks were. I stopped at the store and picked them up and a special edition magazine about that show she liked.
I had mentioned my plan to her parents. They told me they would be out, but just to walk in; they were positive she would love it.
I pulled up to the house as silently as I could. I would be sure not to scare her but didn't want her to know I was there. I texted her before I left and she said all she had planned tonight was relaxing and watching her show with her 'friends'.
I noticed it was really quiet. It didn't look like any of the lights were on. I sent her another text, but she didn't respond. I walked up the porch with the surprise snacks and magazine in hand, carefully opening the door as I walked inside.
I had expected to hear the TV or the radio going, maybe Cindy in the kitchen cooking, or the shower running. Instead it was dead silent. Was she even home? Maybe this was a dumb idea I thought. The house was uncomfortably dim and looked almost foreign in the dark.
"Cin-dy" I said in a melodic whisper as I crept through the house.
I looked up the stairwell and saw a sliver of light. I realized she must be in her room so I started my way up the stairs. While tiptoeing, I noticed something in the photos on the wall of the stairwell. Cindy was hardly in any of them... and the ones she was in? Her expression... her expression, or more aptly lack of one, was completely flat.
"What..." I said taken aback.
The Cindy I knew was always smiling... how strange I thought, as I continued up the stairs.
I could hear her now. She was in her room. She was humming quietly to herself. A thin ray of dim light emanated from the crack in the door. The wood floors creaking nearly imperceptibly as I made my way to the room. I rested my hand on the handle for a moment and slowly pushed it open.
There she was, gorgeous as ever brushing her hair. The strands like silk and ivory waves as they fell gracefully through the comb. She still hadn't noticed.
She was seated at her vanity, her back to me.
It was too dark for the mirror to show a proper reflection. I wanted to speak but I was almost enchanted. She reached into a drawer in the desk and pulled out what looked like a key. I watched mesmerized.
Then my heart stopped.
Cindy's movements were extremely rigid, her arm contorted behind her almost inhumanly as I watched her part her hair and unzip the upper part of her dress. Her hand pressed into her back and I heard a click and a pop, a panel springing open.
I watched in absolute shock as she inserted the key into her back and began turning, her movements becoming more fluid with each turn.
I gasped audibly.
She stopped.
Her head slowly rotated in my direction 180 degrees. There was no smile now, her eyes cold and sharp piercing through me.
"Cindy..." I said astonished.
Like a switch I could see her start to try and form a smile, but something was wrong. I had interrupted her process... Her arm fell limp like a puppet. Her expression became emotionless again, her right arm struggling to reach behind, finally turning the key.
She stood from her chair and walked slowly towards me. "You... were NOT supposed to see ME like this!" her voice hard and harsh.
I was too stunned to move.
Then, she placed both her hands on her face behind her jaw. I heard the same click and pop as before and watched aghast, unable to move as she pulled the visage of her face from the frame. Like a wooden mask, a facade...
I felt a strange sensation in my legs. I looked down at my feet and watched in amazement as they slowly became hard like stone. I looked back up to Cindy in unbelieving horror. Her perfect doll-like complexion gone... her features the same but her skin ghastly pale and eyes black with hate.
I was being petrified.
The last thing I can recall thinking as the solidification overtook my body was... in spite of the horror of the situation and the fact that I would soon be stone...
*Still.. so... pretty...*
I woke a few days later in the hospital. They told me they had found me standing completely motionless in a local park. The doctors diagnosed it as some undocumented type of stasis. Fortunately I did wake up and my body has returned to normal for the most part.
I drove to Cindy's house as soon as I was released. I don't know what I expected. It couldn't have been Cindy that did this to me... that was all some sort of bizarre dream.
I checked my bank statement, it showed that I had been to the grocer that evening when I picked up the magazine. It was real.
When I got to the house I saw it right away. The 'For Sale' sign; the house already sold. I knocked on the door regardless. There was no one... I looked inside the house. All the furniture was gone. All of the items... gone.
Cindy... was gone.
***
I've tried dating a few times since all of this happened. For some reason it just isn't the same.
I guess I'm not used to dating girls who talk so much, and even though some of them are very beautiful they don't compare to Cindy...
I still have a photo of when we were together. I found a number for a local porcelain doll maker. I think I'm going to get him to go through with it... He said it was strange but he should be capable.
It will never replace her... the life sized doll of Cindy... but I think we will get along fine...
*I do most of the talking anyways.* |
I noticed a homeless man with a shopping cart filled with tons of dusty VCR tapes approaching me while I was on my trip to the nearby grocery store.
I tried ignoring him, but he looked me straight in the eyes and said "Hey, buy a tape, I promise they're worth it!".
I just ignored him and sped up to enter the store as soon as possible, he wasn't disappointed at all and calmly said "Don't worry, first batch of tapes is free, I'll even deliver them to you!'.
I quickly understood the creepy tape seller was a man of his word, not even 20 minutes passed after I returned home and I had a box of VCR tapes waiting for me at my doorstep, only it wasn't really your normal delivery.
It was more of like when a kid tries to prank you by ringing your doorbell and then running away, so you're greeted with nothing after you open the door, except instead of nothing, I was greeted with a box filled with 10 VCR tapes.
Curiosity got the better of me, so after a bit of searching, I ordered a VCR player from eBay.
It arrived fairly quickly, luckily I already had a compatible old TV stashed up in my garage.
My viewing experience began after I excitedly hooked up the VCR to the dusty TV that looked more like a mini fridge than a TV.
To better keep track of what I've watched, I'll transcribe these videos, one by one.
TAPE 1: POSTMAN
Ring
Robert (Opens his eyes): What the hell?
Ring
Robert (angrily whispers to self): I'm too damn hungover for this...
Robert groggily walks to the door while the ringing continues, he looks at the peephole, strangely it seems to be either covered with something or blurred by some kind of liquid.
Robert: Umm, hello?
Person at the other side of the door: Hello, Mister Robert! Got a package here for you!
Robert (scratching his head): Package, what package?
Person at the other side of door: Oh yes, your name and address is written on it, says here you don't even have to pay for it.
Robert: Well, I didn't order anything recently, must be some kind of mistake.
Person at the other side of door: I don't think it's a mistake, sir!
Robert: Yeah, how so?
Person at the other side of the door: Well, I looked at the info written on the package itself, looks like you won some kind of prize from the Coca Cola company.
Robert: No way!
Person at the other side of the door: I heard there's a random prize giveaway organized by the Coca Cola company going on recently, seems like they picked you as the winner, it's your lucky day, sir!
Robert (whispers to self): Was about time Coke rewarded me for drinking their bottled cancer for ages!
Robert: You sure I don't even have to pay for the delivery fees?
Person at the other side of door: Everything is paid for already, the only thing I need is your signature.
Robert: You really made my day, man! Been a while since I won anything! Let me just find my wallet and I'll give you a tip for your trouble.
Postman: That won't be necessary. Not trying to be rude, sir, but we postmen are busy people, we can't afford to lose too much time, so If you could kindly just open the door and take the package, I would be very grateful, As I already said, I'll just need your signature as proof that you received the package!
Robert: Sure thing, man! Let me just grab a pen so I can sign it!
Robert scrambles to the living room, he tries to find a pen in his messy room, but he notices something that makes him freeze in place.
Robert (YELLING) I'M CALLING THE POLICE!
A blood chilling, almost animalistic screech followed by heavy, yet fast footsteps emerges from the other side of the door as soon as Robert finishes his sentence. In no more than 30 seconds, the sound of the main building door slamming shut is heard.
Robert quickly takes a peek at the window trying to see who or what exited the building, he momentarily sees an extremely tall figure that would put even the tallest of basketball players to shame disappearing in the darkness.
Robert slowly approaches the clock in his living room.
Robert (while looking at the clock): Thanks buddy, I owe you one!
TIME ON THE CLOCK: 2:53 AM
*The Screen flashes as an eerie warning appears*
*WARNING: START WATCHING THE SECOND TAPE NOW OR SUFFER!*
TAPE ENDS
*I stare in confusion at the tv, wondering what the hell I just witnessed.*
*I pour myself a glass of water and take a sip, a sharp pain hits me as soon as I do. I spit out the water and with it a bloody tooth. I try picking up the tooth to try an examine it, but before I can even take a better look, another wave of extreme pain hits me, but this time I feel it coming from my fingers, more specifically the index finger of my right hand, as I take a look at my index finger, I see the nail is completely missing, the only thing left is bloody flesh.*
*While processing the disturbing mix of pain and fear, I remember the warning at the end of the tape, "No way!" I whisper to myself as I begin to realize the warning might be serious. In an act of desperation, I put the second tape in the VCR player.*
*The tape starts, immediately my tv screen flashes brighter than ever before, it was so bright that I had to close my eyes for a couple of seconds. Miraculously, as soon as I opened my eyes, my wounds were gone, not only did the pain and bleeding stop, but I looked like nothing even happened to me, my nail was back on my finger, I poked my teeth with my tongue and confirmed the bloody tooth that was on my table just moments ago, was now in my mouth and in perfect condition.*
*The realization hits me, looks like I'm not leaving until I watch all 10 tapes, even a short bathroom break could be my doom.*
*I prepare myself as my eyes stick to the tv like super glue.*
*Tape 2: Chickens, Begins.* |
So I recently moved into a new house in a pretty nice cul-de-sac. It’s surrounded by carbon copy houses and this one was in the same price range as the others; so I didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary. It’s only a two bedroom place with a full bathroom, a one car garage and a spacious living room. I live alone so I’ve turned one of the bedrooms into an office space so that I can work from home.
Now I’ve gotten moved in, my bedroom looks nice and I’ve even had friends over. So when the haunting started I had already gotten comfortable with the space. At first it was small things: maybe the tv would already be on when I got up to make breakfast, or one of my dining room chairs was pulled back away from the table. One morning I even came out to see that my shelf of figurines were all turned so that they faced my bedroom door; but soon enough it got worse.
Whatever was messing with me began to do so in my waking hours. I’d turn away from the bathroom only for the door to close and the light to come on, or I’d be watching tv and my fridge would swing open whenever my eyes weren’t on it. These always happened whenever I wasn’t looking.
Reviewing the footage, it was like this black figure created some sort of void and stepped out. It’d do mundane things like sit on my couch and watch tv, or admire my trinkets that I have on my shelf. Sometimes it’d go off from where I could see it and it’d come back with a plate full of food. At one point I noticed it headed in the direction of my bedroom. I hadn’t noticed anything weird when I slept that night so I decided to hatch a plan.
I decided that I’d take something to keep me up, pretend to sleep, then catch the entity in the act to see whatever he was doing. I put my plan into action the next day and laid comfortably in my bed, eyes closed and waited. Soon enough I heard noises coming from the rest of the house, it must have started its nightly ritual. I waited an hour, then another, and another until finally my bedroom door creaked open. I didn’t dare open my eyes as I heard its footsteps approaching until they stopped right next to my bed. It sniffed, and it sounded like a dog's sniff but garbled. SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF. It then put its icy damp hand on my forehead. “Please sleep… I want dessert.” It said, but not physically. It was as if it was speaking through my thoughts.
At that point I freaked out and opened my eyes, all I could see was the glow of its piercing white eyes and I noticed that it had no mouth, or at least I think it didn’t. As soon as I caught a small glimpse of it it ran out of my room, its long arms flapping back and forth low to the ground like how an ape would run if it was only using its hind legs. But this wasn’t an ape, it was a long slender man made of shadows.
I’ve been monitoring my situation the past few days after the incident, and the entity seemed more scared of me than I was scared of him. I decided to leave him a note asking that he put things back the way it was before it messed with them and for the most part it seems like it’s been working. The camera is still catching it in the act but it seems to have listened to my note. |
I think my friend from high school is possessed by something evil.
Let me fill you in with some back story and you can let me know what you think because I’m afraid whatever has taken over her is coming after me next.
16 years agoWhen I was seventeen (which is getting to be quite a few years back now) I had an older male friend, let’s call him Jason for privacy. Now, when I say older I only mean he was 20 to my 17. Anyways, his age plays into the story which is why I mention it in case you were wondering. We lived in an incredibly small town, one where everyone knows everyone, so your reliability can be determined by who your parents are. This is why at the ripe age of 20 he was given the responsibility of making sure a small, church run, private school was locked up each night.
The school was on the same property as the church that ran it, but was in an older building that was several yards away. To be honest, it always creeped me out, but back then I couldn’t even stand to be in a room without a small light, so of course a dark, unoccupied building would give me the heeby jeebys. How I got roped into going with him sometimes is simple: I had a HUGE crush on this man. Since he had already graduated I didn’t see him at school, so this was one of the ways I could hang out with him.
During this time there was also a girl I went to high school with and during our junior year we became really good friends, we’ll call her Susan. She also happened to work with the guy I had a crush on at the local grocery store, so sometimes all three of us would hang out. That also meant that she would also tag along with us when he went to lock up the school.
I’ll admit, there was a bit of jealousy over their friendship, but that has no bearing on this story.Anyways, close to the end of my senior year I had a death in the family. To make me feel better a group of friends, both Jason and Susan included, took me out to eat at a local food spot. It was fun and made me feel much better, especially since I had only been around family, who were also in mourning, for almost a week. Dinner wrapped up and we all went, as a group, to help Jason lock up the school.
I guess now would be a time to mention that while I had nothing to do with the occult, a few others were fascinated with it, especially Susan. She always wanted to see ghosts when out late at night and would tell me how she’d love to be able to talk to one. She knew I didn’t like talking about that stuff, so she didn’t mention it often.
Anyways, looking back, I should have seen what happened next coming.
Once we got to the school we made our way around the parameter, laughing and cutting up. It felt so good to laugh. Once we made sure all the doors were locked we made our way inside to make sure everything was turned off. Honestly, I think we used the fact that Jason had a key to keep the night going.
We all piled into the dining hall, when of course, the conversation turned to if we think the building was haunted. I’ll be honest, back then I didn’t believe in any of this stuff. I got creeped out, sure, but that had more to do with an empty building at night and the possibility of other people breaking in than it did with a fear of seeing a ghost.
During our conversation Susan decided to lay her head down and close her eyes for a bit. She’d snuck some vodka into her coke at the restaurant and it had finally hit her. Look, I know that sounds crazy, but this was the early 2000’s and a small restaurant in a small town. Crazier things had happened. I was a little worried about her, but it wasn’t the first time alcohol had hit her hard. Looking back, I should have offered to just take her home. The “what ifs” haunt me to this day.
Ha, haunt. What a choice of words.
The others decided they wanted to try and see if they could get a ghost to talk to them. I can still feel the clinch of my gut when they began, even though at the time I wasn’t see why. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done this many times before.Jason started to speak out loud, asking whatever he hoped was in the room with us to show itself. They had their digital cameras out to take pictures in hopes of seeing something when they looked back. I didn’t like the idea, something deep in my brain telling me that while I TOLD myself I didn’t believe in ghosts, I didn’t want to test that theory. However, because I didn’t want to be the wet blanket, I took out my camera as well.
We began to take pictures of different areas of the room, with flash and without. Susan stayed asleep through the whole thing, so I decided to snap a picture of her to hold as a friendly sort of blackmail when I’d returned to the table. As soon as I did the flash must have startled her because she blinked and gave an odd sort of groan.I glanced at my camera screen and went to the photos I’d taken.
”Amy?” I looked over at Susan to see she was awake.
(Amy isn’t my real name, but you know the drill)I went over and sat next to her. I told her Jason was up to his usual ghost hunting and that she could go back to sleep and I’d wake her when everyone was done. She didn’t answer, so I assumed she’d done as I said and went back to sleep. I should have looked at her, damnit I should have, but I kept looking at my stupid camera. Nothing stood out, but that was normal. Like I said, I didn’t believe in ghosts or anything like it and had never once captured anything odd.
The rest of the group finally came back and sat around me and Susan. I asked them if they got anything good, but they all said no.
“I guess we should just get out of here. It’s getting late.” Jason said.
I nodded my head and went to shake Susan awake, but when I looked over at her she was gone.
“What the hell?” I murmured to myself.
Jason looked over at me and made a face. “Where’s Susan?”
“I don’t know. She was just here.” I said back as I got up.
Just then we all heard a loud crash.“Shit.” One of the other guys said as we all turned to see Susan stumbling out of the kitchen area.
“Damnit Susan! You’re going to get me fired if you mess anything up!” Jason said as he made his way over to her.
Well, he started to, but then he noticed that she had a knife in her hand.
I hadn’t seen it yet, so when Jason came over to stand in front of me I frowned.
“Susan, why do you have a knife?” Craig, one of the other guys, asked.
Knife? Why the hell would she have a knife?
“This isn’t funny Susan, put that away and clean up your mess so we can get out of here.” Jason said, though he didn’t move.
I glanced around him and saw Susan standing a few feet away. She had a weird, glazed look to her eyes. She’d never acted like this before and my stupid brain immediately went to the plot of the last horror movie I’d watched. The main character ended up possessed by a demon and murdered her whole family.
Suddenly she began to run towards us, knife raised.
“Shit!” Jason said as he pulled me out of reach. The others said similar things and moved away.
“Susan! Stop this now! It isn’t funny!” Kayla said, the only other girl in our group.
Susan tilted her head to look over at Kayla and gave her the most sinister smile I’d ever seen. She then began to laugh, her whole body shaking. I though she would drop the act then but she simply stood there laughing.
Kayla, partly brave and mostly stupid, huffed and went over to where Susan stood. She went to grab the knife but Susan stopped laughing and slammed the knife into Kayla’s neck.
My eyes bulged and I would have screamed if I could have made a sound. Susan pulled the knife out of Kayla’s neck and began to stab her repeatedly. Jason, thankfully not frozen, grabbed my hand and pulled me with him out of the doors that lead to the outside.
I don’t remember much about what happened next, but apparently Jason loaded me into his truck and took off. Craig and the rest of the guys also booked it out of there after seeing all the stabs Kayla had to her neck and chest and one of them called 911. When the cops and paramedics arrived they found Susan sitting in a pool of blood with Kayla’s body, knife sticking out of her chest, next to her.
Susan surrendered without putting up a fight. All she did was mumble about a “him”.
We all had to give statements about what happened. I told them she’d had a small amount of vodka to drink, but she had never gotten violent before. I told them that one minute she’d been asleep and the next she attacked Kayla.
The funny thing is, no news reports ever really came out about it. Our local paper ran a story about it, but where Susan was underage they never actually named her. She’d skipped a grade in elementary school, so she was only 16 at the time.
I ended up finishing school early and moved away from that town as soon as I could. I couldn’t take the stares and eyes filled with pity. Jason, in a twist of fate, came with me. He transferred to UCLA and I enrolled with him. It’s funny because I honestly don’t remember applying there, but when I was trying to figure out what school would take me the farthest away that acceptance letter was in top of my pile.
Jason had applied after I made my decision and because he had a GPA of 3.9 at the University of Tennessee he was able to transfer in.Later that year my mom sent me an email with the verdict of Susan’s trial - Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity. The psychiatrists that evaluated her ended up diagnosing her with schizophrenia, though to this day that always felt off to me. She’d never displayed any signs of the illness before that night and ever since then she’s become mute. She never said why she did it, only that the man told her too.
Honestly, I think her grandparents made everything go away. While her parents weren’t well-to-do, her grandfather was in business with the father of one of the state’s senators.
I visited her once before I left, hoping to get closure. She’d been my best friend and then in the blink of an eye she became someone else entirely, but the she just stared blankly at me the entire time. The only other time I saw her was when I had to come back to testify at her trial. I didn’t follow it after that because I wanted to leave it all behind.I went back to California and finished school, graduating with a degree in mechanical engineering. Jason also graduated the year after we moved and went on to attend medical school.
We got married during his first year of residency and settled into life in North Carolina for the duration. We liked it so much that we ended up staying when he was offered an attending position at the same hospital he did his residency at. It was still far enough away from our hometown, but it was close enough that our family could come visit.
They understood why we didn’t want to come back home.
I’d almost moved on from the ordeal now that sixteen years had passed. Don’t get me wrong, I still have trust issues and never got close to anyone again. Jason was the kind of the same, though he did make friends with some of the guys he went to medical school with.
My therapist says I’m as close to being healed from the event as I could be.That was, until a few days ago.
I received a letter with no return address, which I felt was odd, but I opened it any way. My hands shook as I realized it was from Susan.
“Why now” was all I could think as I began to read what she’d written.
Amy,
I’m writing you this because someone needs to know the truth and I don’t know how much longer he will let me keep control.
There’s something wrong with me Amy. That night, before everything happened, something took over me.
There was a big blotch of ink and it looked like the pen even ripped the paper. I blinked a few times but kept reading.
You should have checked your camera.
That was it. The letter ended and I let it slip out of my hands. I should have checked my camera?
My eye widened and my heart dropped.I grabbed the paper again and noticed that the handwriting at the end of the letter didn’t match the beginning. I felt a chill go down my spine.
Jason found me in the attic later that night when he finished up at the hospital. In my hands was my old digital camera and the letter lay beside me. I kept staring at the image in the screen even when he sat next to me and picked up the letter. He crumpled it up and took the camera out of my hands, looked at the screen, and then turned it off and took the batteries out.
“Forget about it Amy.” He told me as he wrapped an arm around me.
It’s been three days but I can’t get that image of Susan sitting at that table with her head down while a dark, masculine figure hovered next to her. It was the he she referred to in the trial and letter. I’d had the truth about what happened packed away in a box for almost two decades.
Jason burned the letter, but simply put the camera away. He tries to act tough, but I can tell it’s scared him. Late last night I could hear him mutter about how she could have gotten our address. He thought I was asleep, but I cracked an eye open and saw that he was staring at an image on my old camera.
I didn’t tell him that I know how she got the letter got to us though, because I know that SHE didn’t. That thing did.And now I’m afraid it’s coming after us next. It knows we know. After all, Susan didn’t send us the letter.
He did. |
The sun had just risen, and my parents were about to unlock the door to my bedroom, after the fiasco last week, my parents wanted to make sure I didn’t get out at night. I walked toward a shelf to grab a toy and tripped on a block I’d left on the floor, ran forward, and banged my head on the wall. It made a little dent, and I could hear an echo, the wall was hollow. I got up and knocked on the wall a few more times, and each time I could hear the knock reverberate behind the wall.
Then I could hear the door unlocking, and I shifted away from the wall, I didn’t want anyone to know what I was doing, I don’t know why, it felt like another thing that I should keep secret. Maybe if there was something to be afraid of in the hollow then talking about it would make it more real. My mother stood at the door and informed me that breakfast was ready, I put on a pair of shorts and a shirt and walked to the table. The sun beamed through the window, brightening the table, highlighting the specks of dust that floated through the air. There was a bowl of cereal, and a banana waiting for me.
My mom sat on the other side of the table with a cup of coffee, my father, according to my mom, had gone out for the day. She walked to the kitchen and slammed her hands on the table “who’s ready for school today!” she shouted. I jumped in my seat a bit, milk from my cereal bowl spilled onto the tablecloth. I didn’t have any time to react. “I said – who’s ready for school today!” she shouted.
“I am” I said, my heart wasn’t in it, but I knew I didn’t really have an option. I really was a very well-behaved kid, thinking back on it, it’s a real wonder that I disobeyed my parents at all, but that glowing light – I wouldn’t feel a pull like that until much older, and sadder times. I finished my cereal, and my mom sucked down, I want to say her third, cup of coffee. She was shaking, ready to teach. “Eat your banana, you need nutrients!” she was now pacing back and forth, her eyes were wide, and she was clenching her teeth.
As soon as I finished my banana, my mom ran to the cupboard where she kept my school supplies, pulled them out, and dropped them in a heap onto the table. Notebooks, pencils, stray pieces of paper, activities, a couple of those children’s books with the cardboard pages. She picked up a book I hadn’t seen before, well it wasn’t a book, it was a college rule notebook that she’d taped a piece of paper to. On the paper was a little stick figure, with a big “X” over it, and in bold red letters, same color as the “X”, it read “Things Jeremy shouldn’t do”, if you haven’t made the leap, my name is Jeremy. She pulled up a seat so that it was touching mine and opened to the first page of her “book”. “Do not go outside after dark!” in big bold letters, this was very important. There was the same stick figure, standing on a little beach, big tentacles were coming out of the water, in the middle of gesticulating wildly, as if to say “If you come on here, I am going to fuck your shit up, so bad” – message received.
“Can you read this for me, Jeremy?” My mom asked.
“Do not go outside after dark,” I said.
“Okay, and why is that?” My mom asked.
“Because if I do the sea-witch will get me.”
“Correct, Jeremy, and if the sea-witch gets you she will carve up your skin with her talons, and she will chew on your bones. Nobody will ever find your body, and nobody will remember you were even born”
“Won’t you and dad remember me?”
“No, that’s part of it, when the sea-witch gets someone, everyone he knew gets their memory erased. It’s like that episode of the twilight zone…”
"The What?”
“Never mind, and don’t ask me about that again. Where was I?”
“You’ll get your memory erased?”
“Right, right. Everyone who ever knew you will forget that you existed, it’ll be like you were never here at all. Daddy will scratch his head and wonder why there are toys in the house, he’ll think ‘oh, there must be some reason we have children’s toys, but it’ll never come to him. And there you’ll be sitting in the stomach of a sea-witch, burning up in her stomach acid. And also, and this is important, that will never end. You will never know the sweet release of death.”
“I don’t want to die!” I started to tear up a bit, my mother leaned in closer, she wanted to drive this point home.
“Your soul will burn inside the stomach of the horrible sea-witch for all of eternity, as she glides around her sea cave, trapping other young boys.
“Will I at least have friends?”
“Yes, but you can’t talk to them, and their bodies are so grotesque that if you were to look upon them you would go insane. So, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Can we turn the page?”
“Yes sweetie, go ahead and turn the page.”
I opened the next page of the book, and there was another stick figure, and he was standing on a ladder leading into the ceiling, an attic. Another giant red “X” graced the page. “Do not go in the attic” it read.
“What does it say?” My mom quizzed.
“Do not go in the attic?” I said, looking away.
“That’s right, do not go in the attic.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Don’t go in the fucking attic, Jeremy!”
“I won’t”
“Don’t ever ask me about the attic. Don’t talk about the attic, don’t look at the attic, don’t even fucking think about the god damn attic, I swear to fuck, Jeremy, don’t go in the fucking attic” she was starting to scream now.
I got up from the chair and ran into the living room, I didn’t want any more of this book. My mom ran after me, picked me up and held me to her bosom. I could feel her tears on the back of my neck. She was sobbing and shaking “Don’t go in the attic Jeremy, promise you won’t go in.”
I was crying, she was crying, “I promise mommy, I won’t go in the attic.”
There was a knock at the door then, my mom put me down, wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and went to answer. She opened it and there was a kid standing there. He had messy blonde hair and wore a shirt with a monster truck on it that read “Grave Digger” in slimy green letters that popped just a little off the cotton. My mom just stood there; her eyes fixed on this strange kid.
The kid said something I couldn’t make out, it looked as if he were whispering, as if he had some clandestine information to share with my mother. My mother nodded, and then said, very curtly, “Why don’t you come inside?”
The kid walked into the room, a smile on his face, he stared at me or through me, I’m not really sure. It was extremely uncomfortable. “Just wait there for a moment” My mom said. The kid didn’t say anything in return. My mother rummaged through a drawer and came back out into the living room with a dagger. A metal blade, and a gold handle sculpted to look like the head of a dragon. A large jewel was encrusted in the dragon’s eye. My mom lunged forward and stabbed the child in the eye. The child screamed. Blood ran down his cheeks, and tears down his other eye.
Before the child could react any more my mother stabbed him in the face again, and again, and again. Blood flying onto the carpet, my mother shaking, tears rolling down her face. The kid collapsed onto the ground. I looked at the kid, my body wouldn’t react, I truly was petrified. My mom looked at me, covered in blood, and said “Go to your room, class is over for today.”
I couldn’t move.
“Go to your fucking room Jeremy!”
I snapped out of it, but before I did, I could see the child’s lips moving, he was looking directly at me. “Go back in the water” he whispered. Then he stopped. I forced myself to walk and went back into my room. That night, I had to find a way to the ocean.
#x200B;
|
Medford is a total drag.
I don’t know what I was thinking moving here. Getting a job. Buying a house. After the initial rush wore off, after I had cramped my writing hand signing 8,000 papers, I picked up my keys, organized my (admittedly sparse) material items into some semblance of hominess and ordered a pizza for my inaugural new house dinner. I was looking out my tiny kitchen window when a rusty truck with tinted windows cruised past. The driver saw me and gestured something I hoped meant ‘hello,’ but considering the fingers and tongue involved probably meant a lot more than ‘hello.’ Hello, and get fucked, new girl. In that quiet moment, as I gnawed on a too-tough pizza crust, I realized with a sinking feeling that moving 700 miles away from home on little more than a whim was pretty foolish.
Of course, admitting as much to my close-knit, conservative family back in SLC was not happening. I’d been so convinced that all I had to do was move west to one of the blue states to escape their clutches. They were equally convinced that I would go running back to the protective embrace of mommy and daddy – even though Mommy and Daddy couldn’t stand that their little girl had shaved her head and begun dating other girls as teen and showed no signs of slowing down now that she was pushing 30. Surely it was just a phase, after all.
So here I was. 700 miles from home. Alone in a two-bedroom ranch style house in east Medford, Oregon, looking out my kitchen window at the suburban neighborhood I would call home for the foreseeable future. It was blistering hot out, and a chocking haze was settling into the valley from a nearby fire. In the distance sirens warbled.
This was a mistake.
In that moment I had no idea how big a mistake it was, but I was about to get a lesson I wouldn’t soon forget.
I finished off a few more slices of the pizza – it wasn’t the best pie I’d ever had, but it also wasn’t the worst – and settled in on the couch with my laptop to watch some old SNL skits on YouTube. It was my go-to bedtime routine.
In the middle of a marathon of The Californians, just as I was beginning to nod off, there was a light tapping at the front door. I started awake. Had I locked the door? I pushed the laptop onto the couch and stood up, the strangeness of my new home hitting me hard in this suggestible half-awake state. The tapping continued.
Tiptoeing to the door, I realized once I got there that it had no keyhole to look out of. Shit. I moved to the bay window to see if I could get a look at the late night visitor. What time was it, anyway? I poked at my fitbit – it was after 11pm. Too late for anyone I didn’t know to be visiting – and I didn’t know anyone here.
I looked out the window at the porch. The porch light was on (thank god), but there was nothing there. The tapping continued. Then I realized that there was something there – but whoever (or whatever) it was, they stood so close to the front door that I could only just see the edge of their outline when awkwardly craning my neck and pressing my cheek to the window. They didn’t shift away. Dammit. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, or a damn werewolf for that matter. Whoever it was, they were quite tall.
Then I heard a voice behind the door. It was muffled, but it sounded like a woman’s voice.
I shot back to the door. “Hello? What do you want?” I sure as hell wasn’t going to open up, but if they needed help maybe I could make a phone call. The voice responded, but it was indecipherable.
“Do you need help?”
The tapping continued.
“Hey. If you need help, I can call 9-11, but I don’t know you.”
The muffled voice spoke again. I almost spoke back, but something stopped me. The voice was different than before. Lower. Was it the same voice?
“Can you move away from the door, please?”
The tapping strengthened, became a steady knock. Whoever it was wasn’t giving up.
“I think you have my place confused with someone else!” Obviously, they had me confused with someone else. But my shouting didn’t seem to phase them – the knocking continued.
I moved back to the window again. Maybe I could get a look this time.
Pressing my cheek to the cool glass, all I could see on the porch were a few moths circling the light and a pool of yellow spilling over the grass in the front yard, turning it a sickly yellow. Or maybe that was the persistent drought. It was hard to say. Twisting my neck, I again caught a glimpse of my visitor. They were still pressed up close to the door. Only their back and shoulders were clearly visible, and they appeared to be wearing all black. I slid back, hoping to see more, and that’s when they turned and looked my direction. I caught myself staring into a pair of coal black eyes peering out of a stark white face that was longer and thinner than any face I’d ever seen.
I gasped and jerked away from the window. It had seen me. Whatever it was. It knew I – me – was in here. The knocking came more powerfully now, and the voice rose again, deep and gravelly. I still couldn’t understand what it was saying, but one word became clear: Jenny.
Jenny. That’s my name.
Scrambling past the couch, I ran back to my room and began pulling boxes out of the sizable bedroom closet. Living alone for years as a gay woman in a red state had taught me the unfortunate necessity of being armed and ready. I pulled my gun out of hiding, slid a few bullets into the chamber and unlocked the safety. No way was I dealing with the freaking boogeyman without my trusty Dorothy.
Stomping toward the front door, I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Motherf***er, you better piss off before I blow a hole in the damn door!”
Something slammed hard against the door, hard enough to shake it in the frame. I cocked the gun and aimed. “I’m gonna blow a hole straight through you!”
The door rattled again as something large and heavy hit it, and a blood-curdling howl erupted on the other side. I screamed, lifted the gun, and fired.
I have never fired a gun inside a house before. I was not prepared for the explosive pop that left my ears ringing and my hands tingling. The gun was hot in my hands – so hot I dropped it to the ground. I climbed behind the couch and waited. All was quiet. Whoever it was – whatever it was – had stopped knocking. With my ears still ringing, I snuck over to the bay window to have a peek. The porch was empty. Apart from the moths, the only thing I could see were the neighbor’s porch lights turning on one by one as the neighborhood I’d just joined looked out into the night, no doubt wondering about the gun blast so close by.
I didn’t sleep that night. I curled around Dorothy and watched the dawn light climb down my bedroom wall until I decided it was time to actually open the front door and see what I could see.
Which wasn’t much. As I stepped out onto my porch, one neighbor across the way stared me down with derision. An old man in a bathrobe, likely wondering what this weirdo was dong in his neighborhood. No long-faced, black-eyed vampire creature awaited me. Nothing at all out here – except when I turned around and looked at my door. The bullet hole was there – I’d have to fix that, obviously – and so was a bunch of writing. Most of it was indecipherable, in some kind of code I didn’t know. But right around where the spyhole would be if there were one was a phrase written in clear, plain English that chilled my blood.
“Welcome to Dreadford, Jenny.”
I looked around in shock. The elderly neighbor was still there. When I caught his eye, hoping he would offer something, help, comfort maybe, he only stared back with an icy gaze. Then he lifted one gnarled old finger to his throat and ran it slowly from one side to the other.
Medford sucks, man. |
A few years ago, my grandmother left me a rather peculiar inheritance: an antique music box that had once belonged to a distant relative. The music box was a beautiful piece, adorned with intricately hand-carved woodwork and a captivating melody that seemed to echo throughout the house when played. At the time, I was just a curious teenager and didn't think much of it. However, what was about to happen would change my life forever.
One night, while I was home alone, I decided to take a closer look at the music box. Curiosity consumed me, and I began to carefully turn the crank. The melody started playing, and I was enchanted by the beauty and simplicity of that vintage piece.
However, as the melody repeated, I began to feel an odd sense of unease. It was as though the music was hypnotizing me, pulling me into a trance-like state. I couldn't stop turning the crank, as if something compelled me to keep going.
It was then that I heard a whispering murmur coming from the music box. It was a soft, almost inaudible voice, but I could swear it was there. It sounded like a prayer or incantation in a language I didn't recognize. Goosebumps covered my skin as I tried to stop the music, but the crank kept turning, and the melody only grew more intense.
Panic began to set in, and I knew I had to do something. I forcefully yanked the music box off the shelf and threw it to the floor. The music abruptly ceased, and the whispering voice disappeared.
Thinking that it was all over, I breathed a sigh of relief and decided to get rid of the music box. I carried it down to the basement and placed it in a box filled with old items. I wanted nothing more to do with that thing.
For a few days, everything seemed to return to normal. I was starting to convince myself that I had overreacted when things took a bizarre turn. At night, I began to hear the music from the music box coming from the basement. It became a constant presence, as if the music were alive, echoing through the walls of the house.
Every time I attempted to go to the basement to investigate, a paralyzing sense of fear prevented me from descending the stairs. The music grew more insistent, as if it were calling out to me.
One day, unable to bear it any longer, I made a drastic decision. I went to the basement with a hammer in hand, and as I approached the music box, something strange happened. The melody started playing softer, and the box's lid opened on its own, revealing a dark and empty interior.
I swung the hammer, ready to destroy the thing once and for all, but the whispering voice returned, louder and clearer than ever. "Don't do it," it said, and a sense of absolute terror washed over me.
I was overtaken by a force I couldn't resist, and I dropped the hammer. The music box snapped shut with a click, and the melody became even louder, as if celebrating its victory.
Now, I am trapped in my own home, listening to the melody from the music box play incessantly. It whispers dark secrets and promises a terrible fate. I am writing this as a warning to anyone who comes across an old music box: do not touch it, do not open it, do not let it enter your life. It is a cursed melody box, and I am its eternal victim. |
#x200B;
I was starting to think I was a follower.
Though, I still took the gun with me in my back pocket.
I walked down to a corner store, where he picked me up in a small blue Elantra that looked like it had some age to it.
As he drove, I told him again that I was unsure if I could trust this, and so he would reassure me that this was safe, that I did not have to join the community or anything like it, but merely be acquainted with them to understand their goals - and potentially get some bucks for it as well. Some money that I really knew I needed. Desperation was chewing at me. He said that he no longer lived under there - that he was able to afford a cheap apartment on the edge of town, get himself a job, etc.
Interesting how a guy from Glenview going to art school fell that hard.
We had arrived a little past 6. We got out of the car in a nearby parking lot, then walked down to approach an overpass. It was strangely silent in a colossally eerie way. This environment felt strange for someone like me. I was a square peg, if you will. There were multiple tarps tied together and strung out from one end of the overpass to the other, and a group of people huddled up by a small bonfire, perhaps around seven or eight.
He assured me not to worry, but I couldn’t help it. This was exactly the kind of situation my parents would warn me about in my youth - don’t get involved with these kinds of people, these are bad people, stay away from these people, and such things. And here I was.
Lance introduced me to them, one woman smiled and nodded at me, another young man smirked at me, but most remained silent and indifferent.
He asked them, “Where’s Corey?”
Someone said, “Back there,” and pointed to the tall tarp border.
Lance urged me onwards and opened a flap of the tarp for me to walk through. I did so hesitantly and expectantly (of nothing in particular), and found myself in a darker space with a tarp hanging overhead, and the entirety of the area lit up by some LED lanterns spaced out across the ground. It was a room, essentially.
Sitting in a rocking chair to the left was a man who I learned was Corey when Lance addressed him. Lance introduced me to him.
Corey then said, “I think I already know who you are. I've seen you around.” Where?
He asks of the office that burned down - did I work there, and I answered that I did. My suspicions dug further, and felt justified from what I had asked myself before. But I did not let them out.
He expressed his sorrow and pity, that of which I externally accepted. He told me that he had something that would explain the entirety of the situation - and took us to this old, rickety dresser near one end of the room, close to a clump of thin, tightly spaced beds and sleeping bags on the ground. He opened a drawer and dug for some extremely uncomfortable seconds before producing a square book, which he handed to me. It was large, in a plastic sleeve, and with nothing on the front cover, just cardboard.
How I wanted to run out of here and never return right about then. I had no idea what I was even getting myself into, let alone what I was already in.
I looked back at him, and saw an expectant gaze. He told me to read it, I could sit in his chair if I liked. He then subtly but firmly grabbed Lance’s arm and they walked out of the room through the same entrance we came in from. This was my only chance at an explanation.
The chair smelled like fish as I sat. I opened the book and saw no words. There were only pictures. They were simply just assorted images of nature. I saw mainly trees and birds of beauty, and not much was to suggest a sinister undertone other than the lack of human presence. I didn’t understand what this could have explained.
The last image differed greatly, and certainly meant more than any other. It was a picture of a clown wearing black, white and red makeup, sitting cross legged on a bench with a background that was surrounded by trees, and an opening in them that had me see something that partially confirmed what I had believed.
***It was my office building***. The picture had been deliberately framed so that in that exact gap in the foliage, you could see the entry, and even a bit of the donut shop beside it.
I shut the book and then flipped it over. The book’s back cover was black, with a simple image of a $100 bill on it. Franklin's stare made me uneasy to a further extent.
I heard a scuffle outside and a loud clatter of steel. I quickly retrieved my cell phone and instantly called 911. I quickly had to explain my rough location and told them to hurry, then hung up. That would have likely alarmed them enough, and would give me enough time to get out of there, since I could not have explained this entire thing very briefly.
To my right, I saw as the man introduced to me as Corey walked into the room. He would ask me what I thought about the book.
I could only be blunt.
“Who the fuck are you?”
He tried to calm me down, shushing, yet I got up and tensed myself. I repeated my question.
He stopped pacing towards me and things became deathly silent apart from the few cars overhead and beside us. Those outside were not making any sound from what I could hear. And then.. he just started crying. He looked at the ground and wept like a child. I now did not know what to make of this sudden emotional outburst of his.
As he cried, he reached into his back pocket (and I slowly reached for mine), and produced a large leather wallet (my reach was abandoned). He then hurriedly pulled out numerous $100 bills and tried to hand them to me. I estimated the wad as a few thousand.
“This’ll cover you. We’re so sorry. Don’t be alert.”
You motherfucker.
I pulled out my Wesson and pointed it directly at him. He recoiled himself in fear, yet the safety remained on and I had no actual willingness to shoot. Within, the brevity of this situation was caving my mind in. He then dropped the money on the ground and ran out in a frantic hurry.
I gazed down at it with reluctance. It wasn't long before my qualms gave in, I quickly and regrettably scooped up the money, then scurried to find an exit on the other side of the tarp. I ran for some time alongside the highway, cramping and continuing. Finally, I only looked back when the tarps were far away from me.
They were already ablaze.
The police would later ask me for my story, to which I gave them the details, and the only names I could give them were Lance’s, and Corey’s (alleged) first name.
They never got back to me.
I tried calling Lance a few days later, and instead was met with a message that the number was no longer in service.
I am recounting this story a long while after this has happened. This was years ago, I no longer live in the Chicago area. The city was dragging me down, and I had to escape from it at some point, further desiring to after these strange events. Some of it still remains a mystery to me. I have spent hours on end thinking about it.
Now a man’s what I may have been fearing, but I question the authenticity of my fear in a combative nature with everything else. Who’s to say mankind isn’t really the scary part? Either way, my guard has matured.
But a man can still be fucking scary.
This story might have some form of "ending", I suppose. As in, it could be considered an "ending" for now. But I would like to provide one last personal anecdote that may suggest otherwise.
Late at night in my new abode, I retire for a good night’s sleep, that of which I have only been achieving with the help of deep breaths, benzodiazepines and a good cry every now and then. I still wake up very occasionally, and one night in particular I remember distinctly. It occurred only last week, and sort of inspired me to share this story with all of you.
I woke up sleeping on my side, from some strange fever dream I had. My eyes met the window, where outside I could see a silhouette. My mind came to and slowly recognized it. The shadow was wearing some kind of hat, looking like a pork pie, and I could not make out any other features.
I had some concern for a moment. Then, still remaining in my exact position, maintained a harsh glare at it, like I was interrogating it. It didn’t move.
I smiled and went back to sleep. |
If you live near a beachside and find a dark obsidian door contact me immediately and please, *stay away from it!*
Two weeks ago today my girlfriend Samantha and I came to visit her college friend in San Diego for a few days. We were both very excited at the opportunity; I’m originally from Tennessee and I’ve always wanted to see the Pacific Ocean, while Sammy is from New York. On our last day here while I was searching for cool things to do in San Diego a result piqued my interest: the nudist beach. Sammy was down, so the day before we flew out we grabbed our swimsuits (even though we wouldn’t find much need for them) and drove to the spot.
The area is called Black’s Beach which lays about a hundred feet below limestone cliffs, a fall no man could survive. Sammy and I parked our car and went down a long and winding set of wooden steps. The wood was so indented and worn that one wrong step and I’d find myself at the bottom of the cliffs in a second. Once down below we came face to face with men and women of all ages naked and unabashed so we stripped awkwardly to fit in. I’ll always remember her giggles from the embarrassment, how her nipples perked at the brush of the winds and her hair tailed behind her.
With our clothes in our backpacks we immediately dove into the water. Nothing can compare to that feeling of entering the ocean waves in the nude! It is an immediate embrace from a being that is indifferent to your existence and wellbeing. But here we’re allowed to exist without a concept of guilt, the right to present yourself in your true essence without shame or judgment. Sammy’s smile reflecting the setting sun back at me, I knew then the truest feeling of love.
We decided to walk the beach and see the stretch of the bay. It was a sight to see: people taking in the sun, others riding the ocean waves on their boards, and paragliders riding the high winds above adding dashes or greens, pinks and yellows to the skies above. It was in that moment observing the paragliders when something out of place caught my attention. High in the cliffside, rising below a cascade of boulders and sand appeared what seemed like a black door carved deep into the limestone.
I pointed this oddity to Sammy and without a second thought, I found myself walking to the base of the door in the cliffside to get a better view.
“Where are you going?” said Samantha in response, walking over next to me.
“I want to check it out,” I replied as I was already putting my clothes and shoes back on. Back in Tennessee I was an avid spelunker with my father because both of us hace always been interested in the secrets kept deep in the bowels of the mountains. I've sought out things that are out of place, are beyond human comprehension and quite simply, shouldn’t exist. With this being my last day in San Diego I wanted to at least check this mysterious door out. Maybe it led somewhere?
“I’m not sure about this babe, let’s just keep walking.” She grabbed my arm as I finished tying my shoelaces. I could see a look of concern on her face but could feel her understanding my attraction to the unknown. She knew how much exploration of the earth’s eccentricities meant to me.
“It shouldn’t take long, you can wait for me here.”
With that I started to climb, watching my step as I slowly made my way up. The closer I got to the door the more I noticed it was more than what I expected to find. Before me was a circular door that looked to be of obsidian, dark and jagged in the edges and shining the sun back to my eyes. A mural adorned the slate with rune-like shapes and lines on the edges, and images of faces and animals carved deep into the stone. Admiring the work that stood before me I finally noticed that where a doorknob would usually be was a small hole.
Carefully I looked through the opening expecting a dead end, but it was to my shock to see a dimly lit corridor inside going down into the ground. Pressing my ear against the hole I could hear the wind howling through the opening, and among the whistling of the wing I heard it: at first it sounded like a wounded animal, but listening closer it appeared childlike in nature. Someone was crying beyond this door.
“Samantha, I think there’s a kid hurt in here!” Without hesitation I began to try and pry the door open. I pressed myself against the cold stone and it didn’t take much force before I fell through and onto the damp floor. Looking up I saw candles perched along crevices on the cave walls, and looking further down I could make out stairs going down and leading to a faint glow. Balanced within the sound of oceans behind me was the crying that now reverberated along the tunnel walls.
I began helping myself to my feet when I felt a pair of hands pressing down on my shoulders. “Are you OK?” Turning around I saw Sammy. She had climbed up and was now standing behind me fully dressed with her hair up in a ponytail the way she would when she was either focused or anxious. Looking around with concerned eyes she asked, “what is this place?”
“I don’t know,” I said while brushing sand off my ankles and shirt. “Down these stairs is where I heard crying. Come, we need to help them!”
“I don’t feel good about this, shouldn’t we call the police?” I should have listened to her and turned around then and there. We began our descent carefully and slowly. The colors shifted from a dark gray of the stones to a reddish pink hue with dark crimson veins engraved within. Along the walls I noticed these shiny obsidian rocks sticking out of the walls, first a few sporadically but the deeper we went more and more rocks could be found on the ceiling, the floors, and the slick walls of the corridor. The deeper we went the wetter the walls became.
The crying became louder and louder as Sammy and I delved deeper and deeper into the cliffside. Eventually we reached the bottom of the staircase and to our shock we found ourselves at a crossroads. Two different paths laid before us, with the crying reverberating through the cave. “Which way?” Sam asked, unsure of where to go.
“Hmm,” I said to myself, listening through both corridors to see if I could pinpoint the direction of the cries. “I think it’s this way, but before we delve deeper,” I said as I took off my shirt, “I’ll leave this on the floor to find our way back.” With that we followed the rightmost corridor, and sure enough the cries grew louder. Moving deeper and deeper I could feel the air running thin and a thick musk haunting the air. The corridor walls were growing slicker and shinier the deeper we went into the belly of the beast. Yet the lights along the walls grew no dimmer with time and lit our way.
We encountered several other crossways and each time Sammy and I took turns leaving clothes behind to find our way out: her shirt, then my pants, then her sweater. It was after several turns that we found ourselves at another obsidian door similar to the one at the entrance. However this time the runes and the scribbles shone a bright blue turquoise. The sketches of animals and faces carved deep into the obsidian were glowing and fading in a smooth breathing motion, in and out, in and out. With Sammy standing behind me I pushed the door open.
Sammy and I stepped into a small room with a few strobing lights emitting from light sources that seemed to be within the walls themselves. The floor was wet and slippery with a clear, viscous liquid that was dripping down from the walls. At the very end of the room sat a small, pale child with frizzled hair, facing away from us and towards the far end of the room. The child had been stripped of clothes and her back was covered with crimson gashes engraved deep within her skin. She was not tied to the wall or chained and was visibly shaking. We had found the source of the crying.
Sammy gasped at the sight while I felt sick to my stomach, gagging at the pungent smell of feces, piss and whatever other sick shit was in the room. Sammy was the one who slowly approached the child, asking for its name and how it got here. Every step she took through the sludge that coated the floor echoed against the walls and out the entryway. I stood where I was and chose to analyze the room further. This was not like any other cave system I have ever been in. Something was not right.
Taking out my cellphone I turned on the light feature and scanned our surroundings further. I couldn’t help but notice that the walls appeared to be moving ever so slightly, pulsing and contracting with venous lines on the surface. Then I turned my attention to the child, who continued crying and shaking without paying attention to the two strangers who had rushed into her holding cell.
That is when I noticed it: the child’s legs appeared to be fused to the floor with a large throbbing veins running from the floor up the legs and dissipating throughout her thighs. I was staring at this *thing* in horror when I noticed that in above the child, sticking out of the fleshy ceiling a creature began to manifest itself before us.
At first it was a small fleshy lump with obsidian rocks protruding a few feet above the child’s head. Slowly multiple appendages began to pulsate and grow from multiple sides of the growth; these varied in thick and thin from all over its body and appeared tentacular in nature. With every growth more and more viscous liquid spouted from the being onto the floor. The flesh at the drooping end of the creature began to part, and a gaping orifice with white pearly rows of teeth began to glister with the shaking of my flashlight. Above the creature’s maw the obsidian pebbles began to shift in place and that’s when it clicked: *these are not rocks, they are eyes.*
My thoughts were rushing in a flurry of fear and disgust, trying to comprehend what Sammy and I had just walked into. *This must be a dream, there’s no way this is real, this CANNOT be real!* I wanted to tell Sammy who was kneeling next to the child facade to look up, to run! But I could do nothing but see the creature’s gaping maw tower over us and its arms creeping along the floor, ready to pounce on its unsuspecting victim: Samantha.
The next few seconds happened so fast. The creature emitted a high-pitched screech resembling a child and quickly wrapped its tentacles around unsuspecting Sammy’s legs, lifting her in a swift motion. I saw Sammy’s face quickly change from concern for the child to intrinsic fear and let out a cry of pure fear and agony. She thrashed around trying to be let loose but her screams and movement were quickly subdued when the creature wrapped its remaining tentacles around Sammy’s body and constricted her. The sound of breaking bones followed, echoing around me. Blood and vile spewed from Sammy’s mouth and nose, her eyes now bloodshot frantically moving left, right, up, down, and finally settling on me.
With my girlfriend in hand the creature moved in to finish the deed: it positioned itself above Sammy and with its sharp sets of teeth began to consume her, feet first and slowly making its way down her body. The sound of cracking and breaking of what I assume were Sammy’s bones was deafening against the low sounds of a child’s scream that left me in shell shock. Blood spewed from the creature’s orifice as it tore at my girlfriend’s body and she could do nothing but look at me and mouth what I assumed to be her last plea to me: *run. Run. RUN.*
That’s when I finally felt the fear loosen its grip on my legs. Quickly I turned and dashed out the glowing obsidian door, dropping my phone in the process and rushing out. Once out the room the lights that once illuminated the corridor had gone out, leaving me in pitch darkness. But without thinking twice I pushed forward, away from whatever being was still tearing at Sammy's body giving me a shot at escaping.
Coming to the first intersection I could feel a rush of dread run over me, *which way is the way out?!* Feeling my way along the darkness I felt a small bundle of clothes at my feet pointing the way we came in: Sammy's sweater! I grabbed her sweater and rushed down the leftmost corridor but I could sense the passage was much narrower than before. Where there was plenty of space for both Sammy and I to walk side by side now felt narrower, the walls softer and slimier. *No time to think*, I reminded myself and kept going.
When I reached the second intersection a loud, ear-piercing *SCREECH*! echoed down the halls, but this time I could make out some words: "Must . . . find him . . . him . . ." I could feel my stomach churning and my head spinning at the sound of the words when I reached for my pants tied on the floor pointing me to a narrow crevice in the wall. *There's no way I will make it through this with my backpack!* In a quick motion I tossed my pack aside, took a deep breath and sighed. I felt my way into the narrow passage and moved fast. The toughest part was the obsidian rocks along the walls that were now pressing against my skin and cutting deep into the tissue. Better than being eaten alive, I thought while fighting back Sammy’s faith.
I reached the final intersection and found Sammy's shirt pointing me towards a narrow crawl space. *This is BULLSHIT!* Without hesitation I got on my knees. I was positioning myself to enter the hole, something in the caves behind me let out a low whisper, "where . . . are you . . . where . . . where . . ." *FUCK, fuck fuck fuck, it's coming*. I pushed myself into the crawlspace and moved fast despite the obsidian rocks piercing into my skin. The rush of adrenaline masked the pains of the cuts and slits around my body. The crawlspace kept narrowing around me and I could feel the walls squeezing against my body, forcing me to lay on my belly and pull myself through the rocks.
I used the obsidian rocks to pull myself through the crawlspace when I felt another tight squeeze and a release. The walls were closing in around me, squeezing me tighter with each contraction. Panic began to set in, but with the rush of adrenaline came the drive for survival. Memories of my time deep in the Appalachian mountains flooded my brain, images of narrow pathways and tips to navigate the unforgiving innards of the Earth. I remembered my father's advice when I once got stuck moving between two large boulders, his voice soothing a crying child: "breathe, and flow." With each squeeze the obsidian rocks dove into my skin, crunching and tightening around me before expanding ready to contract again. *This is my chance,* I said to myself and when I felt the walls detract I scrambled through and out the other side.
I flopped out of the crawlspace and onto a solid surface, bloodied and in tears. *Almost there, I'm almost there*, I thought as I slowly rolled over and sat up when I got a scent of saltwater. I was now at the bottom of the staircase and above me, the small light from the peephole in the door above the cliffs teased me. The way out!
I stood up and looked back at the hole I had fought my way through. The walls were still constricting smaller and smaller and the hole was about to close when it stopped. From the hole moans and cries could be heard, when a hand popped out and reached for me.
I fell back at the sight, and watched in horror as the girl from the room slowly emerged from the crawlspace. Where once I had been unable to see her face I now saw who this being was: her skin was gray and the veins that coated her body glowed with a deep turquoise color like the door to the room. But her face was the worst: the eyes had been gouged out and were sunken in, replaced with a deep blue glisten. Where there would be a nose and mouth was a large opening lined with shiny teeth leading deep into an abyss.
I could feel my mind being driven to madness by the creature reaching for me when I let out a shriek of horror. I scrambled up the slippery stairs with the girl's gaze and her maw locked in my mind. The walls knew exactly what was going on. Halfway up I felt the floor below my feet shift below my feet causing me to lose balance and slide back down a few steps towards the girl. She had now emerged and was crawling up towards me on all fours. The obsidian rocks around me were now shifting around, spiraling, fighting to sabotage my way out of the creature’s grasps. I could see above me a small beam of light being emitted from the door’s opening. It taunts me with freedom and of what I’ve lost in the room behind.
When I finally reached the top of the stairs I threw myself against the door to no avail. The door was shut and was not ready to let me out. I could hear the creature’s screeching behind me growing louder and louder, crying out for its meal that would not be allowed to leave. I kept pushing, thrashing, until I felt a strong grip on my hair and someone whispered over my shoulder, "YOU."
I was turned around and confronted with two deep blue lights. Her eyes were now glowing brighter than ever before and lighting the bloody insides of her eye sockets. I pressed myself back against the door, *it's over.* With one hand grabbing onto my hair and the other squeezing my neck, she approached me mouth wide open: I was in the direct path of her maw. I could feel my consciousness giving out when I felt the door against my back finally gave in and swung open. I felt myself tumbling into the open sunlight, hitting the rocks that lead up to the door, and landing on the hot sand before losing consciousness.
The next thing I remember was waking up to a naked man standing above me. “Hey bro are you OK? Do you need any help?” He helped me sit up in place and while he was asking me what had happened I couldn’t help but look up at the cliffside to find nothing. The door that was once there, with cryptic writing where me and my Sammy entered and only I escaped, had disappeared. In its place was just a crack into the limestone. I stared up at where the door used to be until several beachgoers helped me to my feet and back up to my car.
\~\~\~
I don’t know what it is that I went through two weeks ago. Part of me doesn’t want to believe what happened behind that cryptic obsidian door, but Samantha is nowhere to be found. Logic is clearly beyond this explanation and I know that I’ve encountered something dark, a demon perhaps, or maybe something beyond our world. I’ve lost the love of my life because of my own stupidity. I should have listened to her, but I didn’t and she died. I’ve already endured too many sleepless nights and cried until my eyes run dry, and with that my new purpose became clear: to find this thing and any others like it, and kill them before they hurt anyone else.
In that room I dropped my cell phone and was able to track it to another beach town, this time up in the Oregon area. At the time of writing this my phone has only lost a few points of battery life, which means I might be able to track its movements for a little while longer. I will update everyone as my new journey continues and if you stop hearing from me for longer than a month, assume I’ve failed to kill the creature and suffered Samantha’s fate. I cannot live with the guilt of leading my girlfriend straight into a monster's maw and will stop at nothing until either that creature is dead or I am. |
Sorry this post has taken so long to post. Me and K have been going through a lot, but I don't want to talk about it now, I intend to keep up with the chronology as I stated before; I will be soon though...
#x200B;
Have you ever heard of The Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau. Yes Laveau, L A V E A U for those who've never been to the south just search it up.
I wish to welcome myself back, I let K do the last post, I didn't expect what I read... anyways I've been contemplating about posting this story, I want to keep everything true and explain each big story. On our way down to Louisiana we found a few possessions and demonic attachments that were solved within a day by calling up a few priests that would get ahold of the nearest exorcists to our location where they'd perform the rites of exorcism. Like I said, each of those experiences were tiny so I've decided not to post them. This story however I didn't want to post, I wanted to post all of my successful missions... cases... whatever you want to call it. However K told me to be honest with you all. Maybe one day I'll explain the smaller stories between my last post and this, I don't know.
With that said I'll begin with what occurred within the French quarter.
#x200B;
We arrived in Louisiana and decided to stop in a hotel for once. Unlike the usual we found something let's settle down for a bit and deal with it, instead K got a call from another Agent, one of an equivalent rank as Sword. K had picked up the phone "Hello?" By the way she answered it was clear she didn't have the number saved, she put it on speaker and I could hear the voice through the line begin to speak, "Hey, is this K?" She answered, "This is. Whom am I speaking to?" The man began again "This is Joseph Rivera, you can call me Joe, I'm in the same position as Sword, he told me you and Masters were going south and I saw the tracker placed on your persons that y'all are currently in my jurisdiction now. Sword works the Northeastern Jurisdiction, I run the Midwest Jurisdiction. I've had report after report of above average anomalous sightings in New Orleans, I've already got a hotel for y'all, the room you'll be staying in is yours until the assignment is completed. I'll send you the location, just find out what is going on. Also give my contact to Masters, Joe out."
The way he spoke was far more serious than Sword, it honestly made me a little nervous. Was he scared... should I have been more scared than I was, or was that just how he was?
When we arrived at the hotel we received the key to the room and were instructed where to go, tenth story room 1005. When we walked in and was amazed we had a suite, I then looked and found a mini fridge and bar that had notes on each stating anything we want will be paid by the company renting the room for us. I'm not proud to say this but I read the note aloud when K asked what I was looking at, she began to hop in place and I decided to join her, she popped open a nice bottle of champagne and we began to drink. By the end of the night we had drunk a couple of bottles of champagne and I opened a bottle of scotch.
The next morning we were startled awake by a banging on the door. I got up and partially opened the door, I left the chain on it so it caught. Behind it my pistol was aimed towards center mass. He asked "Are you Travis? is K in?" I said "Maybe, who are you?". "Joe asked me to come here too, I'm in the room next to y'all, my name is Rick, I was instructed to assist y'all." I closed the door, disconnected the chain and reopened the door to let him in, when he entered he immediately covered his eyes and asked K to put on some clothes; it's something she's been doing since I met her, if we're not sleeping in my car she'll sleep in only a bra and panties. While he was covering his eyes I pulled out my phone and scanned the massive QR code patch on the back of his ratty black denim jacket. It immediately hopped onto youtube playing a rick roll... this SOB got me. He turned around, slapped me and said "Be ready in 10 minutes, I'm grabbing my weapons I'll be right back", when I said he slapped me I'm not talking about a light smack to the back, I'm talking about an actual slap to the fucking face. I looked at K after he left, she was trying to hide a snorting laugh, I was kinda pissed off. "This bitch", is all I could get out before grabbing my pistol, I chose to use my Security-9 instead of my Glock 42, more bullets per mag and more piercing power may be helpful. I then grabbed a knife and put it into my boot. As I came back upright There was a knock at the door. I looked at K to see that she was dressed, so I opened the door and Rick came in asking if we were ready to go.
I really didn't think too well of him, he's clearly cocky and sees himself as the hero of his own story.
Anyways I ask if he's gonna be driving with us following or if he wants us to ride in his car, he looks me dead in the eyes and says "I don't have a car, I ride trains, and walk. Sometimes I'll hitch hike. Like I have a license, but no car."
So the three of us hopped into my car K and Rick bickering the entire way down about who should sit in the front. When we get to the car I get in and start it before rolling the window down and yelling "K get in the front Rick get in the back, y'all have 5 seconds or I'm driving off without you." They quickly hopped in as I began to drive with Rick fighting his way inside the moving car. We went to the nearest Waffle House to eat, when arriving we discuss what's been going on, there's been a spike of sighting of the voodoo queen, the dead returning to life and walking the world of man and flying pigs... yes flying pigs; I was, and still am, caught off guard on the fact that there were flying pigs. There was also a sighting of a man in strange clothes at the scene each time.
Rick had noted the most commented on feature of his clothes, a black trench coat with a hood and some type of symbols that covered the entire backside, right on cue we saw a man wearing the jacket Rick was just speaking about; Both he and K went running out after him sticking me with the bill.
By the time I finished eating and stepped outside, I could see their tracks.I followed them, eventually I found the two stumbling back on the same route they went, and my god did they stink, Rick looked awful with cuts all over his face and arms. I asked what happened, K explained "We were chasing the man when he went into the wooded area out back, we went in after the man when he said something, it sounded like latin. Afterwards a bunch of skunks appeared as if from thin air spraying us and they mauled Rick pretty good. While they were Attacking him I followed the tracks left by the man we were chasing, but his tracks vanished. I heard a few shots fired so I ran back to see Rick killed the skunks. We decided to head back after I told Rick that the man's tracks disappeared." I tried to stifle a laugh as I told them to follow me back to the car. Rick was happy that I let him sit in the front seat, once seated K handed me my first aid kit. I patched up Rick and we went back to the hotel.
While we were all in mine and K's room she was google dorking to get into the camera's in the area I sat down with Rick and asked "What'd you do before you got this job?", he began speaking "I was a cop, I got fired for messing up two different stings. Somehow I confused two different drug dealers on where to go. I came to the spot we set up to buy the load; when I arrived both me and the dealer, or who I thought was the dealer, stepped out. He said I've got the money, I responded no I've got the money, I again said no I have the money, and responded no you'll have the money when I get the drugs, he said no I'll have the drugs when I get you the money. I arrested him anyway and called my sergeant. I then got scolded pretty good before being instructed to return to the station with the criminal. It turns out the other officer that was performing the sting got injured arresting the other dealer. What occurred was basically what happened to me but with the drugs. When I went to my sergeants office he then chewed me out and then I had to go to our captain to get cussed out before he ended up firing me. Joe found me after I left and offered me a job within the BPI"
This S.O.B. is stupid as hell, anyways. "The BPI?" I asked... Rick looked at me and said "Wait you didn't know who you were working for? The BPI is the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation. You, Kendra, and I are a part of the Hunter unit. You have the Hunter unit where we have to kill anything that makes itself known by performing vile acts. Usually a monster won't make itself known unless it's killing. You also have the Research unit who... well the name explains it all. You have the politics unit which makes treaties with monsters, and the containment unit who works directly with both the politics and research units. You also have the worker unit which runs the areas we have set up such as the research labs and monster towns. There's also the special units which you will not know anything about unless you join in and finally you have the security unit. Whenever the organization wants to do something the main units head members, the highest ranks of each unit, have to vote, whichever vote is the highest is what the bureau would do. The main units being the hunter, research, politics, worker, and security units."
K stopped what she was doing to join into the conversation, "Yea I remember Sword telling me about that, I had been in for almost a year before they tested my threat grade, I'm a B9." Rick solemnly spoke back, "I'm a D1." They then looked at me and I said "I don't know what grade I am, I've never been graded." That's when Rick began speaking again, "The grades go as follows you have the standard grades being A through E, the closer to A the bigger of a threat you are to whatever or whoever your going after, the number is how close you are to a next grade, so a E1 is almost as big of a threat as a D9. You then have special grades which surpass A1, special grades go as follows, Special Grade 1 through 9, Special grade 9, or just SG9 as most commonly said, is Just barely considered more of a threat or equal to the threat of an A1. The only way to become a SG is to either be considered to be able to obliterate an A1 or to be entered into the special units. They grade you off of physical fitness, your ancestry, blessing, or if you have connections to some deity or entity, divine or demonic and anything between."
Before anything else could be said an alarm on K's laptop went off and she exclaimed "OH SHIT, ALREADY!?!? The man has been sighted, he's in a voodoo shop about 3 miles down the road. Y'all ready or what?"
Rick was the first one up, "I've got a score to settle..."
So we all go back to the car and Rick wouldn't accept being a backseater, oh no no no. He evolved into a passenger princess. We drove down to where he was at, when he saw us he ran, K told us to chase him and that she'll catch up. Rick and I hopped out and began chasing after him as she drove away. We were on foot now. We ran for a while before finding him hopping into a kayak. I looked at my phone and found a kayak vender, we ran to him and paid for a rental kayak and texted K that we would be chasing him on the water. We rowed and rowed following him to a little hill above a dark swamp. By that point night had fallen and we were left in the dark. The next thing I had was a wet thwak sound. I turned to see Rick on the ground and the man looking at me, I shiver ran down my spine. "You've got to be fucking kidding..." I didn't get to finish speaking before I got hit, I tried pulling my weapon out before that, but it snagged on my shirt.
#x200B;
When I awoke everything was black; I was shaking, I'm not sure if it was fear or the fact it was cold... probably a bit of both.
I could hear steps coming to me, but what was it. I tried moving but at that moment I realized I was tied up, when I went to speak I could feel the duct tap covering my mouth. The next thing I knew I got hit pretty hard, then again, and again. Shit I thought, "He's gonna beat me to death isn't he, he wants to do it himself, he's gonna enjoy each punch. This sadistic fucker was gonna drag this shit out."
While being wailed on, a blindfold fell off and I could see him, as I figured it was the man me and Rick were racing after. I asked why are you doing this, he smiled a wicked grin before saying "Well my boss is paying me to capture the spirit of someone specific." When I went to speak he backhanded me and continued, "I'm speaking right now. DO NOT INTERRUPT! Now as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, I've been working on a massive set of spells to revive it, I won't tell you who. All you need to know is that I will get what my boss wants. Now, with that said, why is someone connected to death chasing after me? What is it? Do you want my soul, or maybe you owe him a favor... You better think of a good way to explain it to me when I get back." Before leaving he said something along the lines of "Crimen enim sue memoria proteritorum referet et ant oculos micate."
As he left I could see my past swirling around me. I could see the good and bad things I've done. I could see the lives of family and friends fade away in my hands. I could see those I've killed drop to the ground, while I could see others I just hurt or tortured.
Eventually the man came back laughing before walking through the swirling memories. He grabbed me by the shoulders and got real close before saying "How's the past two days been? I can smell the shit in your pants, spells are quite tricky aren't they? You know what to do yet you cannot, terrifying isn't it." He then left before repeating the same spell again and it started over beginning again. I must admit he's right. In a normal case I'd drop back to break my chair and get up but I couldn't. Eventually I began to see things that were out of the norm, things I'd began to forget. My father having life threatening injury after injury yet surviving. Eventually the man came back and he spoke in an impressed voice "You've been here for over a week, I'm surprised you've survived this long. Now as I asked before, why are you following me!" Before I could answer K and rick busted in and I could see them through my swirling memories. Rick fired his weapon, one shot is all that was needed. The shot took two of his fingers and broke his concentration. Finally the spell had broke. Black smoke tunneled out and covered him before dissipating. He was gone.
K came up to me, "You reek, let's get you to a shower. When we get back don't freak out either." I asked "Why?" She answered, "All of your hair is white." Rick and her cut me free before Rick handed me back my phone, now charged, and my knife and gun. As we walked to K told me, "Wait here with Rick, I'm going to go to a dollar general to get trash bags and get you some new clothes. As some baby wipes; you will not be sitting in the car all nasty like that."
As she left I looked to Rick who was slowly pulling out a pack of cigarettes, "Yo can I bum one?" I asked, he handed me one while nodding. After he lit his he lit mine and we waited.
#x200B;
When K finally got back I went back inside before cleaning myself with the wipes and putting the new set of clothes on, she forgot my underwear. I then walked back out as clean as I could be freeballing in a new set of clothes. By the time we arrived at the hotel everything that happened between when me and Rick got dropped and when they picked me up. Anyways it was night when arriving and K and i went into our room and Rick went into his. I started my nasty laundry, and began showering. While in the shower the voice of the skeleton came back to me, "You really let him beat you? Get your payback." After I finished my shower I looked in the mirror and saw my white hair, by this point it was sitting right below my shoulders. I then stopped focusing on my hair, I saw the skeleton standing behind me. When I turned around he wasn't there. I went to bed but I just couldn't sleep, and when I did I woke up shortly after horrific nightmares of my past. For days we had no signs of the man and began stepping out to any witchcraft and psychic shops informing them that if this man is seen to call over to one of our three phones. Over that time I still couldn't sleep.
It ended up being another two weeks before we got a call, I was finally going to get him back.
We went to the woman who called us, a psychic, and she said we'd have to pay for a reading for any information she had. So I pulled out a 20 dollar bill and sat in the chair, she began moving her hands around a crystal ball and you could see the entire thing turn black. She looked puzzled before grabbing a deck of tarot cards, she shuffled them and placed down five cards of death, she then looked at her deck to see that they were all the cards of death. I stood before K sat, we asked the lady to retry, after shuffling her deck of cards she put out cards other than the card of death. Rick looked me in the eye's and said, "What in the actual fuck?" I shrugged, honestly shaken by the experience, before looking at the lady. She began "The man y'all spoke to me about has been meditating at the shrine of Marie Laveau and had been there for a few days, she then told us where we could find it.
We drove to it to find the man there meditating. When I hopped out he opened his eyes and looked at me before saying he'll meet me at the Voodoo Queen's ritual grounds. He then vanished as he had the last time we saw him. I looked at K before asking, "Do you know who the Voodoo Queen is?" She shook her head no before a bystander who witnessed the event spoke up "You're at her shrine." "So do you know where the ritual grounds are?", I responded. The man gulped and told me how to get to them.
The three of us got back into the car and went back to the Kayak rental shop, he asked where we were going, so we answered and he explained we would want weapons to go out there, "it's infested with large alligators. I can't in good conscience rent out a kayak to you if you're going there without a shotgun at least. Prove to me that you are and you'll be rented one."
I headed outside and pulled a shotgun from my trunk, when I turned around I could see the dead alligators and bodies left in the swamp rising and coming out of the water, I loaded the shotgun as quick as possible and inserted my extra shells into the holder; as I was running back inside I could see that everyone inside was getting beginning to barricade the wall, they were tearing the shelves from the walls and stacking them up in front of the store's doors. As I entered I threw 100 bucks, the price to rent the kayak for the rest of the day, and I said "Shit he's doing something again, If I get him to leave the spell should go out. It did when he cast one on me." I opened the door before they slid the shelving back behind me as I walked out an alligator came towards, you could see its ribs exposed and maggots eating at the bad flesh. As it neared a place the tip of the shotgun right above its mouth before pulling the trigger blowing off its mouth. I then pushed the shelf holding three kayaks in front of the doors and took the top one. I ran to the water and dropped the kayak in before hopping in.
As I seated myself I began rowing out into the water, I could see both zombified and normal alligators circling me. As I continued rowing they began to back away. When I arrived to the ritual grounds it was getting beginning to get dark. Not even a few steps in I puked a black, thick liquid. It felt like something had punched me directly on my stomach itself.
After hurling I came upright I saw the man and exclaimed, "Hey Two-Fingers, what are you doing?"
He turned to me with a puzzled look, "D- Did you just call me Two-Fingers?", After saying that he looked down to his two missing fingers before looking back and saying "You motherfucker".
He then continued on with what he was doing. He finished carving into the ground something that looked like a magic symbol and he began chanting. The carving began to glow and you could see a partially transparent woman flying towards us.
When she arrived I could see her getting pulled into a wooden box with a crystal and a gum gum ball covered in wax.
That's when the flying pig hit the dude breaking his chanting; the glowing stopped and the woman who was getting sucked into the box was released.
I yelled out to the man, "Bro get rid of that pig, why do you keep bringing him around, it's been spotted around you multiple times!" He turned to me before replying, "It's not mine, it has been following me since I got here."
Weird...
Before I could say anything else the spirit flew towards them through me, it knocked me to my ass. It honestly kinda hurt, I heard the man begin going off, "Shit, shit, shit, we're surrounded, This pig is annoying, and we have a pissed off Marie... got any ideas?"
I stood up as Two-Fingers stepped behind me, back to back, we began fighting off everything coming after us. I pulled my pistol out and shot the wings off the pig. The zombified alligators went running to it. I saw a light as Two-Fingers brought his hands up and said something.
"Heads up", I called out as the both of us dropped down. I continued, "Why are all of these things coming back from the dead?"
"My spell brings the dead back until I get the one I'm going after. I need to complete it", responded Two-Fingers.
I retorted, "Well can't you shut it down? I know when you left me that spell you did on me went out."
"I need to get her, I need the money for my sister. I'll get enough for her treatment if I capture the spirit of the Voodoo Queen!" Was his comeback to what I had said before.
At that he restarted the spell he had been chanting a moment ago.
I took out my knife, pistol still in hand. I began shoot and remove the water filled human zombie heads.
After I took out all of the human zombies I started blowing holes in the zombified alligators eating at the now dead pig.
They all stopped, but I hadn't killed them all. I turned around to see Two-Fingers walking up to the wooden box... that son of a bitch went through with his spell.
This time I was pissed, he could've quit the spell, maybe I should've told him about my work. I, however, doubt he would have listened.
I walked up to him, no I ran up to him, I got into a stance to fight. "Really, you want to do this, we're done, I completed the spell, nothing else needs to happ-", I didn't let Two-Fingers finish before I decked him with a Jab. I leaned to my side before he threw a pathetic excuse of a punch, when I came upright I followed through with a hook, I did it again, and again, and again. I could feel each hook get heavier and heavier. Before I knew it I was no longer in control. I kept beating Him moving around to punch a rib, or a temple, the kidneys, when I hit him in the liver he dropped to the ground. I kicked him hard in the gut before stomping on his face. Each time he would try to pull his little black smoke disappearing trick I'd rip him out of the smoke before he could voodoo away. It felt as if someone else was controlling me... like someone had a controller to my body, it honestly kinda freaked me out to say the least.
As I continued kicking the crap out of him I could see the day was beginning to set and a dark cloud began to form over where I was. I heard K’s voice call out to me, "Travis, what the hell are you doing?" When I turned I saw K, Rick and someone else. Rick out of the three of them was the one who I thought would be fine seeing the mess I left this man in. I was wrong even he had a clear gut wrenching reaction, I could hear K begin to yell once again, "What the fuck did you do? Why are your eyes purple, what the hell man." Before I could say anything an overcoming urge came over me and a voice I hadn't heard in a way spoke to me crackling and popping, "Let me..." Before I let it finished, I said, "Get out of my head, I am in control." K and Rick looked puzzled, but the third one walked up to me. "I'm Joe it's nice to finally meet, I need you to breathe and calm down", he said. After he spoke, I replied, "Wait why are you here, we didn't call you and nothing really needs to be done about this." "That's not why I'm here", he said "Look something you and K had called in has started a whole investigation. They're calling it Project Insect Adam; they want the three of you in it. Not only that they want you to get graded, Travis..., from what it looks like you're a special grade... I hope I'm wrong."
That last sentence puzzled me, a shiver ran down my spine when I heard it. "Shit not this again", yelled K pointing at where the body of Two-Fingers had been, there was a dark smoke dissipating at that point.
#x200B;
When I turned back to Joe he shrugged, "So when do we get this party started?" I asked. I could feel myself grinning from ear to ear, I'm not sure if it was caused by fear or excitement but I could feel the adrenaline running through my veins as my grin grew.
|
Did anyone ever mention the phrase: “Misery Loves Company” to you in conversation? Well that was the truth between My boyfriend and I.
My boyfriend, Connor, and I met at our local park about 5 years ago. We both had been going through dark times in our lives, and had conveniently sat on the benches adjacent to each other near the giant oak tree in the middle of the park.
I remember the sad look in his eyes as I approached him, His beautiful emerald eyes meeting my own. I remember his silky brown hair matching the same color and texture as mine, even our highlights matched in color. I sat next to him and started a bit of small talk, mostly about the local politics.
Our soft conversation quickly became heated and full of laughter, turns out we shared a lot in common. I was an avid kayaker that traveled to different spots around the country, and turns out so was he. I had a beautiful silver GMC Hummer to drag my kayak trailer around.
He ended up walking me back to my car in the nearby parking lot, and I noticed he had the same style car as mine. I didn’t see any problems when we found his car parked next to mine, in fact, I was overjoyed.
Over the next 5 years we grew closer and closer, sharing exact interests. We moved into a small townhouse together about 2 years in, went shopping and decorated it to look like a fishing cabin, and adopted 2 beautiful german shepards. We were overjoyed to see our little home coming together.
Connor brought up the idea of marriage at our 5 year anniversary. I wasn’t thrilled about the idea, seeing as wedding planning would affect my progress of getting my Ph.D in Marine Biology. He seemed happy with my response, as he was studying for his masters in Psychology and wanted to take his time. I don’t know why but his response caught my attention, something felt eerie about it, but nothing i could pinpoint.
Over the next few days, I noticed more and more about Connor that perplexed me. His body shape matched mine, minus the womanly features, of course. His waistline was thin, small muscle lines extending from his navel to upper chest, his pelvic bones slightly pointed out from his skin. His arms lacked muscle and his hands were boney. I looked the same, mostly due to an eating disorder I was working my way out of.
His feet were abnormally big for a normal human size, and his nails grew long and oddly sharp quicker than i’ve ever seen, which apart from his slightly taller stature was the only difference we had.
His hair, cheeks, eyes and nose matched my own. I chocked this up to genetics being genetics in the past but now that I had a second look, everything seemed.. off.
I brought this up to my sister over the phone, and requested that she talk to my mother.
My mother and father are both scientists for a place called Vermilion Laboratories, and have been there since they were fresh out of university. I could sense a sudden hesitance in her voice at my request.
“Uh, Celia, you should go see Mom in person.” She said, a small quake in her voice.
“Why?” She cut me off.
“JUST DO IT- it's for your own good!”
I sighed. “Alright.”
I grabbed my keys and pudged towards the front door.
“Hey Honey.” I heard from the living room. Connor peeked his head out from the side wall. “Where are you going?”
“My sister told me to go see my mom about something. Why?”
I lifted my keys to set them into the lock, only for Connor to grab me by the wrist. I turned back, a wild look in his eyes greeting mine.
“Don’t go!” He jolted, trying to snatch the keys from me. I wrestled my arm back from him. His nails dented into my skin, tearing away flesh as he stumbled back. I quivered in shock, three long open wounds had been torn into my arm, pouring blood into the cracks of the wood floor.
Connor backed off in shock, his wild look shifting into panic. Without a second thought, I slammed my keys into the lock. I blacked out, the last thing i saw was Connor lunging at me, and the door flying open as I made my escape.
My consciousness came back in my car at Vermillion Labs. I looked at my arm, the wounds were long and deep, i took a pocket knife and cut my shirt to use as a dressing for my wounds, then quickly made my way inside, Only to turn back and see Connor leaping out of his car at the end of the lot. I ran as fast as I could, Connor was right on my tail.
“CELIAAAAAA!!!”
His roar made my hair stand on edge. What the hell did I fall in love with!? Who the hell is this man?! Endless questions filled my mind as i ran down the seemingly endless halls.
I made my way to the basement of the lab, hopping over the ledge that kept visitors from entering. I hit the first stair only to feel my ankle give away. I braced myself, each stair impact leaving bruises on my body. Connor’s voice was far away enough to lend me a bit of relief.
The basement was pitch black, small flashing red buttons from the side walls punctured the darkness. I felt around, sliding my hands along the walls, coming to a switch at the edge of the room.
I turned, only to see a red button turn its trajectory towards me. I felt a shiver go down my spine.
The red flashing lights were not buttons.. They were eyes. I flicked on the lights to see Connor, not just one, but tons. All adorned in white jumpsuits, different numbers on each one. I froze in place. A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders, a light breath against my ear.
“I was made for you, Celia.. don’t you see?”
Update:
It's been a month since that post.. The Connors made a unified decision that I would never leave this place. I wish I could run away but.. sadly I can’t.. They just finished eating my legs a couple days ago. I was able to drag myself to a computer to tell you all this story. I learned my lesson the hard way, so please, all of you… if you meet a person who looks exactly like you and shares all your interests.
Runnejwjddmsmaikz z wjsjwnqejq
Meet them. They were made for you. :) |
I came downtown fully intending to get drunk and bold enough to finally ask the bartender out. The Bag Man got in the way of the patio entrance to the Plucker.
His unfortunate name was my invention, an unimaginative title based on the observation of the plastic bags tied in knots around the bottom of his filthy pants, devices to keep the rodents from biting his legs.
Normally, I didn’t notice him but my resolve about the bartender was weak and in danger of disintegrating, especially in the face of any minor deterrent, which I would likely use as an excuse to not follow through.
“Fuck,” I swore, looking suddenly into sad, distant eyes. Poverty destroys the dignity of a person but can’t invade the remaining humanity locked in one’s gaze. Instantly, I regretted swearing at him. Nevertheless, I proceeded into the darkened bar and flinched at the sight of Emily, reaching above the bar with her long legs and short kilt. Our eyes met, and she knew I was checking her out.
“Hey stranger,” she said because she didn't and doesn’t know my actual name. I haven’t had the courage to offer it during our miniscule conversation, little more than a formulaic dialogue.
“The usual?” she asked, red lips parting to reveal the slightly crooked tooth I adore.
“Yes, please.” I always reply quietly with a nod. I have no idea if she even hears my voice because the music in the bar is so loud. A pint arrived anyway and I drank deeply, greedily; I needed to be less me if this was going to happen.
It could totally happen. I lie to myself unconvincingly because I'm obviously not drunk enough. More alcohol arrives with the promise of an inebriated liberation from fear.
Attendant grogginess and slurring is the price. I called out for Emily. She looked surprised I knew her name. Another pint appeared but she didn't deliver it. The owner, Jeff or something, suddenly took over service. Emily had shifted to the other end of the bar.
"You moved her," I accused Jeff Something.
"Eh? What's that?" He had so many customers. No time for the concerns of a coming of age barfly. Loud music was too loud. I needed to regroup.
I got off the stool. One isn't drunk until they stand up. I wobbled and took some deep breaths of stuffy Plucker air before making my way through the crush of Thursday night patrons.
University students and army reservists from the local armoury mingled and laughed and flirted. Their lives were ahead, and they were unaware, or perhaps disgusted by the thirty-year-old example of a life determined to be wasted. I didn't know how to tell them or anyone I couldn't do better. I was once like them, and now I only wanted someone to give me permission to cry.
The air outside was cool for mid September, and already full of the sweet, atrophied scent of fallen leaves. There were piles in the gutter where I put my feet.
When I die, my soul will sit on a curb to study the sky forever. If I look up for long enough, I become hopeful. And a little less inebriated.
With my wavering resolve recovering under a banner of stars, I took a deep breath and got to my feet, still too drunk to be regarded as any kind of suitor. Just as I contemplated sitting down again, the Bag Man pinched my elbow.
"What the fuck?"
He'd come out of nowhere.
"What do you want? Fuck off."
Sad eyes invited self-reflection.
"Look, sorry, I'm not having the best night. Do you need some money or something?" I reached into my coat pocket, knowing full well it was empty. Who carries cash anymore?
From a plastic bag not tied to prevent rodents entering his pants, he presented, of all things, a DVD disc. It was plain, kind of beat up, and didn't come in a case. I hadn't watched a DVD in years, though I still had my parents' VHS/DVD combo player. It was only missing the stop button, which their cat had chewed off.
The Bag Man gently pushed it in my direction. That's when I saw the name and year in faded sharpie: Mike '96.
"No thank you," I said.
He lowered the hand holding the DVD and nodded as his gaze became distant and depressed. Here was a man with nothing.
"Okay, okay," I relented. "I'll take it. Thank you."
It's like the sun rose in his heart. I took the DVD, fully intending to bin it the second I went inside.
"Thank you," he said, his voice gravelly and the words slow, the syllables stilted off a lazy tongue.
"I don't actually have any money," I admitted.
But he was already going. He walked down Harper Street and disappeared down the corridor leading to the bus station. I watched because I was procrastinating. Could I actually ask Emily out?
Jeff Something had moved her because I was becoming a problem. I didn't want to be that guy. But I also didn't want to be the guy limping home, wishing he wasn't such a loser.
I'd take it slow. That's what I'd do. I went back in and ordered water. Jeff Something saw the DVD I'd forgotten about. I'd stuck my thumb and index through the hole and turned it into a fidget toy.
"He finally found someone willing to take it," he said, placing the water on a coaster.
I flinched because he was too close to my face; I could smell whisky on his breath. Jeff leaned back like he realized our proximity was weird. He nodded and smiled apologetically.
"He's been trying to give that to someone for years." Stupid loud music and now, too many voices, noises crawling over noises. Suddenly, the water seemed dumb.
"Vodka," I yelled. Jeff brought it over and wouldn't let me tab it. He handed back the credit card I'd given to Emily, who was now working the floor to deliver drinks to patrons. I avoided staring at her but she caught my glance once and it was awkward.
How could I ask her out? I didn't want to be with me. Why would she? Or anyone?
Defeated once more, I thought of slinking out the door again. Where should I drink tomorrow? Obviously, I couldn't show my face in the Plucker anymore. Not that anyone would notice.
"Mike '96," Jeff said loudly, right into my ear. He smiled when I looked at him, smug, like he knew I was a nobody. "Are you going to watch it?"
I looked at the DVD. "Hadn't planned on it."
"What?"
Too. Loud. "No!"
He laughed. "I'd be scared too."
"I'm not scared."
He shook his head. "What?" But then he was off again, pouring drinks. Emily reached over my shoulder to receive and deliver some. I tried not to look. The song ended and there was a momentary quiet. Another regular I sort of recognized walked in.
"Hey stranger," she said to him. "The usual?"
He sat down on the stool next to mine. I couldn't help noticing his hands were battered, wrinkled, and with bluish green veins revealed by thinning skin. He was old. He was my future, and he was old, and still just a "stranger" to those around him.
I had to go. It was too close to sitting beside a mirror and hating the reflection.
The walk home was particularly shameful because not only did I feel awful, the landmarks of poverty leading to my one bedroom apartment were all in full evidence tonight. The homeless, the druggies, the overflowing garbage cans, and new, desperate graffiti from the youth trapped here. *What is it for?* Written in red across a dumpster in the driveway of a condemned house.
*What is it for?* Hell if I knew.
By the time I found my mostly empty fridge in my one bedroom, I was practically enraged. I went for an opened bottle of the worst red wine in existence, and got even angrier when I couldn't remove the screw-top because of Mike '96 on my finger. I'd been wearing the stupid DVD the whole way home.
With the rancid wine and a bag of chips, I crumpled into the couch. I finally put the DVD on the coffee table and had a drink from the bottle. Godawful stuff. I put it down and reached into the chips; unfortunately, they reached back. I dropped the bag and could see creepy crawlies inside.
"God damn it."
No booze. No chips. Only Mike '96.
I don't know why it suddenly became so urgent to find the combo player, and why I had to watch the DVD. It felt like defiance to do so. Maybe that's why? I don't know. Angry, drunk people do angry, drunk things.
I got it hooked up and playing sometime on the wrong side of midnight.
Here's my best attempt to describe what's on it:
A black screen presents the title of the film in plain text: Mike '96
Then the picture fades to a cemetery, one I recognized as being close to the high-school I attended. The filmmaker starts to walk slowly, trying to hold the camera steady without success. They swing the view back and forth in a nauseating attempt to capture the undulating fields of gravestones.
There's laughter in the distance. It sounds like kids screwing around. The filmmaker is attracted by the noise and goes over to see three teens at the end of a row of already kicked over markers, most of which are old and worn smooth by time.
There are soldiers from the war of 1812 buried there, and ordinary people from as late as the 2000s too. I know because my history teacher made us go there and a kid freaked out because she saw her own name on one of the tombstones. That was in grade ten.
"You shouldn't do that," the filmmaker, a young woman by her voice, says to the boys. They turn on her so quickly. There's no way to see it coming. She drops the camera after the first blow; the shot is sideways and there he is, the namesake of the film: Michael Pierce. Died in 1996.
His marker looks new, shiny, and it's reflective enough to project a shadow play of the violence. Kicks and stomps and punches. The boys howl and grunt like animals. There's no protest or defense put up by the still form of the woman. She's unconscious or dead and they continue for minutes before two of them seem to lift her body and toss it out of the vague reflection.
At that point, I was certain I just watched a snuff film. One of the boy's sneakers steps in front of the lens.
"We should go," he says hoarsely.
"One more," another insists.
The camera is picked up then and pointed at the teen who just spoke. He can't be older than fifteen. His arms appear dipped in blood and he's catching his breath.
"Don’t point that at me, dummy," he says before striding to his companion and taking the camera. The device is returned to the grass but still not turned off. This time the view is of an older gravestone, half sunk into the ground and small: IN MEMORY OF BABY…The infant's name has been swallowed by the soil.
The heel of a Doc Martin briefly enters the picture, cracking the tiny grave marker. A second kick snaps the rock from the base. All three boys chuckle but it's forced, nervous.
"Come on man, she's waking up," urges the one I suspect had wanted them to leave before.
"Not yet," says the Doc Martens kid. His belt jingles and his zipper unzips. Dark, yellow piss flows over the remnants of Baby's grave. More laughter but only from the urinator. The demeaning ceremony of vandalism ends and the kids run off, leaving the camera.
Moments go by and, as I watched, I wondered what could possibly come next, and why the Bag Man had this and wanted to give it away so badly.
Since the combo player had no remote, I got up to eject the DVD. That was the only way to stop it from playing because, as i mentioned, my parents' cat had chewed off the stop button.
But the view moves suddenly as the camera is picked up by the filmmaker. She directs the lens to her broken and bloodied face, and then the screen pauses. I thought it was the player but I think she edited the movie to end like this.
"Do not forgive them," a voice says, and it can't be hers. It hardly sounds human at all. "They know what they are doing." It's hard to describe; the closest imitation would be text reading software sped up and deepened at the same time.
"Jesus Christ," I said, finally getting the paused image off my TV and the DVD back on my index finger. I turned around and there I was on the couch.
"W-what the h-hell?"
I looked around the apartment. I looked at my hands, and felt my face. It had to be a hallucination, a dream. I couldn't be watching myself watching myself.
The person on the couch exhaled sharply and then a gurgle came from the back of his throat. Drool formed in the corners of his mouth and started dripping down his chin.
"You're not dead," said a voice behind me. I spun around and an old man was standing next to the TV. "I am." He smiled and it might have been the worst facial expression I've ever witnessed because it blurred his features and made his black eyes vibrate.
"Who the fuck are you?" I backed away, and put the couch, and me or my body, between us.
"I used to live here," he said. "Now I'm just… here." Another smile disrupted his features, pieces of his face split apart, broken seams full of light.
"Stop doing that," I told him.
"Sorry. I can't help it. I don't know how."
"What’s going on?"
"I don't know," he said. "I think I died. I guess this is after that. And I'm not always here. I try to be, but sometimes I'm somewhere else. I can be with my wife once in a while. When she thinks about me, I get to go to her. One time she missed me very much and I used an old telephone someone had thrown into the garbage to call her. She kept asking who it was, and no matter how much I screamed that it was me, she only heard static. Scared her badly, so I don't do that anymore."
"Shut up. What's going on?" I wasn't asking him anymore. I leaned against the couch and my fingertip brushed the edge of a hair on the body - me - still on the couch in a catatonic state. I could feel the touch on the back of my head.
"I told you," the old man said, "you're not dead. But I don't think you can live like this either. Plus-" The temperature in the room dropped to nothing almost as fast as the light fled from the room. The old man sank into the floor. "Uh-oh," he whispered. "It's one of them. This makes more sense now. You should run." He was nearly gone, neck dipping beneath the cheap linoleum.
"What? I don't understand."
"Don’t let it catch you," he breathed. "If it catches you, you're really done for."
"I don't even know-"
But he was gone and I was left to face a figure in the darkness, wreathed in a halo of orange light, a slow moving flame revealing the outline of an animalistic skull. It was there for me. Not my body but whatever thing I had become after watching that DVD.
"What do you want?" I stupidly asked, knowing full well the answer I just mentioned. Its empty skull sockets weren't empty at all. Within them dwelled a spirit of evil, something humans know instinctively to fear and avoid.
I ran for the door but my fingers only rattled the knob. The figure didn't move. I don't know if they can ever really occupy a physical space. But it set its will upon me and that is the same as if claws were sunk into my neck. A paralysis spread through me and movement became difficult. The beginning of something horrific was about to commence in a world without time but eternal sequences nonetheless.
My fingers continued to rattle the knob. Then a fist pounded on the other side of the door.
"Everything okay in there?" It was the landlord. He lived next to me. "Look, I'm going to call the police, okay?" He swore and his keys rattled as he searched for the one that would open my door. The second his hand clasped the knob, my fingers slipped off. The way opened and I think he saw me.
He looked confused and scared. "Sorry bud, I saw your handle jiggling. You okay?"
I couldn't answer because I suddenly couldn't remember how to form words. The trapped feeling relented and I moved into the hallway and kept walking.
"Where are you-" The landlord gasped. "What the hell?!" I looked back and he was looking into the apartment and back out into the hallway. He saw my body on the couch. He couldn't see me anymore.
Another lady was leaving the building for her nightshift. I slipped through the slow-close exit and drifted along the streets in a daze.
A lit up ambulance raced by and stopped at my building. They were there to pick up the body I left behind. The old man said I wasn't dead. Sure felt like I must be though.
The streets were empty. I didn't feel tired or hungry or anything. If not for the persistent feeling of being watched, I'd said it was the best I'd felt in years. Gone was the impact of poor, alcoholic sleep. In its place, the numbness all that drinking had tried to achieve had finally been realized.
I followed a familiar path, the one I'd walked the most in life, straight to the Plucker, closed up tight and locked and dark. I looked through a window and recoiled from the inky shapes moving like tendrils of smoke within. I didn't get the feeling they were the same as the evil thing with the twisted skull slowly pursuing me, but neither were they friendly.
I moved on again, and saw the corner leading to the bus station. The Bag Man had beelined there after cursing me with the DVD. I couldn't move the spinning doorway. I could touch it, feel the glass, but had no strength to start the rotation. Nobody seemed to be inside and nothing too. I waited.
In the silver edge of pre-dawn, he came, the Bag Man without his bags or ragged clothes. He looked refreshed and clean. His hands pushed through the spinning door and I leapt into the compartment with him before it shifted. When he stepped into the station promenade, he stared for a moment at the ticket wickets on the far wall and the big clock above.
He couldn't see me. Yet, he hesitated, scanning the floors and ramps leading to the pick-up spots outside. Finally, he exhaled and went to the tiny variety store on the left. He unlocked and pulled the metal cage, and flicked on the lights. Then he began to set up, and sweep, and get things ready for the day. I think I can be forgiven for not immediately understanding that he worked there.
Eventually, he sat on a stool behind the plastic counter and tried to read a newspaper. He couldn't focus, however, and carefully set it down.
"I know you're there," he said. "Who could have guessed you had a DVD player and would watch it? If you'd thrown it away, this wouldn't have happened. I think it'd be fine if it stayed buried in a landfill, especially if you'd broken it in half or something. See, they're sort of like scorpions - the evil attached to that movie is one of them - the bigger and scarier they look, the less fatal the venom. With scorpions, it's the little ones you should really worry about."
I couldn't say his words were lessening my confusion.
"You can touch things," he said. "But you'll only be able to pick up what's been discarded." The old man at my apartment had said something about a phone in the garbage.
Bag Man ripped a page from his newspaper, crumpled it up, and then carefully set it on the edge of the waste bin. "Go ahead. Poke it in. Then I'll be able to see you maybe."
I did as he said and saw the recognition of my presence in his eyes. Even though he'd been expecting it, he still looked scared. He touched a crucifix tattooed beneath his collar.
He pointed to the DVD on my finger. "You have to give it to someone else." I presented Mike '96 back to him, since he'd been the one to start this nightmare. "No, sorry," he said. "I won't take it again. You'll have to find someone else. Then, if you're still alive?"
It was a question. I found it difficult to nod.
"Then you'll be able to go back. I woke up in the hospital after three years. They said I was in a coma. No point in trying to convince them otherwise. They'll just think you're crazy. You got any family?"
Answering seemed impossible as I faded from his vision. He couldn't see me anymore.
"That’s okay, just listen. You can live a long time in the hospital. They'll take care of you. But if you have family, they'll be given the option to pull the plug and donate your organs. I don't have any family, so the doctor couldn't legally do it even though I wasn't showing brain activity. Might be the one time I was glad I got no family."
I thought of the distant relationship between myself and my parents. The combo player had been the last Christmas gift I'd received from them, two years ago. I didn't go to dinners or birthdays because we had nothing to talk about. I'd gone past the days of trying to impress them with accomplishments and they'd stopped pretending to care.
They would pull the plug.
It'd taken Bag Man three years to find someone dumb enough to accept Mike '96. I started to panic. How much time did I have? What would happen if I died? Somehow, I knew the answer, and Bag Man confirmed it as if reading my thoughts.
"The evil one is with your body now. It's waiting for you to die. I saw it with my body when I went back. The good news was that it couldn't stop me because I didn't have the DVD. Don't let it catch you otherwise though. If it finds you… well, I don't exactly know, but… don't let it find you."
I went to the plastic counter and tried to put Mike '96 in his hand. He didn't see me and I couldn't make physical contact. It was like when you try to put the same sides of magnets together and the charges push each other away.
"One more thing," he said. "Part of the reason it took so long to figure this out was I didn't know I had to give it away. Also, I didn't know I could only use stuff people threw out. Last, I think, the more stuff you have, the easier it is for someone to notice you."
The bags he'd tied on his limbs weren't for rats. He needed to stand out. I could do that. I'd seen the homeless with their shopping cart piles. Were they dead? Or whatever this was? Disembodied souls trying to get noticed by the living?
People - the living - began to pour into the promenade for the morning rush. Their presence pushed mine away. The magnet thing was happening again. I struggled to move along the walls until I could make my escape with someone leaving at the same time.
Outside, staring directly at me, was an ordinary looking man with gray facial hair and a long black coat. His arm unfolded and he beckoned me over. I almost went.
They're like scorpions, the Bag Man had said. Smaller, less impressive meant more potent venom.
I ran to the next corner. When I looked back, the thing was gone. My thoughts raced. Panicked, I dove into the first dumpster I saw, behind the donut shop. Food scraps and sodden paper bags were plentiful. But it stank badly.
I thought of getting noticed. I thought of rubbing the garbage all over me, and how it didn't make sense to have a body to smear refuse upon while my actual body was somewhere else.
Before I really committed to the donut trash, I studied my hands. They weren't real. Or, somehow, they were more real because they were the idea of my hands without which my actual hands could not exist. I laughed at my hands then because surely, I had crossed the threshold of madness.
A worker carrying a trash bag found me and looked surprised. Not as surprised as I was that she could see me. It didn't last because I disappeared. Then she dropped the trash and ran.
Inside the plastic bag was more palatable garbage, a bunch of unused paper bags. I punched through the bottoms of several and moved them up along my arms until I had two sleeves.
Next, I wandered into the street and giggled wildly as people moved to avoid me. They wouldn't look my way but they must have at least partly seen something to step around.
I tried to give the DVD to anyone passing outside a bank but no one would stop. Adding more bags drew more looks and that's all. I needed someone to stop.
People don't often stop during the workday. They stopped at night, and where did they stop? Why, a bar like the Plucker. The Bag Man had chosen his location wisely. Drunk people do drunk things like take a DVD from a homeless person. Alcohol moved compassion and indifference into action. Charity increased, and so did violence. I had to be careful.
The ordinary man made another appearance by the bank and a few others, those like me, scampered away. I ran again too.
I went to the Plucker and hid under a small hedge by a law office across the street. The bar opened for lunch. Jeff Something showed up first, and I thought about trying to give it to him and how satisfying it would be if he were in this predicament. I hated him for his confidence and proximity to Emily.
If I went during the day, however, the patrons weren't likely to be drunk and stupid enough to take the DVD. I'd be out in the open and one of those things might come. The ordinary man seemed content to only make its presence known for now. That might not be the case next time. Plus, the skull head one, according to Bag Man, might come hunting too. I needed to be patient and strike at peak inebriation.
Sometime around 10 PM, I came out from the hedge and took up Bag Man's former post by the patio entrance to the bar. Many paid me zero mind as they came and went. I gestured wildly for attention without success. The paperbag sleeves weren't enough.
Something crazier was required. It had to be noticeable but not repulsive. A disgusting person got noticed in order to be dodged. I found twigs and branches beneath a tree and made a crown. As I placed it onto my head, I felt a strange kind of pride; I hadn't actually made anything interesting or good for a very long time.
I crouched against the wall and a few coins were dropped into my lap. My fear and panic and confusion began to disappear as I considered the life I apparently wanted to get back to. I'd more interactions with people in the last few hours than I had in months.
Just as I felt my desire to give away the DVD falter, the ordinary man and twisted skull head appeared across the street, waiting at the edges of a lone street light's illumination.
*You could come with me*, the old man suggested, words spoken without a mouth, a tongue, a body.
*Forgive me, lord*, the skull said with a voice like distant thunder, *he is mine, by rights. He viewed my totem and heard its message*.
The presence of the ordinary man grew and made the air heavy, difficult to breathe.
*Nothing belongs to the worms*, said the ordinary man. *The willing may go where they choose, and he is no one's with a tether still to the corporeal. I think I will have him because he is already free of the shell and I would like to have another body to stretch and pain. Yes, I do think it will be so.*
The skull head one bowed till its chin touched the curb. No other being seemed to be on the street or else the darkness following these creatures simply blotted out the light of anything remotely good and living.
Below, the ground began to shift and I started to descend by the will of the ordinary man. He would take my body and this spirit and make each suffer to suit his desire. I keep writing "he" but be assured they are an "it", an entity residing in mystery, thriving in the dark.
*No, I don't want to*. I still couldn’t talk. Nevertheless, they heard my plea and the futility of it gave them cause for amusement. Our suffering gives them joy, and I don’t know why.
I was scared. My ankles were already swallowed by the depths.
And then…
"Hey stranger," she said. Emily stood with her hand in her purse, searching for money. I held the DVD out just as she found a five to give to me. The bill slipped from my fingers because I couldn't hold it. She took Mike '96 with her other hand.
"Uh, thank you." She went inside.
"Thank you," I could finally say. The air felt lighter, free of them. I stood above the concrete, and they were both gone. I didn't hang around to see if they'd be back. The hospital isn't far from the bus station. That's why the Bag Man had gone that way after our exchange.
When I finally found my room and my body, it was the following morning, and my parents were there with a doctor and a nurse. My mother cried. My father stared coldly at my passive face and finally sneered, unable to hide his true feelings. The doctor removed a tube from my arm. They were already in the process of ending my life. It'd been slightly longer than a day. It made me sad.
The skull head occupied the corner of the ceiling - its skull sat amidst swirling, black smoke.
"What will happen," I asked, "if I go with you?"
*Unparalleled delight*, it lied, badly.
I sighed and entered my body. I gasped and drew in a huge breath. The doctor paled visibly and the nurse's mouth fell open. Mom fainted and my dad looked disappointed. I'd failed him again.
Despite the urging of the doctor, I got out of the bed and left, heading straight to my apartment. I knew what I had to do. Like the Bag Man, I hoped the DVD lacked a player this time.
I went to the bar for lunch and spoke with Jeff Something. His real name wasn't Jeff. It's Joseph, and the DVD in question had been forgotten by Emily in the office the previous night.
"Good," I told him. "Smash it."
"Why?"
"Just… trust me."
"Is it something illegal? Is it yours? You got it from the homeless guy, right?"
"Look," I said, "I'll give you a hundred bucks for it." I looked at the generic bank machine by the basement stairs and wondered if I could recall my PIN.
"I think you'd better leave," Joseph said.
"No," I said, "you don't understand."
He moved around the bar, and I held my palms up in surrender.
"I'll go but don't watch the DVD, okay? Just break it and throw it away." He crossed his arms and stared until I went.
Despite the aggression from Joe, I returned to the Plucker, and started going more and more when Emily disappeared. He thinks I had something to do with it. I don't know if her body is in the hospital because that information is obviously kept back from non-family. The DVD isn't at the bar.
I go back whenever I can and just hang around, trying to see, really see, the people that could be there, struggling to be seen.
And I encourage you to do the same. That person in a tinfoil hat, wearing too many coats, or seagull feathers in their hair might have a gift for you.
Take it. It validates their humanity. But don't use whatever it is. It isn't safe.
AP has posted this story but both of us are available to answer any questions you have.
And I totally understand if you think I'm insane. Just, please, can you pretend I'm not?
And that I matter? That everyone matters. I think it may be our only hope. |
Now listen, I’m not saying I was the bastard love child of George Clooney and Ryan Gosling or anything like that, but when you factored in my soft features and my career, there was no denying I was a serious catch.
The problem is looks meant everything to Hannah. *Everything*.
See I’d known since early on in our relationship she sought validation through her physical appearance. Personally, I blamed her parents. In our first year of dating, while we lay side-by-side on the beach swapping stories about our crappy childhoods, she told me her dad once refused to put up her school photos.
When she asked why, he patted her head and said, “Don’t take it personally honey, it’s not your fault your acnes so disgusting.”
So, you can understand where her toxic obsession sprung from. Not that I’m excusing what she did, just making the point that although her skin may have cleared up, those self-esteem issues most definitely did not.
It’s funny, in a grim sort of way. Because between her long, golden curls and piercing brown eyes, you could count the number of times Hannah needed to buy her own drinks on one hand. And her fixation with ALWAYS being the centre of attention could get a little…corrosive.
Like one time, at a gala dinner, the senior partners at my firm practically started a Battle Royale craning to get a closer look at my Cesare Attolini suit and new Yacht-Master Rolex—the one with the bidirectional rotatable bezel and black dial.
Had Hannah stayed home that night, it probably would have gone unnoticed. I woke up the next morning only to find a fist-sized tear beneath the lapel of that dinner jacket, along with two buttons missing.
In the months following ‘Attolini-gate’, she *insisted* on attending every last cocktail party and charity ball, no matter how mundane, in the flashiest dress imaginable, her hair all done up, luscious and bouncy. With a glass of champagne in hand, she endlessly referred to herself as my trophy wife. Or the winning lottery ticket that blew into my hand.
Little by little, these snide remarks ate away at me. From the way she talked, you’d think she married a professional Shrek impersonator, so the next time she dropped a ‘*don’t you think you’re punching above your weight with me honey?’* quip in front of polite company, I casually replied, “Actually, I reckon we’re about even looks wise.”
As I polished off my whiskey, there was a long, awkward pause, interrupted only by one startled on-looker choking on a shrimp tartlet.
To Hannah’s credit, her temper didn’t boil over until we got home. However, rather than explode because of the humiliation, she just endlessly ranted about how I’d placed us on equal footing physically.
Thirty minutes of shouting, screaming, and stomping around the house later, with half the furniture sprawled across the floor or broken, she said, “Fine, we’re even. You’re the window dressing AND the main breadwinner in this relationship. Congratulations.”
With that, the bedroom door slammed shut behind her.
Did I already know this encounter was headed to a bleak place? Absolutely. It was almost dawn, though, and I could feel Hannah’s raw fury from the far end of the hall. So, I spent the night in the guest room.
Hopefully a little rest would help dissolve that temper…
The next morning, from across the breakfast counter, the beautiful woman stared right through me.
“Everything okay?” I asked, my voice all meek.
She finished her coffee, tossed the empty cup into the sink, and exited the room without a single word.
Over the next few days, I’d catch her watching me whenever she thought I wasn’t paying attention. While in the shower, the bathroom door would shiver open, just a little, and I’d quickly turn off the water and shout, “Hello?” only to be met with silence. In the middle of the night, floorboards would squeak and I’d catch a glimpse of a figure in the outside hall, but by the time I flicked on the bedside lamp and scrambled to my feet, the quiet house would be snoozing peacefully.
Meanwhile, I refused to believe the obvious truth: that I was terrified of my own wife. I mean, it sounded ridiculous, and if my buddies caught me tiptoeing past the master bedroom or jumping at my own reflection, they’d have said, ‘You can bench 220 but you’re terrified of your missus? Puh-lease’.
So, rather than go stay at a hotel, I marched into our room one night, bouquet of roses in hand, and announced to Hannah that I couldn’t hold a candle to her. I said every time the human beam of sunlight I was privileged enough to call my wife and I stood next to each other, I looked so ugly by comparison on-lookers wondered whether my parents might have been related.
Hannah gave me a long, hard stare before pulling back the bedsheets.
What was I meant to do, wait for a damn smoke signal? I hopped straight in, desperate to believe we’d closed the book on that ugly chapter of our marriage.
When I woke up, my hands and feet were bound to the bedposts by metal cuffs. My dearly beloved sat on top of me wearing a face mask, her hips straddling my chest. In her gloved hand, there was a glass container filled with clear liquid.
Hannah said, “I’ve been mulling over what you said, and you were right before: we *are* equal.” As she unscrewed the lid, a pungent aroma seeped out singeing my nostril hairs. “But that got me thinking, if I’m not the pretty one, what exactly do I bring to this marriage? Nothing, that’s what. So I’m gonna knock you down a few pegs. You know, to even things out.”
The container dangled directly above my skull, slowly tipping forward, inch by terrible inch. Along the side, there was a yellow and black illustration of a beaker spilling over a bare hand and eating away at the flesh.
Oh fuck.
Now a stammering mess, I choked out a feeble, “Hannah…please…”
The last thing I saw was her big, bright smile—the smile that made so many men melt like butter in a hot pan. Then, scalding liquid doused my eyes, and an invisible battalion of hungry ants sunk their mandibles into my skin.
From there, there are only vague echoes of me clawing my way across the room, a scream issuing from my bubbling lips, and eye-jelly oozing onto the carpet. Either I broke free from my restraints or Hannah released me.
The world appeared as blobs of swirling colour, and the front of my nightshirt kept growing hotter by the second. As I ripped it off over my skull, there came a flash of bright light, accompanied by laughter.
It occurred to me that Hannah was probably watching this with great amusement, delighted by her husband’s disfigurement. What I didn’t realize at the time was that she’d *also* snapped photos to WhatsApp to our closest friends.
In the morning, they’d wake up, open pictures of me wrestling my shirt over my head—accompanied by the caption \*my ugly man’s got that beach bod—\*and chuckle at what they believed was my ‘disgusting Halloween mask’.
Disoriented, still burning, I screamed for help through liquifying lips, again and again. There came no response.
My phone wasn’t charging on the bedside cabinet. I fumbled around on my hands and knees, past the carpeted hall, finally uncovering a cold, tiled floor. The bathroom.
Guided by muscle memory, I worked my way over into the bathtub, my hands spider-walking up the side. With help from the towel rack, I dragged myself to a standing position.
The controls for the shower sat at chest height. Still blind, with the inferno raging on my face growing worse with each passing second, I mashed buttons until a blast of perfect, icy water hit me in the face, providing momentary relief from the pain.
It wasn’t long before the showerhead got yanked from its holster. The jet pelted me in the stomach, moved across my torso, and around the side of my thighs.
As it turned out, Hannah decided to record an Insta story. *Water fight with the hideous hubby. Love how we’re still sooo goofy after all these years!*
I toppled over the side of the tub, my ribs thudding against the floor. A short time later I found myself in the outer hall and as my hand groped for floor, it found only a handful of air, and I went toppling down the stairs.
Disoriented, bruised, I found myself trapped in that maze of a house. This wasn’t working. My only chance of summoning help was with Hannah’s phone, but how to get it from her?
With a series of stiff shoves, my darling wife wrestled me onto the armchair in the lounge, her delicate voice barely audible through the agony-filled haze.
She eased herself into a seat across my lap, one arm draped across the back of my neck. Oh fuck—she was taking a selfie, she was actually taking a selfie. She really had lost it.
The second I saw a flashing light, I sprung into action. Later, I was told in the action shot captured by the phone my face had the consistency of strawberry jelly, and where our cheeks touched melted skin stretched out like the warm cheese on a piece of garlic bread.
Still blind, I lashed out, swiping at Hannah’s chest and arms. The phone went spinning out of her hand and she tried to run, but I cut off her escape, knowing if she slipped away I’d be left there to rot.
With every ounce of strength in my body I reigned down blows, hearing bones crunch and teeth shatter. My 'better' half fought back, swiping at me, tearing away chunks of flesh so large medics would later tell me huge portions of bone shone through.
Hannah collapsed onto the floor, groaning. Just from running my fingers across her crumpled features, I could tell she didn’t that ‘more breathtaking than the first day of summer’ smile anymore, and most of the polish had been wiped off those well-defined cheekbones...
From there, my survival became a game of Marco Polo with the phone, which had taken shelter beneath the sofa. In the centre of the screen sat a blurry green button. I tapped it, and then a concerned voice spoke back at me.
I screamed. I screamed until the police officers kicked open the front door, then I lay in the back of an ambulance speeding toward the hospital, the sirens loud in my ears, a paramedic promising everything would be okay—that they’d save my vision.
Twelve weeks I spent in recovery, my face encased with bandages. The authorities took Hannah for her own quick pit stop in the emergency room before carting her off to jail, where she’s currently awaiting trial.
|
I’ve not seen my grandma since 2009. She had a catastrophic argument with my dad, but he used to be elusive about what actually transpired between them. Grandma moved away a few months later – I only know that because I remember cycling past her house and seeing it for sale. I was always certain she told my dad her new address, but he always refused my requests to visit her.
Once, I did a little detective work and opened a letter addressed to my dad. I recognised Grandma’s handwriting from birthday cards I’d received over the years. Dad scolded me for rummaging through his post, of course. He got all of his mail delivered to a separate PO Box after that – stopping me from intercepting any more letters.
*Dear John,*
*Please forgive me.*
*Mum*
*xx*
That was all it said. Unfortunately, there was no return address.
Anyway, when my mum died in 2018, grieving became our sole focus. I stopped asking about my grandma. I didn’t even really think about her for a long time. Just my mum. She’d been struggling with her mental health for a years, and she was missing for a few months before they found her body. I don’t really want to talk anymore about that – I just thought I’d give some context before carrying on.
It's been a painful few years. I haven’t asked Dad about Grandma since I was a teenager. And I’m 24 now. To be honest, I decided a while ago that I was happy to move on with my life. It felt a little like the ship might have sailed. Dad’s the only family I have left. I didn’t want to irreparably ruin our relationship by persistently badgering him about his mother.
But last night, something unexpected happened.
“Cara?” Dad shouted from the living room. “Come in here. Sit down with me for a minute.”
Gulping, I tentatively entered the room and chose an armchair opposite the sofa on which he was slouched. I was panicking because I thought it might be time for a talk about me still living at home. I finished uni a couple of years ago, and I’ve got a job in sales, but it doesn’t pay nearly well enough for me to move out.
“You okay, Dad?” I asked.
He sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. But I’ve been thinking lately...”
“Uh oh,” I teased, hoping a classic Dad Joke might relieve some tension.
It didn’t.
“You’ve not asked me about Grandma for years,” He said after a long pause.
I was flabbergasted. Dad has never been the one to bring up my grandma. Not since their unexplained estrangement. So, I hardly knew how to respond. After several awkward seconds, I realised that I was simply sitting there, mouth agape, staring silently. My father adjusted his reading glasses, which were perched precariously atop his seemingly-clammy nose and forever slipping down. I started to wonder why he looked so sweaty and anxious.
*Could this finally be it?* I wondered.
“I’m coming to terms with things. For instance, you’re not my baby girl anymore. You're old enough to go out and make your own decisions,” He said. “And I often find myself wondering whether you still want to see your grandma.”
I shrugged. “I stopped asking about her because I could see how much it upset you.”
Dad smiled weakly. “I know. We’ve been through… a lot. But what I’m saying is that I’m aware of your age. You’re an adult now. I just… I worry sometimes that she might try and contact you. Maybe she already has.”
I shook my head. “She hasn't.”
Dad seemed to ease up a little at hearing that. “Good. That’s good. But I realise that, if I really want to keep you safe, I… I have to tell you *why* you shouldn’t see your grandma if she contacts you.”
I nodded. “It would help to know why you two fell out.”
Suddenly, it was Dad’s turn to gulp. He shifted his body weight in his seat, stalling for time. I found my eyes wandering to the night sky outside our living room window. Torrential rain pummelled the tarmac of our sleepy road, and a solitary lamppost was scarcely visible through the cascading curtain of droplets on the glass.
“Your grandma and grandad always had a strained relationship,” Dad eventually started. “That’s why I have so many issues, I think. I just hope none of that rubbed off on you. My mum and dad were always good to me, but they weren’t good to each other. And they seemed oblivious to the effect that had on me as a child.”
I nodded gently. I could remember grandma and grandad bickering throughout my early childhood. And then, one day, my grandad left her.
“I always thought Mum was a bit too harsh on Dad for his long business trips. He was just trying to provide for us. But when he left her, I obviously empathised and took her side. So, I don’t want you thinking of me as the bad guy,” Dad said.
I shook my head. “Never.”
“I’m dancing around the subject. You only have one question, I imagine,” Dad said. “What changed?”
“Dad, you don’t have to tell–” I started.
“– I do,” He interrupted. “If you stop me now, I might never summon the courage again. Okay. I found something shortly after your grandad left, Cara. I was clearing out your grandma’s attic, and there was a cardboard box labelled ‘The Catalogue’. It was… It was full of photos. Photos of missing people, I later learned. And every person’s story was the same. These candid photographs were taken from a distance. In parks and busy shopping centres. Men and women. That wasn’t what scared me. It was... the photographs taken in the attic. Unimaginable brutality. I can’t… I can’t say any more than that.”
Quaking at a revelation I never expected to leave my father’s lips, I sat in silence, processing the horrifying information. My mental cogs were turning, but I hadn’t yet realised what I was still repressing.
“Anyway… When I confronted your grandma about it, she burst into tears,” Dad croaked. “She said it was the reason Grandad left. He discovered her secret. Obviously, I told her that I was going straight to the police, and she just... said she understood. She didn’t try to stop me. But she fled that very night. Fourteen years later, there’s still no sign of her. I just hope, wherever she went, she stopped... taking people.”
And that was it. My dad’s terrible story. I couldn’t find any suitable words, so I stopped searching for any. We both sat for a prolonged period of silence, watching the rain continue to beat down on the world outside. A world which suddenly looked a little darker to me.
Eventually, I went to bed, but I didn’t sleep. I *couldn’t* sleep. My head was whirring, but not for the reasons one might expect. You see, Dad’s story didn’t fully add up.
I’d remembered something.
I used to stay at my grandparents’ house from time to time, and they’d often let me bring a friend or two – given I was an only child, and they “didn’t want me to endure a boring sleepover with two oldies.”
They knew who I’d invite. It was always the same two girls. Sophie and Francesca. In fact, they often insisted on me inviting my best friends. And my friends loved my grandparents. Well, mainly, they loved the sweets Grandma and Grandad would give us before bed. Plying us with succulent, sugary goodness that should have kept us awake all night – and yet, we always slept like babies.
Well, not *every* time.
One night, when I was around 6 or 7 years old, I awoke in the early hours of the morning. It was still dark outside. I felt unbelievably groggy – as if someone had wrapped an elastic band around my brain and restricted the blood flow. But, after a few seconds, I became aware of my surroundings and noticed that, whilst Francesca was fast asleep, Sophie’s sleeping bag was empty. And the door to my bedroom – Dad’s old room – was wide open.
I eyeballed the pitch-black upstairs landing through the doorway. My eyesight was hazy, and I’m sure I wouldn't have been able to see a thing anyway, but my ears, on the other hand, were working perfectly. That must’ve been what woke me up. The sound of creaking floorboards above my head – from the attic.
My immediate thought was that Sophie was messing around up there, and I worried that I was about to be in big trouble with my grandparents. So, I gingerly rose to my feet – almost passing out as I did – and tiptoed quietly out of my bedroom, trying to navigate the blackened landing. I didn’t want to turn on any lights and wake Grandma or Grandad. But the creaking attic floorboards persisted, along with a muffled voice, and I knew it was only a matter of time before my grandparents woke up anyway.
“*Sophie*!” I hissed, hoping she would hear and my grandparents wouldn't.
The abnormally-loud creaking immediately subsided, and I held my breath as I finally accepted something.
*Those can’t be Sophie’s footsteps*.
I hurriedly crept back to bed as the floorboards, like wooden piano keys, creaked hurriedly across the length of the ceiling. I managed to slide under my duvet cover and close my eyes as the attic door opened with a giant groaning noise. It was followed by someone very heavily clambering down the ladder.
I remember striving feverishly to feign that I was asleep as the unknown figure lumbered across the landing. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to cry as I listened to the strained breathing of the figure who had stopped in the doorway – the figure who was clearly watching me. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know that. It wasn’t Sophie. *It was the Bogeyman*. That was what I told myself.
The monster padded clumsily into the room, dropped something heavy on the floor, and then walked over to my bed. I still remember that stale, unclean breath on my face. I was trembling beneath the duvet, but I held my nerve and prayed the creature wouldn’t eat me. And, eventually, it slowly backed out of the room, closing the bedroom door.
I remember, when I was eventually certain the monster had left, opening my eyes to see Sophie lying atop her sleeping bag, still passed out. She must’ve been unaware of what happened to her in the attic. I sure hope so.
I know now, of course, what I was too young to know then. There was something wrong with those sweets. Just like there was something wrong with Grandma and Grandad insisting on me inviting Sophie and Francesca.
But I also remember something else. Something that unravels part of my dad’s story.
It wasn’t *both* grandparents who invited my friends and gave us sweets.
It was Grandad.
**EDIT:** How do I tell my dad? I can’t just leave things like this. |
Wow. Okay, it’s been a while since I’ve made any updates for this. Sorry y’all. I’ve been.. processing, I guess. It’s been an- interesting time recently. It took me a while before I felt like I could finally write this. I don’t really know what else to say here, so I suppose there’s no place else to start but the beginning.
In my very first post on here I was careful not to reveal personal information on who I was talking about. But that doesn't really matter anymore, she knows about all of this now. After the dust settled I asked her if I could make an update and she said yes. She’s also given me permission to share her name. It’s Nadia, which is a lovely name if I do say so myself. But anyways. I’ll get to the point. I had been hoping for all these years that our reunion would be happy. She’d come in with the weight she’d been carrying all these years taken off her shoulders and an amazing story of triumph and survival to tell. That wasn’t the case.
Instead she came in all battered and bruised, her face and body gaunt and a look of absolute defeat in her eyes. I could barely recognize her, if I’m being honest. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she’d endured to put her in such a state. I still remember how the plate I was holding shattered against the floor of the diner when my body nearly stopped working as the shock of who I was seeing hit me. Just like the way she flinched away from the sound, her body tensing up almost instantly as her gaze began to shift around the room; searching for dangers. But most of all I remember the words she’d said.
“It’s taken everything from me. Everyone. That’s why I’ve come here, so I could warn you. And I don’t know if you’ll hate me for dragging you into this all those years ago and for coming back now, but I had to.” She had sighed, tucking her messy brown hair behind her ears before continuing to speak; her dark eyes avoiding my own.
All those years ago, you did something for me. You were kind. You chose to care for me, even though you had no reason to. And because of that you’ve been a beacon for me all these years; the knowledge that there’s at least a little bit of good left in the world. And it doesn't like that. It wants me alone, isolated. That’s why it’s been hurting them. Because it knows that if I have nobody left I’ll give up. And you’re the only one left. So it’s going to come for you.”
Nadia seemed different. Her voice was monotone, distant sounding. Unlike how I’d remembered her, she no longer seemed scared anymore. She just seemed.. done. Done with hiding, from being hunted, from the Hell that was her life. This was her last stand.
“I’m so sorry.” She’d whispered.
But as I stared at her, I felt no anger. I don't know why she thought I would. Perhaps she thought that her warning me also meant leading it here? Because if that was the case I’d certainly prefer that option over it killing me before I had a chance to prepare. And by prepare, I meant go home and get the shotgun.
I took a cautious step closer reaching over to take her hand in mine. She flinched, but didn’t make a move to pull away.
“I-” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I’m not angry at you. I mean- I’m not really excited at the prospect of that thing coming after me; but any warning is better than nothing, right?” She laughed, albeit shakily.
“How long do we have?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible for her sake.
Nadia only gave me a small shrug. “It seems to only come out at night. I was moving all day yesterday and most of this morning, so if we’re lucky tomorrow night? But given my track record I doubt it..” She was still avoiding my gaze, but from what I could see of her eyes, she was holding back tears.
I squeezed her hand, trying to embody courage that I didn’t feel. “Nadia. Look at me.” Her dark eyes flicked upwards to meet mine. “You said it took everyone else away from you, right?” She nodded. “Then it would’ve come after me either way. At least now I have a fighting chance.”
I’ve always been strangely calm when I’m in danger. I used to joke that my fear response was backwards; I’m calm when people should be panicked and panicky when nothing is wrong. Maybe my brain understands that if I panic when I’m in danger I would drown in it instead of helping me get to safety so it turns that part off. That’s just a guess though, I’m not a scientist or nothing.
I took a deep breath. I still had that feeling of sinking dread in my stomach, but the rest of me was calm. Or more like, empty, I guess. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
The two of us left the diner after I explained my plan to head back to my home. At that moment, I remember having two priorities. The first was saying goodbye. I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it through the night, but if I wasn’t I was saying proper goodbyes. I wasn’t sure if my husband would believe me, but I’d told him Nadia’s story before; if someone shows up with the exact same story and same impossible scar, that’s pretty damning evidence in my opinion. The second I’d mentioned earlier. The shotgun. My husband enjoys hunting, so we have a ten gauge in the house, and I’ve come with him on a few trips. Turns out hunting animals isn’t something I enjoy, but I do know how to use a gun.
My husband was sceptical at first; but oh boy, if you’d seen Nadia in that moment you’d just know she wasn’t lying. There’s nothing in the world that couldn’t convince me of that.
At first we argued. A lot. Obviously he wasn’t on board with what I was planning on doing, I mean, who wouldn’t be? But if that thing was coming after me I was not going to drag him or my baby girl into it.
This might be a bit strange to say given what happened, but I think out of everything that happened that night saying goodbye to them was the worst. At least my husband understood the gravity of the situation, and he knew there wasn’t much we could do to avoid it. He was devastated of course, but he knew why I had to go. If I was dying that night the only goal I had would be keeping my family safe. My daughter on the other hand, was a different story.
She’s so little. I couldn’t possibly explain all this to her. I’ve spent the last few years convincing her that monsters aren't real, how could I possibly tell her differently now? I hugged her tight and told her I would be back soon. She gave me that sideways little smile she’s always had and wandered off to play with her toys again. And that was it. I was leaving my house and driving off into the woods, far away from where my loved ones could be collateral damage.
In the forest near my home there’s this small abandoned shack. It’s easy enough to get to; I used to go to parties there back in high school, but far away from any other people. The two of us slipped inside as the sun began to fade and the temperature dropped, huddling together in a corner as we waited for the thing to follow us to what we hoped would be its final resting place.
Nadia was curled in a corner, seemingly trying to make herself as small as she could. She rocked back and forth ever so slightly, pulling her thick cardigan tighter around herself as she did. For the first time that day, she looked well and truly terrified.
“Do you think it’ll work?” Her voice was shaky, barely above a whisper. I shrugged. “I’m not sure, if I’m being honest. But if I know one thing, I’m going to blow that bastard’s head off.” She gave me a weak smile.
I’d like to mention at this point that I’m in no way a very violent person. Hell, at that point the most damage I’d ever done to a person or person-like-thing was when I’d punched the girl who’d been spreading rumours about a friend back in tenth grade. But this had been different. After hearing this girl’s story I knew that if I ever came face to face with this monster, all that was going out the window.
And so we waited, the hours passed and the woods around us darkened; every sound morphing into a potential danger. The moonlight filtered in through the broken windows, bathing the room in an eerie glow. The two of us sat ridgid, Nadia’s hand clutching the hunting knife my husband had given her and mine around my gun, as we flinched at the sounds of every passing animal or snapping twig. But for a while things were quiet, neither of us really having anything to talk about at that moment. At some point during the night, Nadia had begun crying. She buried her head in her knees, and my hand drifted to cover hers, trying to offer some miniscule amount of comfort.
I wish I could’ve said something to help her in that moment, but my mind was blank. The two of us were facing the monster that had haunted her every waking moment for the past five years, who’d taken away everyone she’d cared about, reduced her to a shell of a person whose only hope was to live another day. Holding her hand as she cried was all I could think of doing. The next few hours were spent in utter silence. Everything around us was so still, so quiet, that I’d almost let my guard down. That was until a look of pure fear crossed Nadia's tearstained face. Her eyes grew wild as she pressed herself further into the walls of the shack, blindly pointing her knife in the direction of the door.
“It’s coming,” she’d whispered, “oh my God, it’s coming it’s coming-” but before I could say or do anything to calm her down, a new sound caught my attention. Heavy footsteps making their way towards us.
With every passing second they only grew louder; twigs and dead leaves outside snapped under the force. I was frozen in place, shotgun aimed at the sound, ready to unleash Hell on whatever came through the door. But I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t think of a single scenario where I would be prepared to process what stood in front of me.
A single knock on echoed through the room as the flimsy wooden door splintered and I just froze; a single blow from the thing had been enough to take the door completely off its hinges. Heavy footsteps slowly and deliberately making their way towards the shack.
I jumped to my feet, entering a defensive stance with my gun trained on the door. But as the thing slammed against the door and I watched it collapse underneath the force, acid eating through the wood like it was nothing, I simply froze.
The horrors I’d been imagining didn’t nearly do the thing justice.
The very first thing I noticed was just how wrong it looked. Somewhat human looking, but every fibre of my being was screaming that this was not a human. The thing’s impossibly tall frame towered over both me and Nadia; with sickly pale skin that seemed to just barely stretch over its bones, shoulders and elbows jutting out to the point I was surprised they hadn’t tore through the skin itself. It’s mouth was split open in what seemed to be some horrible imitation of a grin, revealing rows of pointed, rotted teeth speckled with dark blood.
It wore the scraps of what once could’ve been a camouflage uniform, but the remaining fabric was so dirtied and stained from the years of rough travel along with it seemingly being soaked with what blood made it near impossible for me to fully tell. I stared at it for a moment, desperately trying to comprehend what I was looking at when it lunged towards me.
I don’t really remember what happened next. My mind just went blank and my reflexes took over, and I aimed my shotgun and fired a round into its head.
All of a sudden the thing was no longer moving towards me, instead crumpling onto the floor in less than a second. The impact from the bullet blew apart its face, blood and brain matter exploding outwards and covering every nearby surface in a thin layer of gore. The walls, the ground, my clothing, everything. And then there was just silence. Neither of us dared to move.
I stood there for a while staring at the body on the floor, ears ringing and hands still gripping the gun tightly as Nadia eventually took a very small step closer to the creature.
“Do you think it’s dea-”
At the sound of her voice the monster twitched.
It shouldn't have been able to, but it did. Somehow it began to drag itself off of the floor; bent and too-long limbs causing it to stumble like a baby animal as the featureless, bloody mess that had once been its face turned in Nadia’s direction.
I like to think I’m brave. That I can protect people. So the fact that I wasn’t able to do anything but stand there watching as the creature advanced on my friend is something that I still feel guilty over whenever I think about it. I thought I was going to watch her die. And then Nadia drew her knife.
And suddenly she was on top of the thing, plunging the blade into its chest and jugular veins over and over as this desperate scream of agony and rage ripped it’s way from her throat.
It began to thrash underneath her, hands swinging blindly at her as she ducked to avoid them and moving to bury the blade in its shoulders and hands instead. Within moments the knife had been burned away by the thing’s acidic touch, but the damage was already done.
Nadia slowly stepped off the now-lifeless body on the floor, wiping at her eyes with bloodstained hands. She crouched down next to the creature, silent and unmoving beneath her and whispered something to it. I don’t know what she said, it isn’t any of my business after all; but as she stood up all the fear and hardness fell away from her face. She looked exhausted, but for the first time since I knew her I could see a genuine smile cross her face.
We burned the shack. I already had seen the thing regenerate once, and while I was pretty sure she killed it I wasn’t taking any chances. As it burned I’d gone back to the car to get some food and medical supplies for the various injuries we’d sustained; but Nadia wouldn’t take her eyes off the shack until it was nothing but blackened wood and ash. By some miracle neither of our wounds were too severe, I got out with a few nasty scrapes and bruises and Nadia had another burn; although not nearly as serious as her first one.
And then the two of us went home.
It’s been a bit of a blur since then. The diner was closed for like three weeks as I recovered, and thankfully my neighbours didn’t pry about my whereabouts much further than my husband’s explanation of some vague yet horrible medical emergency; which is probably a miracle in itself.
Nadia’s been staying with my family since everything happened, and she’s been doing okay. It’ll be a long road after everything she’s been through I’m sure, but I know she’ll be able to through it. I’ve been having a hard time recently too; I’m a lot more on-edge and jumpy than I used to be and I’ve had some pretty awful nightmares as well, but I suppose that’s understandable. I’ve just been taking it day by day, that’s really all I can do after all. But Nadia’s monster is dead and my family is safe. So I think that things will be okay from here. |
My story begins on a fateful night when I, Daniel, embarked on a journey that would forever haunt my nightmares. It was a night of tempestuous thunderstorms and a broken-down car that led me to Hawthorn Manor, a decaying mansion that loomed like a monstrous sentinel in the midst of a desolate forest.
The first ominous sign was the dead silence that enveloped the mansion, as though nature itself dared not intrude upon its grim domain. With no other option, I ventured inside, my heart pounding with each step. The air was damp and heavy with the scent of decay, and my flashlight's feeble beam revealed shattered furniture and faded portraits of a once-prosperous family.
But what unnerved me the most was the oppressive sensation that I was not alone. Whispers seemed to emanate from the walls, and chilling drafts brushed against my skin, making my hair stand on end. The shadows danced with a malevolent life of their own, as if mocking my intrusion into their world.
As I explored further, the mansion's secrets began to unravel. I stumbled upon a room concealed behind a hidden panel, its walls adorned with arcane symbols and eerie paintings. It was a chamber of horrors, where unspeakable rituals had taken place. Fear clawed at my throat as I realized the mansion had been a playground for a sinister cult.
A feeling of dread gnawed at me, but my curiosity pushed me deeper into the labyrinthine mansion. As I descended into the basement, the air grew colder, and a guttural chanting echoed through the corridors. There, in a dimly lit chamber, I witnessed a nightmarish congregation of hooded figures, their eyes gleaming with madness.
They turned towards me with a collective hiss, and a paralyzing terror gripped me as I realized I had stumbled upon an ongoing ritual. I fled, but their malicious laughter chased me through the twisting hallways, echoing in my ears like a maddening refrain.
I thought I had escaped the horrors of Hawthorn Manor when I reached the attic. There, I discovered a diary that detailed the cult's heinous acts, their desire for eternal life, and their intent to claim my soul as a vessel for their dark deity. Panic surged through me as I read the journal's final entry—an incantation to bind my spirit to the mansion.
Desperation drove me to confront the cultists, but they were relentless. As they closed in, their chanting reached a fevered pitch, and I could feel the walls closing in around me. Just as I was about to be consumed by the darkness, a blinding light erupted from the diary, illuminating the attic.
In that moment, I realized the diary was not just a record of their malevolence but a weapon against it. With a final, deafening scream, the cultists were banished, their malevolent presence vanishing into the ether.
But the terror of that night still lingers. The Hawthorn Manor remains, its history a tapestry of darkness and suffering. And as I stand here, forever changed by my encounter with the malevolent forces that dwell within its walls, I can only wonder what other horrors lie hidden in the shadows of this cursed place. |
I told my wife I was going for a short walk and promised I wouldn’t venture far. She wasn’t a big fan of this hobby but waved me on as she got into bed. I threw on a pair of sweats, a long-sleeved shirt, and some worn tennis shoes then headed out the door. I saw that the night sky had a good number of stars as I took a left down toward the cul-de-sac at the end of our street. It ended at a hiking trail between two houses. The common path loops back around but one of the break-off paths leads deeper into the park; a chain link fence and a wooden park sign marked the entrance.
The trees grew tall and thick, but moonlight still shone brightly through the foliage onto the trail and peeked ever so often through the woods. I had a lot on my mind, and it was going to take a while to clear. We’d already used all our savings and every credit card to our name was maxed out or a few dollars from the finish line. Our kid still needed school supplies, and medication, on top of car repairs, mortgage, and a layoff I just didn’t know how we were going to make it. We’d fallen behind and our income just wouldn’t allow us to catch up. The realization of yet more bills came crashing down and brought me to a state of mind that I welcomed misfortune just so I wouldn’t have to deal with all this anymore. At least my family could use the money to set themselves up and be ok.
I looked up at my surroundings. I was so deep in my head that I hadn’t noticed I was walking through a haze of dust but figured it must be from a small dirt devil or strong wind. However, the air had a magical brisk feeling to it despite it. I gazed upward and squinted at the trees which had transitioned from green to dark turquoise leaves, obviously a trick of the haze and limited light. I chuckled at myself and appreciated the brief distraction. I paused a moment when fireflies emerged to dance in spiral patterns, their coordination alluring and off-putting. I tracked one a few moments before I shot out and cupped it in my hands. But when I opened them, nothing was there.
I smiled to myself as my mind re-focused on my current situation. I felt so overwhelmed and wished I never had to worry about money again.
“Now there’s a wish as old as time” a gravelly voice echoed from the side of the trail. On my side where there hadn’t been anything, but forest was a natural path of rock, tree roots, and earth that led to a small clearing.
In the back upon an ivory stump sat a rather dapper middle-aged man, bronze skin with jaw-length silken black hair, eyes that I swear shifted between brown and green, and a short, trimmed beard. He wore a suit that shimmered in the moonlight in a cacophony of colors. That same haze of dust and light hung around him like a curtain as it continually drifted outward.
What I previously thought were fireflies danced around him. He collected a few in his palm nonchalantly until they were a single ball of light and tossed it back and forth before he clapped his hands together and it was gone. He stood up, took a perfect bow, and began to pace around the stump. “My name is Mr. Afritz Jinn, and I deal in wishes. I couldn’t help but hear your rather, loud, thinking. Sufficient currency has been and always will be a problem for you lot it seems.”
His smile faded into an exaggerated frown then he tilted his head upward and rubbed his chin contemplatively. “Though I do have just the solution to this problem, just the solution indeed. I have more than enough and not enough to spend it on. What is it you all say? Can’t take it with you!”
His lips curled “So how about a bargain? A wish from me and I borrow something from you?”
Mr. Jinn sat back down on his stump with one leg crossed over the other and bobbed his foot to an internal rhythm. He rested his head in his hand already bored and awaited my answer.
“Uh, well, I need to think about this maybe. Do you have a way to contact-” I turned to walk away but found myself facing Mr. Jinn again, everything was as if I hadn’t moved at all. He stood on the ivory stump and sailed through the ground like a boat on placid water. He settled behind me gracefully and set his hands on my shoulders.
“I’d sing you a song with animals and fireworks but I have a terrible singing voice and would rather not waste my magic on vanity.” He chuckled. “Your life hasn’t exactly worked out, has it? And all that hard work just can’t keep up with the chaos. I have been here a long, long, time and I can confirm that this earth cares not for you. It cares for nothing other than that it continues to turn and what stands on it while it does so matters little.”
I clenched my fists in expectant self-defense and pain at how his words echoed much of my own self-disparagement.
“The forces that make up the universe care even less. Aloof as they are.” He brushed the shimmering dust that had settled off my shoulders.
“Yes, I have seen it, it takes the best of you to thrive, and you just missed the mark, but worry not failure can be corrected. I'll borrow your soul for a brief time. I fuel the wish and keep some for myself, I think that’s fair”
The world spun briefly then I found Mr. Jinn in front of me, his hands clasping my arms. My visceral reaction was to tell him to fuck off and return home. Chalk this whole thing up to some anxiety-induced breakdown, but vivid images of my wife rushed to mind. The look of relief on her face, a restful night's sleep, her smile when she finally got to travel and see the world like we’d dreamed. I contemplated the loss of my soul.
“And that sweet little girl you have. What could you do for her?” The words rolled from his tongue like a stone down a mountain.
My mental images shifted to her and my heart grew heavy. I don't know how valuable a soul is but it sounded like enough. I still had my doubts and my pride wanted to challenge the man to see if he could do what he promised.
A thought probed my mind “Is there anywhere for me after I die anyway? Was I ready to face the void? More time in existence could be nice.”
“And if there is somewhere for you.” Mr. Jinn spoke low. “They would have more ownership than I. I have no choice but to abide and give you back. Win-win.” He let me go and an incredulous smirk drew across his face.
I felt the need to decide. Our financial situation rushed through my mind with visions of broken hearts and faces filled with tears on a repeat reel of suffering. “Fine.” I said “ Live up to your end and you can have my so-”
“Tut tut tut” Mr. Jinn put up a finger “I believe you mean to start with I bargain”
“Ahem, I bargain my soul for a wish. That my family never have to worry about money.”
“Until the deal is done then.” With a blink, Mr. Jinn was at the very back of the clearing and snapped his fingers. I felt a violent pull and before me stood a perfect reflection, transparent and sickly green. Mr. Jinn smiled then his jaw went slack and his body limp. He was lifted into the air by a now visible white appendage and swung back and forth like a rag doll. The ground rumbled and shifted like sea waves before it broke apart; the ivory stump rose from the ground atop what came to be a large craggily oblong body. Patchworked across was clay-like skin.
This monster that I assumed to be the real Mr. Jinn had no features but a mouth so wide it could swallow a small car. Inside were teeth that spiraled toward an abyss from which numerous wriggling appendages that shimmered in fantastical colors probed in and around his cracked lips.
Mr. Jinn propped himself up on fat child-like arms of rock and stone that left him toad like then let out a mountainous sigh. That’s when I heard screams. At the tail end of the sigh were innumerable asynchronous screams. When I paid attention, they could be heard every time he breathed.
My doppelganger looked at Mr. Jinn and then back to me in confusion when in an instant Mr. Jinn leapt forward and gripped my soul tightly. My specter struggled and kicked with all his might, panicked and terrified. I tried to look away, but the former body of Mr. Jinn came back to life, his eyes glowed an angry green.
“You will witness, or the deal is void! What do you think you deserve when you dare not see!?” Mr. Jinn cackled gruffly. My body felt heavy and held in place.
Tears flowed mutely from my soul’s eyes, and I couldn’t help but match his expression. He gave me one last look of sorrow and mouthed ‘why’ before Mr. Jinn turned him over and bit the lower half from my soul. My specter’s face contorted into an excruciating pain I hope never to experience. Its silent scream deafened the forest as fluid and viscera fell into the ground. Mr. Jinn chewed loudly and sloppily then twisted off one arm and then the other and slurped them into his mouth.
My soul lay nothing but a torso with a blank but living expression on his face. A single tear fell because there was no more to give. I felt it. His grim resignation fighting against the hope that someone would save him. Mr. Jinn opened his circular maw once again and the tendrils from inside gingerly wrapped and lifted my spirit back toward that screaming black pit. I watched the darkness slowly wash over him before Mr. Jinn snapped his mouth shut.
“What. the hell." I stammered. "I had a psychotic break, right? This isn’t real? I feel so empty, this can’t be real.”
The body swinging above Mr. Jinn lowered itself back onto his ivory stump and once again rested his head in his hand. “Mad dreams? No, no, no. All real as the deal we sealed. Remember I’m only borrowing it. A century or four at most.”
“What. What were those screams?” I stuttered
“You’ll be finding out soon enough. You lot are like flies I swear. Not to worry though there’ll be enough left of you for whatever afterlife wants you. That’s a fair price to flourish I think.” He adjusted his jacket.
Mr. Jinn flexed and wriggled his fingers which caused motes of light to gather and dance before a plastic card appeared in his hand.
“That card is bound to you, taking up the empty space where your soul used to be. It will always return and never be lost. Should work everywhere currency is accepted. As long as you're around.”
He flung it and it spun right in front of my face until I grabbed it.
“Wish granted,” he said coldly. His monstrous body dug back beneath the earth and his dapper self stood with a Cheshire smile before he disbursed like sand. The area was left undisturbed as if nothing had occurred and when I made it back to the trail, it disappeared altogether. I walked back home in silence.
I was able to pay off all our debts and build up significant savings. Strangely, no one ever questioned where the money came from. I tried once to get ahead of my wife asking questions and came up with a convincing excuse. But when she heard me her eyes turned green and her smile grew wide. She grit her teeth so hard her gums began to bleed as she brought a single finger up to her mouth for a strained “Shhhh”. She snapped back with no memory of what just happened or our discussion. That was the last time I spoke about it.
Though my family is more than content I can’t say the same for myself. I still feel just enough emotion to exaggerate and act out the rest but even that is slipping away. I’m afraid of what that would do to my relationship with my family. I could lose the very thing I sold my soul to protect.
There’s another fear that occupies my thoughts. Every night I’ve had nightmares. Nightmares of people buried alive; others impaled by roots; faces screamed through quicksand; cries for reprieve from the claustrophobia and suffocating darkness as their very selves were drained away.
Every time I sit down with my family and watch their smiling faces I hear a gravelly echo “You’ll be finding out soon enough” and I can’t help but wonder. Was it worth it? |
I was one of the people at the epicenter of one of the biggest failures in architectural history. The Diorama Tower was a "dream building" conceived by 11 of America's top architects of the 21st century, but a series of disasters and controversies ended that dream. Well-known controversies included embezzlements, corruption, mafia connections, mistreatment of employees, and the biggest scandal of all: the fall of Robert Yates.
The 'Dream Building' eventually became the Building of Nightmares, and construction was halted 2 years after construction. Yes, it was a failure. But most of those were not why it was abandoned in the first place. Yates' death was the biggest one, but the reason we decided to stop the construction is what really caused Yates' demise. People die on construction sites often, but this in particular... it's far worse than any other construction-related fatality.
Out of the eleven architects, a fellow named 'Wayne' became the first director of the project, and because he was the most successful, the most experienced, and the most well-known of the eleven, he naturally became the project's figurehead. His leadership was short-lived because he was discovered embezzling the funds for the project. He was quickly removed from the project even though he was the director.
The second director, 'Stan,' was the complete opposite of Wayne. He was pretty new to the world of architectural projects, but what made him the director was the fact that he was a rising star who had built a lot of iconic landmarks in specific cities across the states; probably not even an exaggeration, but he is the greatest architect ever to set foot in America.
Stan also had experience as an accountant, so his financial knowledge would be helpful anyway. Immediately, he would reclaim the embezzled funds by starting a fundraiser and taking some talking to the court, leading the council to keep on investing in the project.
Then there was the second problem: where we had decided to build the apartments. It was located at an empty plot of grass that surrounds 4 Neighborhoods. While the scenery wasn't a big deal, the problem was that things started to get out of control when children started showing up to see the project and mess around.
Yes, that was the problem, children.
Because they were children, they have zero ideas of the knowledge and the importance of the building, not to mention children nowadays are rebellious, violent, and hedonistic. I'm not saying I hate children, but some do really get on my nerves. They are too dumb to live with us and should live somewhere else and not give us a bad time.
There was pure silence except for the machinery noises for the first few days of the construction. When word spread to the residents that we were building a new apartment, people, especially children, started to come nearby. Not because they were interested in the construction but because the place where they used to play soccer was right next to the construction site.
Over the past 2 weeks of the project, their soccer balls have entered our site more than 30 times. The last 2 of them have caused major disruption in the construction, causing workers to be pissed. From those two incidents, all we discuss at breaks is how horrible kids are.
The child we hated the most was the dark-haired boy whose grimness, terror, and grotesqueness seemed to come straight out of a movie. He looks like a gothic vampire (Although he acted completely normal like other kids, fooling around and kicking soccer balls.)
Therefore, in consultation with the construction site supervisor and the city council, the 20-meter radius from the construction site was turned into a" 'no entry' zone for non-related personnel. To ensure the kids that this was taken seriously, we have also written that entering this site is essentially trespassing and could lead to being investigated by the cops.
It was a good choice because children have stopped disrupting our construction since this rule was implemented. The project seemed to go well without any problems.
But of course, there was someone who would ruin everything for the team. That is what exactly happened 4 days after the rule was implemented.
During one meeting, Yates, looking out the window while discussing the next steps, suddenly got up and ran outside angrily. When we caught up to him, it was too late. One of the children stepped on the concrete used to create the outliers of the building's area.
What makes this different is that this was the first time there was a deliberate sabotage attempt on our construction, not by accident, not a mistake, on purpose.
Yates was furious, and It wasn't just the kids he was angry with; he was very frustrated with us. He blamed all of the kid's actions on us, and while we felt insulted, it was something we couldn't deny. For a few days, while we were just focused on the construction work, Yates had been doing many things behind the scenes to prevent things from going wrong by teaching kids about safety hazards, which we all mocked as a waste of time.
What did we do when he was trying to prevent this situation? Nothing.
The meeting ended in a grim turn as we headed to the damage scene to recover it.
Yates promised that he would be here first thing at dawn to keep this construction site contacted by the ruffians, and he would not stop until he sent a legitimate message to the children. We took his words seriously this time but didn't realize how much of a problem they would cause.
That evening, Yates stayed behind to lock all the doors to the construction site, gave the key to the foreman, and while everyone else went to the hotel, he got a room near the construction site, and that was that.
We walked into the hotel of Mr. Hanbal, who was very kind to us; he and his wife have been running the hotel for 22 years. Mr. Hanbal is a man with an unusual past: his father and grandfather were shamans, and he is said to have divine powers.
Perhaps his charm drew me in, but I was the closest to him of all the workers at the construction site. While others went to their room at 9 p.m. I used to stay up late, talk to some of his spiritual friends, and discuss the concepts of life and mortality.
Over drinks, those of us at the hotel discussed Yates' reaction. Something was off about what he meant by 'will not stop.' And That night, looking at the ceiling, I thought again.
I'm sure people have thought this before, but villains and murder in movies feel embellished because it's entertainment. If you look at movies, there are a lot of villains, from tragic villains like Darth Vader to pure evil like the Joker. We don't feel anything when they kill because it's entertainment, drama, and theater.
In real life, it's different. In real life, killing shows the darkest human emotions like fear, hatred, outrage, dismay...
What I felt was confusion. Why... Yates?
At the construction site, Yates asked us for one favor, an order to be exact. While we were sleeping in the hotel, Yates went out on patrol and fought violently with a shadow that fell upon him. Believing his life was in danger, Yates struck the figure with a nearby brick, killing it. After cleaning himself, He looked at the body with a flashlight and was shocked to see that he had murdered a child.
We went where he buried the boy, who looked like a character from one of those gothic movies...His body was as pale as Dracula's, wearing red with a cap on his head, and his eyes were pale as a skeleton. What scared us the most was not his face but what was surrounding the child's cadaver. Even though he looked like he had died a few hours ago, his body was covered in maggots.
I learned that just because you have a lot of muscle doesn't mean you're not scared, as the two biggest guys in the room gagged and the Stan cowered. Yates buried the boy again with fear in his eyes, and for some reason, we decided to let him off the hook.
Everything would have gotten right if it wasn't that the maggots started to crawl out of the soil into the construction site. Not one or just two, heaps of them, Crawling out of the soil like they have risen from the dead. Most of their futile efforts to escape the soil were stopped when we started to stomp on them, and we covered it with rocks, this time in hopes that this would bury the boy and Yates's murder.
The maggots kept appearing, and the rocks did not stop the maggots from rising from the underground, if anything, they had grown to a laughably huge amount. In desperation, we decided to remove the rocks from the burial site and now cover them with concrete like Japanese Yakuzas. Furthermore, we created a special wooden tool to ensure the concrete is hardened enough for nothing to come from the ground.
And they stopped coming out for a while, and the rest of the day was gone planned, with one exception that we were now antagonizing Yates, who were turning more sensitive, more vile, and more obsessed throughout the day.
At the end of the day at the construction site, I decided to take off my gloves and put my boots in storage to change clothes, and I was the last one out on the site, Yates standing at the boy's grave. I turned and saw his expression through the fence: scared, angry, amused, remorseful, or someplace in between. His face was like he was possessed by something.
We were all in a construction zone, a no-go zone, and didn't know what was going on outside; the townspeople had realized that the boy Yates had killed was missing and were conducting a massive search in the city; and the police had already assumed the worst, so they imposed a curfew, and the city, which was normally bustling by nine o'clock, became a ghost town. We all visited the Inn with dreadfulness and tried to hope for a better tomorrow.
Just as I was about to close the door in the room, I saw Yates walking with the innkeeper, as it seemed as if he had borrowed a room. Both men were sweating. The sweat on the men's faces was not the sweat of hard work but a mixture of fear and dread.
From that moment on, I felt something dreadful was about to occur. It was not a dreadfulness of us being in trouble but the feeling that our days were numbered.
And that day has come. That day has sealed the fate of the Diorama tower.
When we entered the construction site, we saw thousands of maggots on the ground with no dirt to stand on, and as we picked them up and walked to the office, the workers groaned as they saw the maggots crawling up their bodies. The site was filled with multiple people shaking themselves to get rid of the maggots who were infiltrating their bodies for survival.
Stan opened the office door in a fit of insane bravery, and we dashed into the office before slamming the door shut. When we looked out the window, it looked as if the maggots were coming for us. No, it felt as if they had surrounded us.
We all glared at Yates, especially Stan, who was superstitious; he believed that the murder may have 'cursed' the site. Yates was also furious at the sudden blame he got. While the two of them were arguing, some of us grabbed pesticide and started to spray on the maggots. Within minutes, every maggot that was crawling had stopped moving. I took the broom and filled a different hole to put the dead maggots into. As I was cleaning up the maggots, I felt an inexplicable sense of dread that these maggots appearing were now part of a larger whole.
The next thing I had to do since the place was completely clean, was to aid Yates in getting up to the crane while I also fixed the electrical wires placed on the crane to lighten it in the dark. I took my kit and walked to the elevator, and a minute later, I was standing at the topmost part of the city.
The reason I got into construction was that I was never afraid of heights, and every time I climbed the top of a crane, I felt such a sense of freedom, relief, and happiness that I quickly forgot about the maggot incident on the ground below, it made me feel joyful since I saw the morning mist arise from the mountains that surround the construction site, like a movie scene.
I immediately got to work and started fixing the crane wires. After 10 minutes of silence, Yates suddenly said to me.
"I have a feeling that I am not going to make it out of here today."
The ominous words broke my concentration, and I glared at Yates.
"Cut the bullshit."
But what he was saying wasn't bullshit. It was what everyone was thinking, even me like something bad would happen to us today.
I was concentrating, fixing the wires, when I saw the elevator suddenly go down, and three minutes later, a fellow engineer working on the ground came up and said that Stan had assembled all the engineers and asked me to come below.
Since I planned to return, I left my tools and followed my engineer buddy to the office. When we did come in, one of the main architects who was working with Stan was talking about the grounds of this construction site.
The architect told us to get ready to dig a hole and start setting the building's columns because now we need to lay the foundation for the building.
We're in trouble. The digging would unearth the body of the child we had buried, and the architect, not knowing the truth, would surely call the police on us. Sensing that, Stan told the architect to give us 24 hours to "get ready."
The architect left, and Stan told us to get the body now.
We couldn't hide this anymore, and we also didn't want to go to jail, we now thought of collecting gasoline canisters and pouring them on the ground to dispose of the body. All that was left was to dig the grave again.
The boss and two other people dug the hole again. At the same time, the rest of us surrounded the hole to ensure nobody was looking at the gravedigging process. 10 minutes later, maggots started showing up, and just as we thought we were at the burial ground, one of the architects suddenly gasped.
"Where… Where did the body go? We already dug six feet under, where is his body?"
What…?
Six feet?
Stan took a measuring tape and calculated the pit's depth, which, as his coworker said, was six feet.
But there was no sign of the corpse, not even a bone of the boy, only maggots, and it wasn't possible for the corpse to rot completely for days.
As we were looking at each other confused, Yate screamed from the top of the crane, and when we looked up, he was backed into a corner to the edge of the crane. Above him was a small creature dressed in red, wearing a cap... The child who died on the construction site days ago by him. Unbeknownst to him, the screams were coming toward us, and Yates was falling from the crane like a twisted puppet.
When I looked up again, there was no sign of the boy. But others were moaning, as they did see what I saw. The dead boy was at the top of the crane, and his, that is supposed to be in the hole, not in the hole.
Yates' body fell to the ground. His life ended there, and so did the fate of the diorama building.
We all ran away from the construction site when Yates fell and died. His blood was spilling on a concrete table shaped like an altar, his body lying mangled next to it.
The construction was halted there, and no one has returned to the site. And I suspect some people have been so horrified that they will never return to the city.
Yates' death was labeled an accidental death, but we all know that it was a death sentence.
I left the construction board and prepared to go to another city to find other work, and the day I was about to leave the hotel, Mr. Hanbal asked to speak to me for the last time.
I followed him to his office, where Mr. Hanbal looked very depressed. He told me he was thinking of taking a long vacation and leaving the country for a while, and he decided to tell me his friend.
When I asked him why, he told me he had learned that his son had died.
I first sat down and held his hand to comfort him, and as I hugged him, I looked at the photo behind him.
Mr. Hanbal was with his wife and son in front of an amusement park, the child we buried looking very happy.
Mr. Hanbal asked me if he would visit me sometime in this city, and I replied yes.
I don't think I'll ever see Mr. Hanbal again. |
My name is John. I want a written account of what I saw and when I saw it because I believe something horrible will happen to me. If you’re reading this and have any help, please help me.
These are the events, as I remember them, leading up to Friday.
**Wednesday**
“Happy nineteenth birthday!” My mother Anne shouted as I came downstairs. I had just woken up from a series of horrible nightmares, so seeing her face first thing in the morning was a welcomed surprise.
I won the lottery a few months ago and used that money to move back in with my parents. I paid off their house, and it’s been like we’re all living on cloud nine. With all the money left over, I could move out whenever I wanted, but something about being close to family felt right.
As I moved down the stairs, I scanned the living room for my father. He wasn’t in front of the TV like he is every morning.
“He went to the thrift store.” My mom sighed as she waved her hand back and forth. She hated it when he went to that store. As far as she was concerned, he always came back with junk. “Well, at least he decided to leave the house.” I shrugged. My father wasn’t happy when he heard I had paid off their house. He always felt like it was his responsibility to do it. We had a small argument about it the day after they got the news. I told him I wanted to repay all the good things he did for me, but he wasn’t hearing it.
My father can be a tough nut to crack. He couldn’t understand why I wanted to continue working after winning my money or why I never dated again after my last girlfriend passed. Everything with him leads to an argument. If going to the thrift store brings him some joy, I welcome him leaving.
My dad was gone for about five hours, and during that time, my mom and I made dinner, put some food away for my father, and had a couple of snacks while watching TV. Everything was fine until my father pulled into the driveway. The tires screeched as he slammed on his brakes; he was at the front door within seconds. “John! Come help me move this item into the house.” He demanded. His voice carried across the whole house. Whenever he gets this loud, my mom can’t help but sigh.
As I walked over to my father and followed him out of the front door, I paused on the steps. A huge clock was sitting in the bed of his truck! The thing was massive and honestly beautiful. I know my mom wouldn't be able to call the clock junk. The thing looked brand new! “Dad, how much did this thing cost?!” I exclaimed as I helped him unload the clock and bring it inside the house.
“$100!” My father grinned.
It sounded way too good to be true. My mom thought so, too, when we told her the price. But, after getting everything set up and cleaned up, the clock was working just fine. The grandfather clock had symbols carved all over the sides of it. The marks looked like they were part of the original design of the clock. Sitting at the top of the clock was a wooden lion's head.
For the rest of the night, my dad told us how he got the clock for such a steal. The pawn shop was going out of business, and the clock was one of the last items they had in stock. After talking for a few more hours, we all rested upstairs.
**Thursday → Mostly**
I slept through Thursday. It felt like I was stuck in a dream.
In my dream, I was walking down a long white hallway with doors on both sides of me, but everything was locked. The doors had no numbers or names on them. There was nothing I could do to tell any of the doors apart. In my head, it felt like I was walking for days. Once I noticed my feet dragging on the carpet, I looked down. The carpet had a triangle pattern, and each triangle was pointing forward. At one point, I wanted to turn around and head backward, but something was pulling me along.
As I continued forward eventually, I could hear humming.
“Hello?” I called into the darkness.
“I’m here. Step forward.” A woman said back to me. Her voice was so calming to listen to; the best way I can describe it is she sounded so ethereal.
I kept walking forward before arriving at my living room. “Who are you?” I asked her softly. I felt like an intruder. Like I was interrupting her day.
“My name is Cleo. I apologize for scaring you, but I had to meet you. We had to talk.” Cleo said as she stood to meet me. She was wearing a long black dress with a huge black cloak. The only thing I could see of her body were her white arms.
“Why did you have to talk to me?” I asked her.
“Because something will kill your family tonight if you don’t wake up and get rid of the clock. Something evil is coming, and you're not prepared. No one is.” Cleo told me.
“We are going to be attacked by a clock?” I asked her.
“No. Something attached itself to the clock. Something big is coming.” Cleo clarified.
It felt like I was looking at her for days. Like time was moving slowly and only got slower as we stood there. But I couldn’t ask her more questions. My mouth wouldn't move.
I woke up later covered in sweat. It was approaching midnight, and I had no idea what to make of things. But I didn’t have much time to process it before I could hear my father screaming from downstairs. I have never heard him or anyone scream like that before.
**Midnight → Friday**
I jolted out of bed and grabbed the baseball bat next to my door before running towards the stairs. As my foot hit the top step, I felt my body fly forward. I slipped on something. As my shoulder hit the ground and I slid sideways, I felt my head slam off of the door behind me. There was something wet under my body.
I slowly opened my eyes. Sitting in front of me was my mom's dismembered head. Her jaw was ripped open, most of it lying on the floor. Her eyes were rolled back, and some of her hair was missing. I screamed before scrambling to pull myself off the ground. I was hearing static. Nothing was real. It had to be part of my dream. The stairs were covered in blood.
“Dad?” I managed to call out.
That’s when I heard it—the clicking.
I slowly moved on the balls of my feet and walked as slowly as I could to the living room. The clock was open! A black “mist” came from the inside of the clock. I turned my attention to the couch where the clicking was coming from.
Slowly, something began to rise from the couch. It had my father's severed head in its hands. When our eyes met, the creature dropped my father's tongue. The beast had the outward appearance of a human but with bigger hands and longer fingers. It’s eyes were a bright white. When it saw me, its face opened down the middle. I still remember the cracking and pulling. That sound will be with me until the day I die.
When its face was done opening, I was met with rows of sharp teeth, a long tongue, and what looked like a smaller set of eyes in the thing's mouth. I turned and ripped open the front door, barreling down the stairs and into the front yard.
The living room window shattered behind me. I turned to look over my shoulder. The creature was following me! It briefly ran on its back legs before crouching and running on all fours. I took a sharp right turn and ran into the water. We live on a lake, and I hoped this beast couldn’t swim.
I watched as it approached the edge of the water. It didn’t follow me, though. I swam out as far as I could while still keeping the creature in my line of sight. That’s when three black trucks came barreling down our street and onto the grass. I watched two men shoot at the creature while four others ran into my house. I took this opportunity to turn around and swim away.
I managed to make it to the other side of the lake before stopping to rest. I checked my pockets to see if I had my phone. Luckily, I had my wallet. My cash was completely drenched, but I used my debit card to buy a prepaid phone and create this post. I haven't returned to my house yet, and I don’t think I ever will.
|
Hi all,
First, I'm sorry if I make some mistakes, English isn't my native language. I really wanted to share a story that happened to me three years ago.
Let's begin. I'm a French girl, I'm 25 yo but I was 22 when it happened. I was living with my boyfriend (ex now) in a little flat in Paris. I was in a toxic and violent relationship. Moreover, I was suffering from a disease so I couldn't go out with friends. So I spent most of my free times on internet. I didn't have many friends, I was really lonely. As I couldn't go out, most of them abandoned me when I fell sick. The few friends that I had were living really far.
One day, I had a big arguments with my boyfriend. I was really sad and lonely so I decided to chat with random people on a website. I met a guy, we had the same interest, we were both playing video games a lot. We talked for 6 month, everyday. He was knowing that I was in a relationship, even if it was a shitty one. Let's call him Alex.
We decided to meet in real life. He was ok to meet me at my flat. At first, we were both really shy. But, thanks to alcohol, we talked and laughed together.
I was so relieved that, finally, I was having a friend to talk with. We were seeing each other once per week.
I remembered this as happy time. We had so many common points and he never forced me to go out. He was really helping me. And I was helping him. He was a depressed guy, he was thinking that he was ruining his own life. I wanted to help him as much as I could to give him self-esteem. I just wanted to spend good time with a good friend.
For my 22th birthday, my boyfriend decided to make a party and he invited Alex as he was my only friends who were living not too far from my flat. And he invited 10 of his friends. I wasn't really happy with that. He knew that I didn't like when there's too many people, it tends to make me anxious and pressured.
So, I spent my all night to cook, to serve his friends.. I couldn't enjoy the party. Then, my boyfriend humiliated me in front of everyone. I went to the bathroom to cry. Alex joined me and tried his best to comfort me. I was in a pure mental breakdown, so I told him everything about my boyfriend's behavior. I insisted on the fact that I loved him but I will break up when it will be the right time. (It was too dangerous to break up at this moment).
As I was crying, he tried to kiss me. I stopped him, I didn't wanted to add a new problem in my life. It was already too difficult. I know that it's weird to say but, I was feeling betrayed. I was feeling that he was waiting this moment to try something.
He didn't react, opened the door and gave me a gift. It was a really beautiful necklace. I told him that I couldn't accept it, it was too expensive. But he went out without a word.
After this, I decided to put some distance between us. I didn't want to make him suffer. It's cruel to keep him as a friend if he wants more. I explained him that, if he wanted more, it will not be with me. I didn't wanted to cheat my bf. But, if one day, he wanted to talk to a friend, that he could contact me.
I didn't heard about him after this.
Few month later, I received texts from him. It was really long, something like 20 texto. He was saying that he was really in love with me, that he wanted to save me, that I was his reason to live. I was shocked at first, 'cause the way he said it was really creepy. I explained him one more time that I didn't needed to be saved, that I was an adult and, even my bf was "mean", I didn't wanted to break up. I wasn't feeling ready for this and that I wasn't in love with him. We exchanged texts for more than one hour but he didn't wanted to understand.
Alex was insisting a lot, my phone bugged as I was receiving too many texto and phone call.
It was making me too anxious, I decided to turn off my phone and I went to work.
At this moment, I was working in a little restaurant. I was a waitress there and I was taking commands by phone.
The phone was ringing, I picked up the phone. I heard breathing at first, then I recognized the voice. It was Alex's voice. I was feeling like I was in an horror movie. My bones freezed, my all body was shaking.
I hung up almost immediately. But the phone ringed again, something like 10 times until my boss picked it up. It was 7pm, I was supposed to finish my work at midnight.
At 11pm, I saw him. He came to my workplace and begged me to talk. I was so afraid, I couldn't talk. I ran into the kitchen, explained the situation to one of my coworker. He took my place as a waiter and I took him as cooker. Alex left 30 minutes later.
I was too afraid to come home alone so my coworker dropped me off to my flat.
My boyfriend was a night worker so I was alone. I locked my flat's door, blocked Alex's number and I was ready to call the cops.
I didn't wanted to talk about it to my boyfriend. I already knew that he wouldn't help me or that he would accuse of being too provocative.. Moreover, I didn't wanted him to fight with Alex. Alex, to me, was just lost. He didn't deserved to be beaten by my boyfriend.
The next day, I had more than 100 blocked calls. I didn't slept at all, I was exhausted. I was trying to not give him any attention.
One month passed. He tried to come at my workplace many times but my boss talked to him and called the cops. Then he never came back there.
He was still harassing me but I was ignoring. I thought that he'll understand and finally leave me alone.
I was afraid so I tried to lodge a complaint with the police but they refused it, as it was just "a guy who's in love".
One day, I woke up to go to work. My boyfriend was playing online video games. He received a message. That was Alex. In this text, he was saying that he was in love with me, that we had sex many times, that I was a cheater and many many stuff like that.
I was so shocked, I didn't understand what was happening. My brain freezed, I couldn't react.
But, thanks to God, my boyfriend saw my "blocked call". He was suspecting that Alex was harassing me for a long time, even if I never told him. He decided to block him too then he went to work.
My boss called me, he told me that I will begin two hours later today. I was alone at my flat. Idk how to explain it but, I was feeling that something will be happening, my heart was racing, I was feeling nauseous. Then, I heard my doorbell. One time, two times, three times, ten times.
I couldn't stand and walk. My all body was freezing. I was feeling the tears on my face, but I couldn't react. I felt like all of this was a nightmare.
I waited, the most silently as possible. As he was stalking me for a long time, he knew that I was supposed to work at this hour. I thought that he wanted to see my boyfriend to manipulate him. As he wanted me to be single, that was the best way.
Door bell again. I was supposed to go out to work..
I took all my courage, and I went out. It was him. He was crying.
At this moment, I wasn't afraid anymore. I was so angry. I began to shout on him. He was trying to explain that he was so in love with me, he would die if I didn't give him a chance. He said that he talked to my boyfriend, so like this, he will finally save me. And that, even if I don't want to be with him, my boyfriend would have kill him so he wouldn't suffer anymore. Moreover, he admitted that he hacked my Facebook and Instagram account, so that he knew that I wasn't hating him. (I talked about the situation to my best friend. I was saying to her that Alex was just unstable but not mean. That I was more sad than angry about his behavior and stuff like that.. Stupid me).
I decided to run out. But he was following me and grabbed my arms when I was trying to escape by the stairs. I hit him, I begged him to let me go. I cried like never in my whole life. I was terrorized, angry, I just wanted to escape and run as far as possible.
He pushed me against a door and told me those words : "If you refuse to have a conversation with me, I'll go to your boyfriend's workplace. I will talk to him, then he will hate you as much as I love you. Maybe he will kill me but that doesn't matter."
I was trapped. I couldn't escape. I didn't wanted to call the cops as they didn't helped me at first.
I decided to accept to have a conversation with him, outside, after my work. He calmed down instantly, thanked me and went out.
When I arrived to work, I was still shaking. I explained everything to my coworker and boss. My coworker decided to stay in his car after work, in front of the restaurant so, if I needed help, he would be there.
At the end of my work, Alex was here.
We sat outside, and talked. He was repeating what he said to me millions times already, again and again.
Then I interrupted him calmly and said that nothing will ever happen between us, that I was afraid by him and that he was poisoning my life. Moreover, he was putting me in danger.
He stopped. It looked like he finally realized what he was doing. He putted something out of his bag. It was a really big package.
He gave it to me. It was full of expensive items. I told him that I didn't want to accept it. He first told me that he bought this for me so he couldn't keep it as it will be a reminder of me. Then he kinda blackmailed me by saying that, if I accepted this, he will not contact me ever again.
I accepted, I was tired, I just wanted to go home and finally sleep. Then, he said goodbye and went out.
Sadly, that's not the end of the story.
Two weeks later, I was sleeping at one of my coworker's place who became one of my most precious friend. At 5am, I heard my phone ringing. I was too tired to answer. But I heard it again. And again. And again. It was some text from an unknown number.
I opened it, and the first thing I saw was blood. Then there was a long text but I didn't had the time to read ur as I received other pics. There was blood everywhere on the pics. I woke up my friend, I showed her the pics, I was shaking so much, I couldn't understand what was happening. I received 31 pictures of mutilated arms, torso and legs. On the last of them, I saw Alex's face. It was Alex again.
I called Alex's mother to explain her what was happening. I recognized his bedroom on the pics.
Then my friend put my phone far from me. She was hugging me, I was feeling so guilty, thinking that everything was my fault.
Almost one hour later, I did not receive any text or call which was making me even more anxious. I thought that he was dead. Suddenly, my phone ringed again. I received a video of him, in an hospital bed. He was trying to talk but almost everything was understandable except few words like love and promises.
Alex tried to commit suicide. He took many drugs and cutted himself. He was diagnosed as bipolar with personality disorder.
He stayed few month at the psychiatric clinic. The last thing I heard about him was that, he's on treatment and he's feeling better.
I received a last text, last year. It was just a sorry.
Since this day, I moved out. I have a new work, a new house, in a different city with a different boyfriend.
Even if I'm still traumatized by it, I do think that, Alex is not the "bad guy". In France, psychiatric trouble are taken too lightly. Alex needed help and I really hope from the bottom of my heart that he's feeling better now.
Thanks all for reading. I know that it was a long story. I hope that my English was understable. |
So I started reading the posts here and I realized that my story would fit in well, so here goes.
I am a 27 year old woman, and this happened to me 9 or 10 years ago, when I was a senior in high school. We lived in a pretty large house, but my siblings were all away at college or boarding school, so it was only my parents and I in the house.
I am a crazy light sleeper. So when I woke up in the dark and saw my alarm clock flashing 3:11 am, I wasn't too surprised. However, I was *wide* awake, not just groggily stirring in my sleep. I lay there, wondering what had woken me, when I heard very soft footsteps on the stairs outside my bedroom.
The door to my room was parallel to the left side of the bed, and I happened to be laying with my back to the door. When the footsteps approached my door, I thought it must be one of my parents, checking on me for some reason. Then the doorknob was turned, so, so slowly. Still, I thought they were just trying not to wake me. The door began to open, again, slowly and carefully. It made a creaking noise, no matter how slowly it was opened, so the person finally just shoved it the rest of the way, to silence the creak.
Still, my naïve brain thought it was one of my parents. Until they clicked on a flashlight.
I froze. Terror flooded me, and I remember that I instantly broke out in sweat. They were behind me, and I was facing away, so they couldn't see my eyes wide open as they shone the beam straight on me.
I always used to think that if something like that ever happened, I would be such a bad ass and I would whip out of bed and punch them, attack them, shout, scream, do SOMETHING. But I could do nothing at all. All I could do was try to keep my breathing deep and even, despite the pounding of my heart, so that the intruder wouldn't know I was awake. After about 10 seconds, they finally moved the light away.
I prayed and begged and bartered with anything that would listen to me as the intruder walked around my room, looking at my things. I could vaguely see their shape, large and bulky, like they were wearing two coats. They had a baseball cap on. They didn't shine the flashlight on me again, and after a few minutes, which felt like an eternity, they left my room.
I could still hear them, though, walking around the rest of the second floor, through my siblings empty bedrooms. I was still sweating, still frozen in terror, not knowing what to do. I wanted to grab my phone and call my dad, sleeping downstairs. I wanted to call our landline, so that the phone would ring and wake my parents up. I wanted to call the police, I wanted to get up and run from my room, I wanted to cry, but I couldn't do any of those things. I was afraid that they would hear me, and I didn't know if they had a weapon and would try to hurt me or my parents. I wouldn't wish such helpless terror on my worst enemy.
I don't know how, but I must have passed out from fear, or the adrenaline wore off and I fell asleep somehow, because the next thing I knew it was 6 am, and I could hear my parents downstairs. I ran downstairs, and as calmly as I could, I asked them if one of them had been in my room last night. Their faces went blank, and they said no, they hadn't.
That was the last straw. I broke down in sobs and told them "Then someone was in my room last night." Even as I type this, my hands have begun shaking and I've teared up. The police were called, even though there was little they could do at that point.
Apparently, when my parents woke up, all of the doors to the outside were standing wide open, and there was a duffel bag at the bottom of the stairs. All that was inside was a coil of nylon rope, and an empty USB flashdrive. I don't want to think about what it was for. The intruder hadn't taken anything, and we have no idea why they left in what appeared to be a hurry.
It took me about a week to be able to sleep in my own room, a sanctuary which felt violated and frightening to me now. I carry pepper spray, sleep with a machete next to my bed, and double check my locks every night. Hopefully this will never happen again, but if it does, hopefully I won't freeze.
It's been 10 years, and my most common nightmare is that someone is in my room, standing in the shadows, watching me. |
A couple years ago I (21F) was solo backpacking in France and made a day trip out to Versailles from Paris. You have to take two separate trains to both get out there and get back. I got on my first train heading back from Versailles and my phone was at 3% so I had it on airplane mode and low power, but had my headphones in without anything playing to deter people from approaching me. John didn’t care. He came over and sat beside me, speaking to me in French. I’d been walking around the gardens all day and wasn’t really in the mood to entertain anyone, so I pretended I didn’t understand French.
He pulled out his phone and went onto google translate, asking if I wanted to learn French. I responded with “No, thank you”, and went to put my headphones back in and appear even more uninterested since my body language wasn’t enough for him. He continued to ask me questions through his phone, the next one being “where are you sleeping?”. I lied and said that I was in a large hotel with my family and was heading back to them. He asked where it was and all I replied with was “Paris”.
He then asked if I was getting off at a specific stop of the subway which I said yes to (another lie), and he said that he’d go with me. I immediately said no and ended the conversation. I got my headphones in and completely closed him off from talking to me, which prompted him to leave me alone for a couple minutes. He then got a phone call and said to his friend “Yeah, I’ll get off at X stop, and you go to Y stop”. This set off the DANGER DANGER alarm in my head because Y stop is the actual stop I was getting off at.
We got to the transfer station and he got up and off the train and waited for me at the doors. I took my sweet ass time getting up and making sure I had everything, to the point that it was very obvious I was doing it on purpose. He then left to get on the other train, and I slowly made my way off and to the next train. I mean PAINFULLY slowly.
I got on the train at the very front and was watching everyone around me to make sure that nobody was being suspicious or watching me, to the point that they all probably thought I was on something. We got to X stop and I’m watching the people going off and coming on, as well as anyone on the platform, but I see no sign of him or anyone paying much attention to me. We get to stop Y and I get off with the crowd, turn the corner, and he’s there with four friends SCANNING everyone coming out.
I turned around so fast and went the exact opposite way, taking my hair out of my bun and trying to change my appearance as much as I possibly could. As soon as I got out of the train station I RAN back to my hostel and refused to leave it unless I was with one of my roommates.
sorry you got outsmarted by a Dumb Blonde dude but let’s never meet again xoxo. |
Just passing through
The first job I had was at a pizza place in my hometown. It’s a really small town with a little over 1,000 people. We’re right next to a main highway thats about 30 minutes away from a major city. One night around September-October, I’m working with 2 other coworkers and our manager. Our whole shift had been pretty slow and we were getting ready to close at 9:00pm.
Around 8:30pm two men and a little girl (around the age of 7 or 8) come in. I go up to the front and ask them if they need help with anything or if they’re going to place an order. One of the men (the shorter one) says that they are just passing through he then asks about the prices of different items on the menu, he also asks what time we close. I answer and he just says okay and walks away to sit down with the little girl at a booth. The taller man then leaves the building and gets into their car parked out front.
The smaller man gets up after about 5 minutes whispers something to the little girl than leaves. My coworkers and I are watching this all go down and talking about how strange it is. The little girl gets up and starts dancing around to the radio station we have playing. After a couple minutes of this I walk up to her and ask her if she’s hungry or if she wants a drink. She says she only wants a water, which I get for her she takes it back to the booth and sits down.
I ask her who she’s waiting on and she says her “dad”. My coworkers and I are starting to get worried for her because the two men haven’t came back yet and it’s 8:50pm. We start to think that neither one of them is her “dad” at all. My manager decides to call the police. (Our town is too small for our own police station so we have to wait for them to come from the next town over, which takes at least 15 minutes).
I go to sit with her at the booth, I’m making small talk with her trying to make sure she’s safe and nothing happens before the cops can get there. In the middle of our conversation she gets up and says she has to leave, my manager and I try to tell her she needs to stay in the restaurant until her “dad” comes back but she starts crying and screaming and insists on leaving. A couple days later my manager said the cops found her walking down the road alone later that night. We never heard anymore information about the situation afterwards, I just hope she’s safe now.
Dear men who are “just passing through” let’s not meet again... |
So looking into my past I've realised I've had a few stories that could fit into this subreddit. This one I think about a lot and how my life could've changed in a split second decision so easily.
At the time I was quite young maybe around 6-7 years old, but I still remember it so perfectly, I was in Central London for the day with my family and it was getting to the evening so we had begun heading home. We don't live too far out of Central London so we were just going to get a taxi to the nearest train station and head back from there.
Being so young, inexperienced with the world, and plain stupid when we got out of the taxi at the train station I thought it was custom to wave goodbye to taxi drivers as they drove off... yeah, stupid. So after I'd finished waving goodbye to this complete stranger of a taxi driver I turned around and saw my family completely gone, vanished out of thin air. I was so young I had no idea what had just happened. They just suddenly weren't anywhere to be seen, being a short kid everyone was like giants at this age it was terrifying. At that moment everything I ever learnt about stranger danger completely went out the window and no longer mattered.. I was just terrified. So I remember choosing to sit in the middle of the pavement and do the only thing I knew how to and just cry, hoping my parents would soon find me.
'Are you okay?'
I looked up to the side and saw a man sat on a bench next to me, but sat in the way where his bum was on the backrest bit and his feet were on the seat, making him completely tower over me. I remember the image of him so so clearly.
'Ive lost my family'
'Let me help you find them'
I can't remember the exact conversation very well; except for the next thing he said
'I think I saw them go this way, follow me'
That line has stuck with me ever since.
He stood up and took hold of my hand and started leading me down the road. Completely oblivious and just glad that I had an adult with me now I just calmly went with him. Just as he was about to lead me round a corner of a building, I heard a voice call my name.
My brother, only being 2 years older than me at the time, had come running out of the train station and seen me just before I was about to completely disappear out of sight around another road in London. A few seconds later running outside and there's no way he would've seen me.
My parents followed and quickly ran out too, grabbing me away from the man making sure I was okay. I don't remember what happened to the man after that, part of my memory says he quickly ran away after my family got me, another part tells me that he stayed and explained to my parents his course of events.
None of us really remember, I just know that I'm so lucky I didn't go round that corner with him, I always think how different my life could've been if I did. Thinking about it, the station entrance was only a few meters from where I'd sat down to cry, it wasn't that busy. The man must've seen my family go into the station, but that's one thing I'll luckily never know the answer to. |
A few years ago while on winter break from my university, I was staying in my hometown with my family. I had an extended break from school, longer than my other friends in college, and I wanted to get out of my house. I had been speaking to a guy a few years older than me, and he invited me over to his place.
I met him through a combination of mutual friends and social media. I figured, since he knew some of my friends, he wouldn't do anything... crazy.
I show up to his apartment and one of the first things I notice is a baseball bat haphazardly studded with nails. He jokingly opened the door with it in his hands. I start to get nervous.
All ends fine, though. We watch TV, chat, play with his dog, and everything else seems normal - albeit very boring. We fuck, and I leave in one piece.
He ghosts me for about 3 weeks after that, while claiming he's sick. He ditches plans we have and I move on. The night before I leave for university, he told me found something of mine (very, very important thing I had left there on accident). I quickly drive over, late at night, in hopes to just grab it and go. I do manage to get it, but not before he breaks down crying about how much he misses me. He's clearly upset I'm leaving, even though he had decidely ignored me for 3 weeks. He said he made a huge mistake by not seeing me sooner and by flaking on our plans. Very weird, and I'm incredibly uncomfortable.
He goes on to speak about his ex girlfriend, and how terrible she was. How I'm nothing like her, and he needs me in his life. I do my best to politely shut him up before skirting my ass out of there. I remember laughing so hard the entire drive home, because if I didn't I would have panicked out of fear.
The next day, I flew back to college many states away. A few weeks later, he starts messaging me again - normal things at first. How are you? How's the semester? I answer maybe 2 out of 20 texts. 2 p.m. messages turn into 3 am messages. Those messages then turn into frequent phone calls. Now at this point, I hadn't been answering for months. Every time I think he's done and he hasn't contacted me in a while, it happens again. I blocked him over, and over, and over. Each time, he found a new way to call or text or DM or whatever. He said things like: he loves me, he misses me, he's going to come and visit me. He's depressed and really needs someone to talk to. He's crying or he's drunk or he's somewhere in between. He's sober and calling me a cunt, or worse. It was all over the place.
I felt safe enough since I was so far away (1,500+ miles). I didn't think anything would come out of it. It was always just a funny story to tell my friends.
One day, I was on the bus browsing Tinder and guess who popped up. Super liked me. 1 mile away from my campus. Holy fuck. I started panicking. Theres no way he's here! Mind you, this person knew NO ONE in the entire state except for me. He worked in a restaurant and would not have traveled there for work. Theres no reason for him to be within 600 miles of me. Absolutely none. Yet there he was.
I frantically check all my social media DMs and see a message from him on Twitter, even though he's blocked. He must have been saving this account to contact me on a rainy day, and it really got to me.
The DM read: Hey! For some reasons why you hate me. I'm in [your city] right now. I was hoping you can show me around? I miss you. Unblock me.
I text my close friends to add him on snapchat, in hopes they can monitor his location. He ends up passing my residence building, but thankfully not finding me. He's by himself the entire time. He went to some popular spots in the city, but didn't post much at all. For a week I stayed locked in my room - absolutely terrified he'd try to bypass the dorm security and knock on my door.
He didn't find me, but I bet he tried. I still wonder why he was in my city that week - was he trying to hunt me down? Was he... trying to vacation!? Mind you, this city is NOT a place for tourists. And its definitely not like Los Angeles or NY where people are coming and going all the time. People have work, school or family reasons when coming to this city.
So, to the guy who barely knew me for 3 weeks but still thinks he loves me to this day nearly 4 years later, let's not meet (again).
TL;DR One night stand turns into obsessive messages. Person shows up on Tinder in my city, 1 mile away from my dorm, and 1,500 miles from where we met. It was no coincidence. |
About a year ago, I was working on my designportfolio and needed some art supplies, mainly some clay for a project i had been working on for about 2 months and a bunch of markers.
It was sometime in the week i decided to head to my favorite arts and supply store, which is located in a "warehouse" area of town. Basically no houses, just some warehouses and other large scale industrial buildings. Normally i would take my car and ride to the store and back, as i never really liked walking in that area and i always felt uneasy in the dark of german winters. However my Girlfriend had taken the car to another town for an internship, so i was forced to take the train.
When i left my Flat, i walked the 5 minutes it takes to the trainstation whilst listening to some music. The trainstaintion was crowded and i waitet on a bench for the train to arrive. And as german trains do, it was very late. When i got to my stop it was almost dark out and i dreadded walking to the arts store.
However the walk to the store was fine, i was walking alone no light but my phone was on, i had some music and i only had 10 minutes to walk.
At the Store i picked up about 12 pounds of caly and a bunch of markers as well as some spraycans.
When i left the store it was almost completely dark out and since the area had barely any streetlights i started to feel uneasy. With 12 pounds of clay in a bag, i didnt really go that fast.
after about 4 minutes or so of walking my phone died, i stopped to check if it was really dead or was just bugging. I was very angry at myself for not charging it before leaving home. Whilst standing there someone walked by me very quickly. I didnt get a good look at him, but he seemed very eratic, and his movement reminded me of someone high on some sort of drugs, after about 5 seconds he took a turn and was gone from sight. I picked up my bag and went on my way.
About a minute or two later the same man walked towards me again, since there was only one walkway i couldnt change sides or walk away from him. In my mind he just bought some drugs or sold some, and i didnt really want to know. This time he passed me and just stared at me, with this deranged psychotic stare. This time i got scared, not only was he taller than me (m/ 6,4 / 180) but also way more muscular than me.
After taking another 10-20 steps i looked back to check where he was, hoping he was further down the road. When i looked back he was barely 10 meters away from me and was walking very fast. I only had about 100 more meters until i was at the trainstation. I shouldve just dropped the clay, but i didnt and ran with the clay in hand. When i started running i could hear him running after me.
I reached the trainstation steps, and flew up them. Feeling like he was still on my heels.
At the top of the stairs were a bunch of people, and i felt safe enough to look down the stairs, he was noowhere to be seen.
I took the next Train home and never saw him again.
I dont know what his intentions were and honsestly dont even want to know.
#x200B;
So, Strager that tried to hunt me down, lets not meet again |
Hi, I joined Reddit specifically to get this off my chest. It happened this time last year, and to this day every time I think about it, it gives me chills.
So I wanna start off by saying I still work for this company and I still have anxiety every time I go into work. The company is huge, one of the biggest names in the world. For privacy purposes I’m going to call it The Big Cheese, or Big C. I also want to mention that I have crippling social anxiety, I credit to being homeschooled most of my life. This will make more sense later.
Well September of last year I was fresh out of High school and looking for work. I needed this job immediately because I was living with my S/O, and we were barely getting by. My father, my grandfather, they both either work or worked for this company for a long period of time, and it is something that garnered a lot of respect in my family. So of course I was thrilled when I got my first interview! It went great and I was all set to start training, which involved a few classes and on the job training. The classes were awkward to say the least, but nonetheless informative.
Well after the classes we had our first task, join a group of fellow trainees and tour the work environment. This is when I first met Creepy Coworker. He was in the very back of my group, seemed a little shy and didn’t really talk to the rest of the group unless he was trying to make an awkward joke to join in. At first I kind of just felt bad for him, he seemed harmless but definitely awkward and out of the loop.
Knowing as much as I did going into the company, I made the effort to inform him, and keep him updated with what the trainers were asking of us. He just seemed so lost and confused. I thought I was doing a good thing by helping him out, even my S/O thought so at the time.
The Training went by without any hiccups, and soon we were given the location of where we’d start out. Ironically enough the only person that I had gotten to know, creepy coworker; had the same area I did. Realizing that we’d start out together and both didn’t know anyone, we decided to exchange phone numbers. This was so that we could both meet up the next week (starting day), so we wouldn’t get lost. I thought nothing of this when he asked for my number, and just assumed it was more because he was nervous and didn’t know anyone besides me. Boy did I live to regret that.
The first day of training we met up at basically a flag pole so that we could wait for our on the job trainer, Christie. When he got off the employee shuttle, he started texting me asking where I was. I was in the smoking section a little ways away, killing my fears with a cigarette. I texted back telling him where I was and he asked if he could join. I didn’t like how nervous I felt so I wasn’t very comfortable with anyone joining me during this time of reprieve. But I saw him coming over anyways, so I scooted over to make room on the bench. This didn’t matter, because apparently he was going to sit as close as possible to me anyways.
I hate touch, or people being in my personal bubble, being a victim of other trauma, touch was something only people very close to me have permission to do.
Creepy Coworker then proceeded to ask me if he could bum a cigarette, and I’m not good at saying no, so I gave him one. After he lit up he handed me my lighter (that I didn’t even notice he took from the top of my bag) back to me. Again, I kind of just ignored the unwarranted invasion of my space.
We talked since we had about thirty minutes to kill, we talked about the normal stuff like, how do you feel about the company, where do you want to end up in it? I noticed he was wearing tattoo covering sleeves and so I asked him about his tattoos. He pulled down the sleeves and started going over almost each and every one. All something to do with either a love interest or something geeky. I listened out of mild curiosity but quickly got uncomfortable when he started pulling out his phone to show me pictures of ones he drew. I was uncomfortable because he kept showing me pictures of himself as well. Mostly photos of him shirtless and I didn’t really find that appropriate. He mentioned he was a marine and that he had gained too much weight after his last tour. I apologized out of sympathy but suggested that it was nothing to be ashamed of. Unfortunately after that he kept smiling at me in a way I deemed to be admiration. I had seen this look from my fiancé so I knew somewhere I had effed up.
I quickly turned the conversation to more appropriate stuff like music taste. He seemed interested in what music I liked a little too much, and decided he should make me a playlist. I said it really wasn’t necessary but he insisted.
Later into that very day during training he kept purposely doing kind things, like taking heavy boxes from my hands, or taking the odd jobs he deemed “too grueling for a lady”. I was a little annoyed but mostly just glad most of the jobs meant that he’d have to go to a different area and give me some space.
He’d always find a way back to appear beside me and scare me. I hate being scared, and he laughed it off every time. I was more than uncomfortable at this point and a nervousness had settled in the pit of my stomach.
At the end of the night after we’d been sent to go home and come back the next day, he decided to walk me out. We’d walk back through the maze my work place actually is, all the way to the employee costume center/lockers. It was there we had gotten our work costumes and stored our regular clothes in lockers. Well, I was having trouble remembering the combination and I couldn’t find the little slip of paper that told me it. Creepy Coworker came up and smirked at me, seemingly waiting for me to finish up. I thought he had left by this point so I wasn’t expecting him to show up.
After a few tries he reached over and out the combination of my lock in for me. This was a serious red flag for me, he had already memorized my combination and now I felt as though my privacy was completely gone.
Again, I’m awkward and unsure of what to do in any situation like this, so I thanked him but suggested that he let me figure it out next time. I was hoping he would so that he would forget my combination. Remember this for later!!
After changing back into my regular clothes in the girls locker room, I came out and he was still waiting for me. I asked him why he had waited when he could have just gotten home sooner, to which he replied, “Because I’m a gentleman and a lady should be walked to her car so she can be kept safe.” I told him my S/O was waiting to pick me up.
He asked where, and I told him down the street like an idiot. I still don’t know why I complied with this creep as much as I did, but I had never been in a situation like this one. He told me that was too far for me to walk and that it wasn’t safe, so he offered to drive me over to my S/O’s car. Due to how tired I was and how much I aches from the day, I just didn’t have the strength to argue. I mean he was creepy but nice. I chalked up the creepiness to him just being awkward.
So, without anything else weird happening, he took me to my S/O whom I had been texting the entire time just to let him know where I was and what was going on. I had a deep gut feeling that I should text him everything I knew about the guy so I did.
When we pulled up I immediately got out of the car, my BF sat there leaning against the car with his arms crossed. He wasn’t very happy about him giving me a ride, but nonetheless thanked the creepy coworker for getting me over to him safely. The coworker nodded, seeming to smirk at my BF the whole time. This was when My bf first got a bad feeling about the guy.
So we got home and my BF warned me about the guy, telling me he wasn’t getting a good vibe from the creepy coworker. It was not even three minutes after that, I got a text from The coworker. He started sending me songs and memes, and telling me things like “I really feel like you get me.”
Now, I was deeply concerned. What the hell did I get myself into, why did I have to be so god damn nice to people. The following day at work I was on the last day of training, and I had a massive pain attack. I have a chronic illness, and the situation ended with none of my managers listening to me when I told them that the pain doesn’t last and comes and goes. They proceeded to rush me to the emergency room. A stretcher carried me through work while I was crying and trying to his my face. The costumers where quick to take out their phones and film the whole thing. It was one of the worst experiences of my life, but what happens next is worse.
I received about twenty texts from Creepy Coworker, asking me how I was. At this point I was done, I just didn’t respond. After a few random memes, he started texting me that he was drunk and thinking about not going home to his wife. This was the first time he’d ever mentioned to me he even had a wife. I was dumbfounded. Why was he so concerned about me when he had someone he obviously loved enough to marry??
I didn’t respond, I went to bed. In the morning I woke up to my bf looking at my phone in anger. My heart sank and I could only imagine what Creepy Coworker had sent now.
My BF showed me the only text I had gotten since the night before, it was from his wife texting me from his phone. She wrote me a message explaining that Creepy Coworker had a problem getting attached to women. She warned me that I should stay away from him, and then told me her name...my name.
It was after that she had explained my name was a thing for him, all of his exes had the same name.
Now at this point my BF was telling me not to go back to this job, that it wasn’t worth it. But that’s not me, I wasn’t going to let one creep ruin this opportunity for me. This job meant the world to me, and I never wanted to let it go. So I told him if this continues that I’d go to HR. But in all honesty I didn’t really want to go to HR. I was the new girl, I didn’t want the first month on the job to be me fighting a harassment case.
Biting my nails the whole way, I went to work. Suddenly Creepy Coworker wasn’t hovering anymore, I thought this might have been him being embarrassed. I was pretty convinced I wasn’t going to have a problem after that, big mistake.
On my lunch break, he made sure to go on his lunch early and come find me. His normally enthusiastic attitude was gone. Replaced by what felt like anger. I was scared. He came up to me and let me know that his wife was full of shit and just angry because he was divorcing her. At this point I didn’t want anything to do with him so I kept quiet hoping he’d take the hint. NOPE. He told me he had a gift for me and that he’d give it to me after the shift, quickly walking away before I could respond.
After my shift, I go outside the work area to the lockers. I had waited an extra hour and half, even taking a closing position from a coworker, just so he’d go home before me. Well, my lock wasn’t locked all the way and I was now freaked out. I opened the locker, to grab my bag and go, but noticed it. A rolled up piece of drawing paper, (I know what kind it was because I myself am an artist.) unrolling it, It was a naked girl. A naked girl that resembled my video game character on World Of Warcraft. I had briefly mentioned my wow addiction to my group on the first group training day. I didn’t even realize he had heard any of that, much less memorized the information.
Suddenly, he walks up even though he should be long gone by then, and confronts me. He asks me if I like it and because he seemed angry I said yes. I suggested he didn’t do it anymore as my BF wouldn’t like this kind of gift at all. He rolled his eyes and playfully giggled at me like I was joking with him. I wasn’t.
Not only did he follow me the whole way out of the work grounds, he got on the employee shuttle that I got on to have witnesses. He sat right next to me, leaning on me. I felt like a dear in headlights, mentally begging someone to suggest that he shouldn’t be that close to me. No one paid any attention, instead I spent the whole drive trying to get this man to pull his arm off of my shoulders. I felt nauseated and my head was spinning.
After we got off I practically dashed off the bus, and ran to my BF who parked the car at the entrance to the employee parking zone. I got in the car and told him to go. He took off and I started crying. I told my BF and he was pissed. He wanted to turn around and punch creepy Coworker, but I talked him out of it through tears. I promised that I’d talk to my managers after that.
Well I kept looking for the right time to pull a manager aside but never got a chance the next night I went in. Now Creepy Coworkers attitude did another 1-80, and he was being extremely, weirdly, playful. THEN HE CROSSED THE FINAL LINE. He grabbed my butt where costumers could easily see him. My coworkers kind of laughed and though it was a game. Because this time I was pissed and pushed to my limit. I went after him, I legitimately punched him in the ass and shouted in his face, “How do you like that, huh?” Seething, he seemed unfazed by my anger. Instead he laughed it off and winked at me.
I went down into the basement for the employee bathroom, and quickly threw up the contents of my stomach. I cried in the stall, praying to God that this would stop. I quickly made an excuse, used my chronic illness, and went home.
So fast forward a few weeks, he had completely swapped out his shifts so he wouldn’t work with me. I felt like I had won the battle. I sent a message and he realized he’d crossed boundaries. Until the night before Christmas Eve. I had a terrible feeling as my bf was driving me to work that night. I mean I felt gross.
I got to work and he was there. Flirting with other girls, suddenly having this big ego I had never seen him display before. Like I said when I met him he was shy and awkward. It’s like his personality flipped every time I had to see him. I never knew which side of CC I was gonna get.
That night he actually stomped off as all of the other coworkers including myself closed the joint. We were scrubbing like normal, and he didn’t seem all together. So he clocked out early, and I relaxed. I figured he had gotten in trouble since one of our four managers seemed to be upset that he’d clocked out without permission.
I was there extra late, the evening festivities were done with for the night and my zone was pretty much closed off from costumers. So, I walked through the massive property that is my work, to get to the street. I had started taking new ways to meet my BF who picked me up, just so I couldn’t be followed. This time I was going to walk straight out of the grounds and onto the street where the bus stops were and my BF would be waiting at the curb.
I was about halfway through my (approximately) 12 minute walk. And I was in a dark area. Out of nowhere, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, Creepy Coworker shows up. He starts yelling my name and following me from behind, I pretend to not notice and walk faster. He yells my name again and seems angrier. So, I sprint for it. I sprint all the way to cross the shuttle zone and end up crashing into someone chest. Thank God it was actually my BF who had a really bad feeling and wanted to be as close to my work exit as possible. I look back and Creepy Coworker got on a shuttle but was staring from the window, smiling like a Cheshire cat the whole time.
Never in my life had I been so terrified. After that the next night was Christmas Eve and I was supposed to work. But I just knew if I went in something bad was going to happen to me. So crying the whole time because I knew I had earned a bunch of points for calling out to avoid him. I cried asking the lady on the phone if I was gonna get fired and she said she honestly couldn’t say. I respected that but knew I wasn’t done.
I wasn’t going to let this f**king creep make me loose the job I had worked so hard to get. Even changing my appearance to fit their strict standards! No, so I wrote to the only person I could think of, my Trainer Christie. She was a lead and she is the kindest girl you’d ever meet. Heart of gold, you just knew being her friend meant that you’d have a trusted confidant for life.
I told her everything, I sent her the screenshots of the texts sent to me. I finally told someone with an ounce of leadership that I was scared to go to work. Immediately she responded and asked if she could tell the managers, and even though I was incredibly nervous I told her yes.
The next day I was pulled in, and God Bless my ex Manager Christopher. Because he was shocked at everything that had happened to me, and quickly helped me write a report for HR. He led me through the steps, and even changed the schedule so I wouldn’t work with creepy Coworker unless he specifically traded shifts.
TWO MONTHS GO BY. I am well acquainted with the responsibilities for my work at this point and I’m comfortable, but of course there’s no stoping a stalker.
He had traded a shift and was working the night shift with me. He was angry every time he looked at me, and I avoided him at all costs. Then, around half way through my shift I’m down in the basement coming back from the restroom. I’m walking up the steps that lead back to my work area, and then I feel someone behind me. Before I could think a clear thought I was pushed against the wall, hand beside my head. He leans in and says, “you should smile more.” Then the bastard chuckles and walks away.
I feel pretty hysterical at this point and run to the closest lead, crying and trying to explain what happened. It was at this point that my manager Christopher, pissed off that HR was taking so long to investigate my case, went to them to speed it up.
Well after four months of an interview process with HR, finally the case was resolved and not only was he let go, but I was doing really well in my job finally. Nothing to worry me into not paying attention to my duties.
Creepy Coworker has left me alone ever since, but sometimes I get random friend requests from guys with no pictures and always similar names, always close to his name.
Creepy Coworker, leave me alone or you won’t like the results. I won’t be intimidated ever again and I will win every battle you throw at me. Let’s not meet, ever again. |
When I was a teenager, I got my very first job, which was a newspaper delivery route that I would do after school twice a week. I really enjoyed the job when I began it, and would occasionally interact with the people who I was delivering the newspapers to, and they all seemed friendly during our short interactions. I had cart that fit all of the newspapers for my route in it, which I would drag down the sidewalk.
I had had my route for several months, when one afternoon I was doing my route, and a man was walking down the sidewalk. He greeted me, stated that I must be the newspaper girl, and asked if I had delivered a newspaper to his house yet, pointing at it down the street. I replied that I hadn't. He suggested that I pass him his newspaper there, rather than needing to go down his driveway to deliver it in a few minutes. I handed him a paper, and expected him to continue walking along to his house. I bent down to grab more newspapers out of my cart, and thought that I felt something hit my butt. When I straightened back up, he was walking away from me, with his newspaper rolled up in his hand. At the time, I really hadn't expected anyone to intentionally hit me on the butt with a rolled up newspaper, and dismissed it as either an accident or a figment of my imagination.
The next week, while doing my route, he was sitting on his front deck, and watched me walk down the sidewalk, delivering newspapers to his neighbours. When I came down his driveway, he wolf-whistled at me, and said, "Here comes the mermaid." I came up onto his deck to hand him the newspaper, and immediately turned to leave afterwards to continue my route. He tried to engage me in conversation as I was leaving, and I said, "I'm sorry, but I have to finish my route." While I thought that this interaction was odd, I didn't think too much of it at the time.
One of the regulations that I was supposed to follow for my route was to make sure that the newspapers were either placed in the customer's mailbox, or put somewhere safe. Long before I had met this customer, I had established a pattern of putting his newspaper behind the deckchair beside his front door, up on his deck. The next time that I delivered, I didn't see the man, and planned to put the newspaper in its usual spot and go on my way, as usual. As I climbed the steps of his deck, his dogs barked at me through the window, which was normal. But as I was turning to leave, suddenly the door opened, and the man was standing there, and he tried to engage me in conversation, but I told him again that I needed to finish my route. This became the start of a pattern, and every single time that I delivered the newspaper to his house, he was waiting near the door and opened it as soon as I was coming up the steps of his deck. He had never came out of his house when I was delivering before he met me on the sidewalk that one time, but now, he happened to be right at the door, as if waiting for me, every single time. The longer the pattern continued, the more that I realized that his behaviour was not normal, and I became really uneasy, and wished to not interact with him unless absolutely necessary.
One day as I was doing my route, I noticed that one of his deck chairs was moved to the side of his deck, near his driveway. I realized that I could walk a few steps down his driveway, and put the newspaper under that chair without stepping onto his deck at all. Since I didn't go onto the deck, the dogs didn't bark, and he wasn't alerted that I was there, and he didn't open the door to try to talk to me as I gave him the paper. I thought that this was great, and I felt a lot more comfortable delivering to his house since I wasn't interacting with him anymore.
Then one day, the deck chair was moved, and was put on the other side of the deck. I hadn't forgotten the reason why I didn't want to step foot on his deck, and I decided to put the newspaper in the same spot that I had been putting it for several weeks, even though the chair wasn't there to secure it. I crossed the street to deliver to the next house, and just as I was stepping onto the next customer's driveway, he stepped out of his house, looked at the newspaper, grabbed it, and shook it as he shouted at me across the street. He was yelling that the newspaper was about to blow away and become litter all down the road, despite the fact that there was no wind at all that day. I stood there, and listened to him screaming at me in shock, unable to respond. He continued to scream that I was never to leave the newspaper anywhere on his deck, not even under a chair, but that I had to open his door and bring the newspaper inside. Thankfully, at this point the woman whose driveway I was standing in opened her door, and began to yell back at the man that he needed to stop screaming at me, and that she was sure that I had done nothing wrong. The man glared at her, and finally went back into his house. The woman talked with me for a moment, telling me to not pay that man any attention.
I was really scared and upset. As soon as that man told me that he wanted me to put the newspaper inside his house, the thought that he wanted to rape me popped into my head, and I was unable to shake it. I grabbed my cart, and went home without finishing my route, since I didn't feel safe being anywhere near his house.
Back home, (I lived at my uncle and aunt's house during this time) my cousin asked me why I was home so early, and I told her what had happened, including all of the previous weird interactions (I never had a normal interaction with him) and broke down crying, barely able to say my fear that I thought that he wanted to rape me. My aunt overheard part of our conversation, and my cousin helped me fill her in on the rest of it. I told my aunt that I had no clue what to do, because I had believed that not delivering a newspaper to him was not an option. I also felt that I had no proof to back up my feeling that he wanted to rape me, since nothing concretely implying that had happened, and I assumed that most people would dismiss his individual actions like I had initially done. My aunt, however, told me that she would call the newspaper that I delivered for, and inform them that I would no longer be delivering to his house.
My male cousin and uncle finished my route for me that night. The next time I was supposed to deliver, my male cousin came out with me to deliver to the houses near the man's house, doing that section of my route first, rather than in the middle like before. There was a day when I was walking down that road by myself, not delivering papers, and the guy was driving down the road in his truck. He slowed down, and yelled out of his window at me, trying to get my attention, but I refused to turn my head to look at him or acknowledge him in any way, and just kept walking. Finally, he gave up and drove off. Thankfully, that was my final interaction with him. My male cousin continued to deliver that section of the route with me, until I felt comfortable delivering by myself, since I had developed a pattern of delivering my papers so that I never stepped foot on the sidewalk directly in front his house.
When summer came, I got a summer job, and the next school year, I asked for a different route.
It's been years since I moved out of my uncle and aunt's house, and out of that town. The last time I was in that town, I decided to take a walk down some of the streets where I had delivered for nostalgic purposes, and I still felt a shiver of fear as passed by that man's house, even though I was walking on sidewalk on the other side of the street, and I didn't see him at all.
I still don't know if he would have attempted anything inappropriate with me if I had followed his wish and stepped into his house, but I had a bad gut feeling, and do not feel guilty at all for listening to it. He hopefully wouldn't recognize me this many years later since I'm an adult now, but I still hope that I never meet him again. |
Hi, I'm a french girl and i'm 18, so excuse me if my english is not perfect ahah !
So, let's talk about the most traumatic thing in my life.
Situation :
At that time I was 12 years old so I am still in middle-school and I live in a house with 2 floors. I lived in a small village where everyone knew each other, and you knew very quickly if there was a new neighbor or if there was an intruder who was looking for something. I had a large garden and many overlooked the neighbors' gardens on both sides of the house. (Remember this is important for the next)
So one day, my friend and I finish classes earlier so we come back from middle-school, I accompany her and I go home. On the way, I feel that I am being followed, the guy is on the other sidewalk and he is walking a good distance from me. I start walking faster, I arrive at the first door which I unlock very quickly and I start to run towards my front door hardly further. I come in, I close it with double turns and I go upstairs in the living / dining room.
I don't panic too much until I see a man stepping over my gate and come into the courtyard of my house. At that time it was in summer, so window open eh of course. So I hasten to close all the windows possible and ditto for the floor where there are the bedrooms. I hear the guy whistling and I panic a little. I call my mother but no answer and my father is abroad. So I'm alone, in a big house with a guy who has followed me and who is potentially trying to break into my house.
Almost a few minutes, I hear the door slammed, the handle move in all directions. The guy wanted to break into my house. Me, 12 year old girl, I panic and I just feel trapped. I didn't know if my neighbors were there so I couldn't do anything. Later, the noise stops and I see the guy coming out of my yard.
Except that what I had forgotten is that there is a path which is hardly further from my house which leads to the forest and therefore, the gardens of the three houses of which mine is one.
I calm down, I go to my kitchen (with a window and a French window that overlooks the garden) I cook myself, I turn around and the guy is at the edge of my garden looking at me with a big smile.
He spans the fence (not very high) and is about to run towards the windows to come to my house.
And luckily my neighbor loved gardening and he saw it, and yelled at him to get out otherwise he called the cops. The guy left, I went to my neighbors' house crying and I never came home alone until we moved out.
This is one of the scariest stories in my life
Take care of yourself and your loved ones. |
Edit 3: please do not ask permission to use my post for anything - this includes, but is not limited to, being read for your podcast or Youtube channel.
I've read a lot on this subreddit and enjoyed many of its post. I thought I should contribute. This isn't anything nearly as crazy as some of the stuff I've read on here, but I thought that I ought to give back to the community.
It was the summer right after I graduated from high school. A good friend and I decided to try our hand at camping. We grew up in the greater Los Angeles area, so our knowledge of the great outdoors was nothing beyond the couple years we had in Cub Scouts of America when we were in elementary school. In other words, we had almost no idea what we were doing. We packed a tent, a couple sleeping bags, supplies, etc. and headed off in his car. Note well that I grew up in the 80s, so this is a time before the wide prevalence of cell phones and the existence of other portable, digital devices.
We drove north on the 395 for about 6 hours and then headed westward into the mountains in the area of Inyo Canyon.
* First mistake: we didn't plan on which place to camp. We played it by ear, i.e. like fools.
* Second mistake: we left in mid-afternoon. It was pitch-black darkness when we arrived in the general area.
We had driven off the main road and onto a dirt road in order to find a spot to camp. The dust from driving on the dirt road overwhelmed the headlight highbeams when we finally decided to pull over and set up camp.
It was around 23:30 around this time, and we were exhausted and famished. Anyplace was a good spot to camp for us given our only reason to do so at that point was our hunger and exhaustion.
* Third mistake: we didn't bring flashlights. We only had BIC lighters for our cigarettes.
We tried to set up the tent using our lighters and the headlights of the car, which was parked about 10 to 15 feet away. The wind was blowing, so the lighter constantly went out after a few seconds either directly because of the wind, or indirectly because the wind would push the flame into our thumb. Clearly, we were being complete idiots.
We finished setting up the tent, but at that point I was too tired to eat. My friend managed to make some instant ramen. We smoked a cigarette in the car, then crashed out in the tent. We awoke to a very cold morning. It must have been around 5:30. Immediately upon exiting the tent, we realized that we were camped at the entrance of a hiking trail. There were at least two "No Camping" signs in visible distance from us. We dismantled the tent, cleaned up, and cleared out.
That morning, we ended up buying some cheap flashlights and a nice hot meal in a very small town. It wasn't really a town, but more like a few storefronts and shops on a main road, about the length of an average city block. We went into some office, though I don't recall exactly what it was. It might have been a park ranger station or the office headquarters for a campground. In any case, we found and reserved a site for the night.
The campground was basically like a large circle with campsites along its outer circumference, with each campsite being about 50 yards from its neighbor. In the middle of the circle was a common bathroom and shower. We circled around it once, and I think we saw one family that was all set up with a tent and camper. We found our spot and set up camp, which was quite far from them.
That night was when we had a creepy encounter. My friend and I were laying in the tent, shining our flashlights upwards and chatting. Our new flashlights eventually gave out - yes, broken. Our fire pit was about six feet from the opening of our tent, and it was just a glowing ember. We probably should have completely put it out, and we probably shouldn't have had the tent so close. In any case, there we were, chatting away and having a good time.
My friend began to be distracted with his foot. After the third or fourth time he got up to check his foot, I asked him what was wrong. He told me that something is 'tapping' his foot from the outside of the tent. His foot was against the side of the tent, so from the outside you would have been able to see a bulge in the tent's side where his foot was. It was as if pebbles were being thrown at his foot through the tent. "There it is again, what the hell?" Each time it happened, there was a sound, like pebbles or a light 'tap'. We sort of laughed it off, assuming that it was a twig or grass moving in the wind, or perhaps a loose strap on the outside of the tent.
I don't recall exactly how it happened at first, but I do remember we suddenly became silent at the same time. A sound came to be audible to the both of us: footsteps slowly moving towards our tent. We wondered if it was a bear or other non-human animal, but it seemed distinctly bipedal. They were very slow and measured, like a step every two seconds. I finally said, in a whisper, "Someone's coming". My friend didn't move - his face had an expression of fear.
At some point, my friend bolted up and said "fuck this". He grabbed his pipe, stuffed it full of pot (marijuana), and took the biggest, deepest drags I've ever seen a person take. About a minute or two later, he was out. Drugs aren't my thing, so I was alone in the tent as far as conscious bodies are concerned. I was sitting up at this point, and I had taken out the only weapon I had: a Swiss Army pocket knife. I took out the big and small blades, as well as the ice-pick in the middle, and held it like some ridiculous melee weapon.
I could see the glowing embers in the fire pit through the sheer nylon material of our tent, and I was able to roughly, but barely, discern some of the rocks around it. I watched and listened intently. The footsteps came closer, and at the same slow pace. With each step, I could hear the dirt and rocks underfoot crunching and grinding. At some point, it was clear to me that whoever it was was standing between the tent and the fire pit, for my fuzzy line of sight to the burning embers through the nylon tent became obscured by something outside the tent. The footsteps stopped *right* at the front of the tent: about six to eight inches, no more than foo, from the entrance to the tent.
It was silent for about one minute, and then I heard a 'click'. At exactly the same time, I clearly saw, through the nylon tent wall, a flashlight turn on. I was able to see not just the flashlight, but the outline of the hand holding it. The flashlight was shining on the zipper entrance into the tent, just inches from the zipper. Blood drained out of my head and my palms instantly became dripping in sweat. I yelled "WHO'S THERE???!!!" There was some fear in my voice, but it was mostly aggressive in tone. Whoever it was, the person immediately turned off their flashlight. I didn't move, but neither did they. The person just stood there inches from the tent's only entrance. My friend is out, totally unaware of what's going on. Nevertheless, I pretended that he was still awake and whispered just loud enough to be audible to our visitor, "Yes, loaded. There's one in the chamber" as if my friend was awake and asked me about our gun.
* Fourth mistake: we didn't have a gun, or any real weapon for self-defense.
It felt like an eternity, but after sitting still for at least ten minutes, I heard feet slowly turning in the dirt, then slowly walking away from the tent. I stayed up the whole night, and it wasn't until the light of dawn came through the tent that I crashed out. The heat inside the tent woke us up, and it was near noon by this point. We went outside to inspect the site but found nothing missing. However, we did find boot prints leading away from our campsite and outside the campground.
That was the last time I camped in a tent.
Edit: Writing/Grammar
Edit 2:
First, thanks to the people for the comments and awards. It's one of those small things that can brighten one's day, especially during these unusual and tense times. Second, I want to say something that keeps coming up about my friend smoking marijuana and passing out. Those who express surprise, disbelief, and doubt about this part of the event are assuming (reading into my text) a direct causal relation between smoking marijuana and passing out. However, no such causal relation was ever explicitly stated, nor implicitly implied. I simply recalled the order of events as they occurred, and those in fact the correct order of events, not at all fabricated. If you were to ask me what were the sufficient and determinate causes of him passing out after a few minutes, I would have to speculate (fatigue exacerbated by fear; beers from earlier; a heavy dinner; etc.). In any case, that part, I assure you, is true. |
On the **fictional** subreddits -- such as /r/nosleep even though they're "true" -- the motivation is more straight-forward. We're reading scary stories for enjoyment and entertainment, plain and simple! And that's fine because it's *fiction.*
However, the stories on /r/LetsNotMeet are not fiction. Occasional skepticism about veracity aside, these stories are the **true** accounts of real-life individuals who have lived through these experiences and often endure lasting consequences, unto the present day. These stories often include tragic and heartbreaking events, as well as potential "trigger" elements for readers who are also survivors.
I feel safe in assuming that most of us find nothing "entertaining" or "enjoyable" about someone's harrowing account of enduring the advances and violations inflicted by a creep or stalker! In fact, reading can often be a personally uncomfortable experience. On the other hand, the accounts **are** both *compelling* and *engaging* -- for example, due to the reader's feeling of empathy and concern for the narrator and their well-being. Plus, for many readers, they may relate personally to certain stories, or at least specific aspects of those stories. And sharing stories, and bearing witness to others' stories, can help some people with emotional healing.
Finally, I have to believe that these stories may help prevent some other people, readers and their loved ones, from enduring similar experiences by heightening awareness of behaviors and "signs":
* Red flags in others that may be warning signs of future toxicity and danger
* Thoughts, beliefs, and actions that *enable* creepers and stalkers
* Ways that victims can be "conditioned" to tolerate unacceptable behavior and discouraged from protecting themselves or seeking help.
**For example:** People tolerating and going along with inappropriate, creepy, and boundary-violating behavior because they "don't want to be rude". While I was certainly not **UN**-aware of this phenomenon previously, I have to credit /r/LetsNotMeet with clearly demonstrating to me just how prevalent this kind of thinking really is!
What about you? What are some motivations you have for reading the accounts here and similar ones as may be found elsewhere? And what value would you say these stories (and the accompanying discussions) have for you, as a reader?
(On a related note, does anyone ever worry about others might think badly of you, for reading stories like these? Such as making negative assumptions/judgments about your personality or character?)
I look forward to you sharing your own perspectives and experiences, as you wish. |
So I've had quite a few bad experiences with strange people and my house, from when I was young an old man would come banging on our door late at night demanding to see me; causing me to have to hide in the house and not be allowed into my garden alone for years. Or when a man came knocking on our door late at night with a knife because he mistook our house for my neighbours. These experiences all caused me to be very cautious about opening the front door to anyone or even being in the house alone. Especially at night.
But one evening was definitely the worst. It was around 6pm in November 2018, I'm from England meaning it was already pitch black outside at this time of the year. I had just got home from work and was sat in my room upstairs just watching YouTube on my laptop, my mum shouted up to me that she was just going to pick my brother up from work and would be stopping off at the petrol station on the way back so she would be gone for a little bit and asked if I wanted to come, I said no and carried on with my video.
I heard her close the front door and pull out of the driveway, I was 17 at the time so being home alone at night was nothing new to me and I was used to the eerie feeling of it. But after around 10mins I started hearing noises coming from downstairs.. at first I thought nothing of it and just related it to my cat noisily searching for food in an empty bowl. Until I remembered him sitting at the end of my bed. I paused my video and listened more at the sound of banging on the back door. This instantly creeped me out, until it was followed by the sound of keys jangling and I just thought 'oh my mum must've just dropped my brother off before going to the petrol station and he's just trying to go outside' so I let the noise continue as I kept watching my video. He can get quite angry sometimes so the loud banging was nothing out of the ordinary, but it just kept carrying on; banging and the sounds of keys jangling then dropping then banging again.
Then the fear really hit me...I don't think it's him. I walked out of my room slowly and sat on the stairs listening carefully to the noise, it definitely wasn't him. I'm a very anxious person, and everyone gets those times late at night when they hear noises and immediately think the worst. This was just one of those I told myself. So I decided to bite the bullet and just walk straight into the kitchen and face whatever it was causing the noise (our kitchen has the door straight to the garden). But as I turned the corner into the kitchen I heard a loud bang and clatter of footsteps run away. The catflap had been ripped off the door and there was plastic from it everywhere. In fear, I still tried to console myself into thinking it could be anything other than people breaking in; I sat back on the stairs and called my mum just to check again that it wasn't my brother home early and just in a bad mood. But then he answered my mum's phone, whilst still in the car.
'Are you at home?' I shouted at him
'No'
then my voice started to break with terror 'please be serious, are you at home right now?'
'NO! what do you want?'
even though he said he wasn't I still begged in my mind that he was joking just to get a scare out of me, but he heard how scared I was and began to worry. I explained to him what happened and he started to scream at me to call the police, he's never been the protective type but I could tell now he was really worried and told my mum to rush back home straight away
Whilst dialing 999 I tried so hard to stay calm, I told them exactly what was happening as I hid back in my room with the door tightly locked, then I heard talking and the banging of doors again downstairs.. they were back. I burst into tears to the dispatcher out of pure fear and sat on the phone for what felt like forever until my mum, brother and police all pulled up at the same time. Everyone charged through the house to the back door and we instantly saw what they'd done.
The people saw the keys to the back door on the side in the kitchen, took a broom from outside, broke it inhalf on the door handle, got the broom through the cat flap, knocked the keys off the side and pulled them through the cat flap. Although, out of pure luck, as they broke the broom inhalf they also managed to snap off the door handle, making it impossible for it to be opened from the outside, otherwise, they would've got in no questioned asked and I would've been sat quietly in my room completely oblivious.
It was clear afterward that they had been watching the house for a while, waiting until the exact moment they saw my mum's car pull out of the drive; I'm not sure if they knew I was there alone or not. But I know that after they initially saw me and ran away.. they made a choice to come back.
So dickheads who don't know how to open doors properly.. let's not meet :)
(p.s. always keep your keys in a place that someone breaking a window or cat flap cant reach) |
This happened to me 6 years ago now, on July 1st, 2014.
#x200B;
In Canada, July 1st is a national holiday, and in Vancouver, where I’m from, there’s always fireworks in English Bay around 10pm. The bay is on the west side of the city, and is surrounded by a semi-circle of beaches, which are all usually packed with locals enjoying the day off and taking in the fireworks. This means that public transport is sloooooooow, particularly after 1030pm, when the fireworks end.
#x200B;
I had just finished a big project and gotten a nice little bonus from work, so I spent the day shopping with a friend, and then walked down to the nearest beach with her to meet up with a few others to watch the fireworks and smoke a joint.
#x200B;
Vancouver is a pretty bike-friendly city, and I normally bike everywhere, especially in nice weather, but my friend’s bike happened to have a broken chain that day, so we’d taken the bus out, which meant we’d also be taking it home.
#x200B;
After the fireworks were over, we were lucky enough to catch one of the first busses towards the east side of the city, where we both lived. The trip took waaaay longer that usual, because of both holiday traffic downtown, and the bus itself being packed, with people wanting to get on/off at every single stop. By the time the bus got us to our transfers, which was about halfway home for both of us, the trip had taken about an hour, instead of 20 minutes.
#x200B;
Hastings St. Is one of the main bus thoroughfares in Vancouver, served by at least 10 different bus routes. Most of the routes that run along Hastings use cable-style busses that are connected to over-head powerlines. Good for pollution (I guess?), but if one bus with cable-attachments gets stopped, it holds up all the other busses on the cable behind it. Sometimes you’ll be waiting at a stop, see no busses for 20 minutes, and then 5 come all at once, stacked up behind each other.
#x200B;
East Hastings St. also contains a “seedy” section of town, Vancouver’s safe injection site is there, there is a lot of open drug use, addiction and prostitution. I have a lot of friends that work with social programmes in the neighbourhood, or are nurses in the area, and I’ve never once felt unsafe there at any point, but I just want to give you an idea of my surroundings.
#x200B;
My friend and I lived maybe only 15 blocks apart at the time, but the fastest way home for each of us was served by 2 different routes that both stopped pretty much outside of our (respective) rentals. After making sure I was okay, my friend grabbed her bus home, and I waited for my bus to show. It was about midnight at this point.
#x200B;
After about 30 minutes, I was getting tired of waiting, and also just in general. No busses were showing up, it was getting late, and I wanted to get home. I saw a cab coming down the street, by some miracle empty, hailed it, and got in. I told the driver my address and we drove in silence for a few minutes.
#x200B;
As we started passing through a particularly rough stretch of Hastings, my driver started talking. “Look at all these people”, he said. Thinking he was talking about holiday partiers, I agreed that it was pretty busy tonight.
#x200B;
“No,” he said, “look at all these sluts and whores. Look at all these dirty people selling it on the street. These are worthless women.” I was pretty shocked, and didn’t say anything, and he carried on his tirade for another couple of minutes before abruptly stopping in mid-sentence and falling silent. He made eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, and said, “But you don’t have to worry about that, you’re a good girl”, which creeped the hell out of me and made me want to get out of the cab immediately. Traffic was pretty light at this point, and up ahead a couple of blocks, I could see that there was a police road check, so decided I would get out there, since he’d have to stop, or at least slow down enough that I wouldn't get hurt getting out of the car.
#x200B;
Before I could put my plan into action, though, he turned off onto a side street, and then onto a street running parallel to Hastings. We were still heading east, but were now further south, away from my house. At this point, I was feeling kind of panicky. I asked him if he could turn back onto Hastings, since we were heading away from my address, and he said he couldn’t. I asked him why, and he said there was too much traffic there, and that this route would be faster.
#x200B;
As he said this, he locked the doors and made eye contact with me again in the mirror, saying in a strange, joking kind of voice, “Plus, if we stopped at that road check, we’d have to tell them what’s going on in here, and we don’t want that”.
#x200B;
I was terrified, and blurted out “What the fuck IS happening in here?”, but he didn’t answer me, and just kept driving in silence and smiling strangely at me in the rearview. I’m a pretty anxious person, and don’t like cab rides late at night in general, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t overreacting, and it crossed my mind he might kill me. There were maybe a few cars, but the sidewalks were empty, and we were in an industrial area of town with warehouses and no reason for people to be out on the street this late at night.
#x200B;
The side street curved and thankfully, thankfully, another police roadcheck that had been hidden from view was pretty much right in front of us. It was a one-way street, and both lanes had checks on them, with the cops waving some cars through, and motioning for others to pull over. This meant there was a bit of a backup in both lanes, and no way to avoid it. I undid my seatbelt and started to grab for the door handle, and the driver saw me and said, “Don’t even think about it. Don’t even roll down the window. If we get stopped at the roadcheck, don’t say a word.”
#x200B;
Well, I didn’t listen to any of that, just unlocked the door and yanked it open at the same time, and basically sprinted across a lane of traffic to a gas station on the other side of the street, crying. I left all my purchases in the cab, and he didn’t stick around to get his fare, just sped away after getting waved through the roadcheck.
#x200B;
In my fear, I didn’t think to get the number of the cab, and now, years later, I can’t even remember which company it was. I wish I had said something to the cops at the roadcheck, but I was shaking and just wanted to go home, lock my doors and windows, and crawl into bed. I don’t know if the driver was just worried about me skipping out on my fare, or if something more sinister was going on, but from time to time I think about it, and I always make sure I have a plan to get home that doesn’t involve a taxi if I’m out and it’s getting late. |
Before i start telling you my story, i'd like to put you in context and apologise for every English mistake i could possibly make as English is not my native language.
I'm a 24 yo girl from Algeria, a country that suffered A LOT from terrorism back in time in the 90-20y's, the extremist religious people would force everyone to be like them, they would randomly kill women without scarfs, they would decapitate people for no apparent reason, it was a real time of horror.
I was 7 yo by then and we ( me, my parents and my cousin who's my exact same age) were in the car on our way to the beach, which was highly risky by then, as we were on our way in the mountains, 20 mins away from our last destination, we came across 40 men dressed as special police officers (we call them "gendarmerie") walking on both sides of the road, me and my cousin just waved at them from the car windows, innocently, as my parents anxiously told us to stay quiet.. When the first officer in line proceeded to ask my dad to park on the side of the road, when suddenly being told by another one of them to just let us go, so he did, without telling a word nor checking our papers, they just waved back at us.
We arrived to the beach, spent the day there, it was empty and we spent a beautiful day, i still remember the joy and lightness we were in on our way home....
Untill, once arrived to a small village we have to cross before arriving to the city... We saw what really terrified us to this day...
There was blood everywhere.. Bodies... Heads put on spikes and hung on spotlights..there were kids.. Elders.. Women... It felt like dreaming and suddenly falling into a nightmarish place... I remember my parents yelling at us not to look while being driving really fast outside the village..
The scene was really, movielike, i couldn't even cry, i had no clue what i just witnessed..
Once home, they reported on the local news that approximately 40 terrorists dressed as officers went down from their hiding spot in the mountains and killed more than 50 persons, so yes, the guys we saw were the killers... And they simply did not kill us? For some reason? I wonder every night...
You can simply find informations about terrorism in Algeria on google, it's called "la décennie noire" and there are no words to describe the horror we lived in...and i just hoped that maybe writing it would make me feel better, since I still see those images in my nightmares like bad scenes from a very bad gore movie
So to those murders, i hope you burn in hell so we won't ever meet again.
Thank you for reading me
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About 15 years ago, when I was 22-ish my best girl and I went out to bars 3-4+ nights a week and generally met some interesting people and made new friends. There were a few bars that we hit up more than others, and one in particular where we knew the bartender/manager pretty well. We went the week of Halloween and each night their staff would dress up in a different costume, this was where we came across Ron. He was bouncing at this bar, and didn't even catch my eye in the slightest as I gave him my ID to get in (until a few years ago I never looked anyone in the face, I have to force myself to do it). My girl and I hung out, drank and danced, met some people, then headed up to the bar to chat with our friend. He asked me what I thought about Ron. I had no idea who he meant and he gestured to the bouncer to which I was like "Meh." He was older looking, very muscular (turned out to be a major gym rat), I was 22ish dressed in black and skulls and platforms, didn't seem my type on the outside... but bartender friend vouched for him, said he was really a cool guy. He asked if he could give Ron my number and I figured it would be ok.
I hear from him the next day and he wants to hang. At the time I lived with my Uncle and Aunt (Pastor and his wife) so he invited me to meet at his place and we would just go have a casual hang somewhere, simple middle-of-the-day chill. I get there and his apartment door is wide open, and his much better looking, married (and closer to my age) best friend is there. He seems nice enough, and I didnt feel unsafe as they left the door wide open AND again, my bartender friend had vouched for him. He mentions he needs to grab a few office supplies so the 3 of us pile in his douchey car and head to an office supply store. We go in and as we walk in a pretty girl walks by and he does the head thing and completely stares at her, like the obvious follow her with his head thing. We aren't together but I found it to be rude. So later in the car I mention it, I tell him, "Hey look, I know we are just hanging out, but don't disrespect me like that, everyone looks, but be less obvious and don't make me look like an ass in public." He laughs and tells me that it's hot that I stood up for myself, especially on our first hang out. Ok... We get back to his place and as we walk inside he says, "I like that, you're gonna have a ring on your finger by December..." Remember we met Halloween week. So anyway, his friend leaves, we get takeout and hang and drink and just talk, turns out he is from the same tiny town that my parents are from which is 6 hours south of us. He is a Desert Storm Veteran, which made him more than 20 years older than me, and was back in school to finish his degree, worked full-time during the week and bounced at night and on weekends. Seemed decent. He asks about my tattoos (I have a lot) and we talked about my love of horror and fascination with true crime and serial killers. He seems interested but says he doesn't know much about them, so I tell him I'll lend him my Encyclopedia of Serial Killers so it can be like a crash course for him.
Maybe a week later we hang out again and I bring him the book. We hang multiple times, I even sleep there a few times. One day we are hanging out and day drinking heavily... he says something to me that felt very much like he was getting way too comfortable too fast, like TELLING me to do something. I told him not to speak to me that way and turned to walk away when my head jerked back, he had grabbed my hair at the base of my neck. I grabbed his hand and he tried to laugh it off and apologize, saying he didn't mean to be that rough and tried to act like it was some sort of foreplay, but I cut that off real quick. I wanted to leave but was already very buzzed. So I just sat and he said he was going to do some work. I thought I would just let the buzz wear off, head home and never talk to this guy again. While I'm sitting and he's working he suddenly decides to tell me in graphic detail about his favorite serial killer in the book so far and why. I think the way he is talking about it seems off but again I'm just waiting out my buzz. He starts working on a sociology assignment that is studying urban legends and such. He plays videos with horrible creepy content and it's creeping me out. (I realize later that i felt that way because I didn't feel safe with him) I ask him to wait until I'm gone to play it out loud, or put on headphones and he laughs at me, tells me he can't believe I'm such a poser. Tells me, "You have all these tattoos and skulls and really you're scared! You look all goth or punk rock but you're terrified!" He laughs this scary laugh, he is really enjoying that this creeps me out. I don't want to drive even mildly buzzed. I tell him that his reaction is really scaring me (I love scary things, but I realize this guy is enjoying watching me squirm in a really sick way) and he loves it...his face gets completely serious and he suddenly tells me that he has his machete under his mattress... I look and see the handle barely sticking out. He tells me he could make me disappear and nobody would ever find my body. In that moment my adrenaline hit. I grabbed my bag and ran to my car. He sort of slowly lumbered behind me laughing at me and telling me not to leave. I am stone cold sober at this point (adrenaline I guess) and start my car, take off about 2 minutes down the road by the mall and just park and slow my breathing down. I call my girl and just unload.
For the next week he texts and calls me over and over switching between begging me to give him another chance and berating me calling me a poser and a fake. I tell our bartender friend and he can't believe that Ron did all of those things. He only works with him a few more times and they don't talk. Ron set his sights on someone new, another chick in her early 20s. Her family owns the Vietnamese restaurant in the same strip as the bar. Bartender tells us Ron had just started seeing her and she ended up pregnant immediately. I asked bartender to warn her or give her my number, but he never saw her again. I hope and pray that she didn't get stuck with Ron, and everytime I'm in that area I pray that I don't run into him again. He can keep the encyclopedia, I just hope he hasn't picked up any tips from it. |
My friend Sally has had a bad run with neighbours but this was one of the worst. Sally lives very close to me (about a 10 minute walk) we were both around 14 years old when this happened. We live rural so we both have alot of land. Me and Sally decided to go camping on her land. We baught cheap hammocks and went through the bushland. The days prior we spent clearing some of the razor grass with a cane knife to make a path. We probably should of worn long pants because we ended up with little cuts all over our legs and some on our arms. We set up our hammocks and braught quite a few blankets because it does get pretty cold at night even though your swetting throughout the day. We were still on her property and hadn't gone to her neighbours boundry. Her neighbour had just leased the land to new tenants.
Me and Sally were sitting on our hammocks talking and laughing this was around 9pm. We heard something in the bush. We just thought it was a wallaby. There's plenty of wallabies around there. Then we could see the figure of a man. We were whispering to each other trying to see who it was. At first we thought it was her brother. His come and scared us when we were camping previously. Then as the person got closer we were thinking it could of been her dad. It was dark and the bush looks the same from every angle. We realised the man was coming from the other direction than her house. We didn't dare move and covered our torches under our blankets. The man came up and said hi and introduced himself as Ben. Now Ben was extremely drunk he staggered around and he reeked of alcohol. He started saying how we had a nice little camp here and said something pretty unsettling "I'll have to come out and sunbake naked here on one of these hammocks" me and Sally gave each other worried looks but didn't say anything. It only got worse from there. I can't remember everything he said because it was a while ago and he was mumbling on for what felt like forever. But some of the things that stuck out were "I'll have to kill yas wolf creek style" and said "your nearly legal then" when he asked us our age. Ben was probably in his 40s. Me and Sally were texting each other while he was talking and coming up with an escape plan. He also offered us a "puff on the magic Dragon" and pulled out a glass pipe. We declined. Sally said that we were leaving back to the house to make food. He told us to come back. We left our blankets and most of the stuff there and legged it. We told her dad what happened and we slept inside.
The next morning we went back to out campsite to find everything burnt. A circle with probably a 20m radius was all burnt. Coming from that circle was a line of burnt grass. Going towards the neighbours house. I'm not a firefighter or do forensics but it seemed obvious that some kind of fuel was used. Me and Sally were talking and it dawned on us the possibility that Ben may of thought we were in the hammocks due to the pile of blankets. Ben was definitely drunk enough not to be able to tell the difference. We went and told Sally's dad who then checked it out and then went next door. Bens roommate answered the door and said Ben wasn't home and apologised. And even gave Sally's dad $50 for the blankets and hammocks.
Nothing more happened for a few months.
Sally told me at school about how Ben had been caught on camera sneaking around her yard. I went to her house after school because she was going to be home alone until her dad finished work. I ended up sleeping over there that night. That's when he came over. Ben was drunk and came out the front of Sally's house and started yelling he accused Sally of stealing his dog. Sally's dad called the police. They arrested him. The next day we found a knife in the yard. It wasn't from Sally's house. The police came again and we told them about the knife and they got the footage from the cameras aswell. I don't know what happened to Ben but he no longer lives next to Sally. So Ben let's never meet again.
I have a photo of the burnt campsite somewhere. It might take some digging to find though so I'll post it if/when I find it.
ETA I found the photo and the fire was a bit smaller than what it was in my memory, and we were 14 not 15
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My husband and I live in a very rural place. It's known as a 'holler' where we're from. For those who don't know, a holler is a hollow or a road that runs along a creek in a valley between two mountains. Our nearest neighbor is about 100 yards away on one side and through a wooded area on the other. The way our house is laid out, if you drive up our hill and park, you come to the back door. The front door faces the road and no one *ever* knocks on our front door.
One night, a couple years ago, I decided to go to bed a little earlier than my husband. He stayed up playing video games in the living room. I had been asleep for a couple hours when my husbands busts through the door of the bedroom freaking out. He's mumbling and rambling in a desperate whisper. He has his phone in his hand and I can just make out the light shining on his face. I'm so out of it at first that I can't make sense of what he's saying. I lay there for a second and then suddenly I hear him clearly whisper-- "AND HE'S TRYING TO BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!" I sit bolt upright in bed asking what on earth is he talking about. He shushes me, tells me to whisper and says he has to call 911. I glance at the clock and it's 3am. I reach to turn on the light and he loudly whispers "NO!"
He gets through to 911 and tells them that we need assistance at our address. I catch a few details but my head is spinning. After he gets off the phone with them he tells me what has happened.
It was late and he was still up playing a game when suddenly he heard heavy footsteps on the porch. He paused his game to listen and then there was a knock. Another knock. And then repetitive beating of the door. He could hear a man's voice but could not make out what he was saying. Instead of opening the door he decided to walk out the back door and around to the front of the house to see who it was. He thought it could possibly be our older neighbor needing help with his wife.
So he walks out the back door and around to the front and sees a large man dressed all in black, carrying a duffel bag. At this point the man is pounding on the door so hard that it looked like he was trying to break it in. My husband waits for a second and then asks the guy if he needs help or something. The man apparently didn't realize that my husband was behind him because he started yelling *into* the door "Just let me in and I won't hurt you!" At this point my husband decides no more questions are necessary. He runs back in the house, locks the door, turns out the light in the kitchen and bursts into the bedroom to call 911 and to wake me up.
After he calls 911 we wait huddled in darkness for 40 minutes for a policeman to show up at our house. FORTY MINUTES!! His excuse-- small town, no one was on duty, and he had been asleep. It *was* 3 am after all. The policeman doesn't even get out of his car, either. He just sits there and spotlights the house from our driveway as my husband goes outside and tells him the story and describes what he could of the man. The cop leaves, my husband comes back in and we sit in the darkness of our bedroom, terrified until daybreak, wondering who that guy was and what he was going to do to us if he actually did get in. |
TL;DR at the bottom.
This story takes place in 2005, I was 12 years old at the time.
My family wanted to take a vacation, and my mom and ex-step dad decided it would be fun to take a cruise along the California Coast with my three younger siblings and myself.
As our ship made its way under the Golden Gate bridge, my mom and I stood out on her balcony to see San Francisco and the ocean beyond us. On the balcony to the right of her, a teenage boy emerged, presumably to take in the same views we were. My mom gave him a polite hello when they made awkward eye contact, and he struck up a conversation with her. I wasn't paying any attention at first, but then I heard him ask my mom, "Do you have any sisters?" I saw him peer over at me, clearly taking interest. Me being a shy 12 year old tried to hide from his gaze behind my mother's side.
My mom joked that she has two sisters, but that they're probably much too old for him. They exchanged some polite small talk after that which I didn't listen to, instead taking in the view of the sunset over San Francisco and the pacific. We went about our separate ways for the evening.
Over the next couple of days, we always seemed to be running into this boy and his family. My mother is an extremely friendly person so she always would talk with them, his parents seemed nice enough. The boy would always look at me intensely. By that point in my life I was still developing my first crushes on boys in my school, I sure as hell didn't know what to do. I didn't even know what his fixation on me implied, just that it made me feel as if he was seeing right through me. I avoided his stares by staying near my siblings, almost out of an instinctive protectiveness.
On the fifth day of our trip, my mom came in and said this boy wanted to meet and hang out with us. She said his name was Asher. I thought he was weird and didn't really want to, but I was always taught to give people the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps my discomfort was me being judgmental, I thought? I reluctantly agreed, and eventually he was in our hotel room. My mom gave me this smile and raised her eyebrows as if she was playing matchmaker, then she went into her room which was connected to ours.
Asher was very odd right off the bat and immediately my siblings and I were extremely uncomfortable. We were watching Scary Godmother on Cartoon Network, and I awkwardly asked if he wanted to watch something else. He probably thought our cartoons were stupid. He said he didn't mind, as long as he got to talk to me. My eldest brother, who was ten at the time, immediately picked up on my body language and what he said, so he joined in on the conversation to put me at ease.
Asher had an accent, I couldn't tell if he was foreign or if it was a speech impediment. A lot of what he said I couldn't quite pick up on, and he would sometimes lean over to me and say something quietly that although I couldn't hear or understand, I knew I didn't like it.
We spent the next while making awkward small talk about school and he told me about his graduation coming up next summer. I asked if he was graduating junior high.
No. He meant high school. He then revealed to me he would be turning *EIGHTEEN* that December.
Sirens immediately start going off in my head, and then he hands me a note he said he had written for me earlier. With my hands shaking, I open a note that reads:
"I love you. You're hot."
I guess my brother saw the note from over my shoulder and went over to our parents' room, then came back in and said, "Hey, our parents said we had to go to dinner."
Asher took that as his cue to leave, but told me he loves me one more time before his exit. I gave him a shaky, "O-o-o-kay." My brother went to make sure I was okay, and told me he had only pretended to go to our parents' room because he didn't want to get our mom in trouble with our ex-step dad for inviting him (I know this logic seems weird, but please remember we were all just kids). I was trembling and silent for a while, I didn't really understand what had happened. All I knew was that I had felt violated and confused.
We later told our mom what had happened, and she then looked extremely guilty. She thought he was younger and that he had good intentions. She thought that it would be a good idea for me to meet friends closer to my age because I was stuck babysitting all the time. Turned out, for some dumb reason, my mother had given him our home phone number before he had hung out with us. I was livid but too timid to speak up.
I'd managed to avoid Asher for the rest of our trip aside from on the loading docks on the final day. He said goodbye, that he loved me and would call me every day before leaving. He left before I could tell him not to.
He called almost every week for four months after that, leaving strange and cryptic messages on our answering machine. Every time we would block his number, he would manage to call from a new one. I had accidentally picked up a couple times not knowing it was him, and would immediately hang up, only for him to call three more times and leave the same strange messages. After a year he finally gave up and stopped calling.
So Asher from the cruise: I may be old enough for you now, but please let's not ever meet again, you creep.
TL;DR: Met a boy on a cruise who my mom thought was younger and invited to hang out when I was 12. Turned out to be a 17 year-old trying to get into 12 year-old me's pants and wrote a note telling me he loved me. Kept saying creepy things until my brother saved the day. He had our phone number and called us nonstop for about a year before finally giving up. |
This happened to me during my junior year of college. For context, I am a 22-year-old female. I was driving from my hometown in the Chicago suburbs to University of Missouri, which is about a 6 hour drive. I made the drive about every 4-6 weeks to see my family and my long distance boyfriend.
There are 2 main ways to take to the town my university is in: Stay on the interstate system through central Illinois and St. Louis or branch out to back roads after Springfield, Illinois until picking the interstate back up about 30 minutes from my college. I usually took the back roads, simply because it kept me awake with the constant speed limit changes and occasional towns but this particular time, I took the interstate system because there was a high potential for winter weather.
I was minding my own business, listening to one true crime podcast episode after another when about an hour from my exit, traffic came to a standstill.
*Great*, I thought.
It was already way beyond dark at that point. It was also a Sunday night and I just wanted to get home and catch a decent night’s sleep before my Monday classes. After a while, emergency vehicles flew past the traffic on the shoulder, indicating that there must be an accident up ahead. After what felt like forever, traffic slowly started crawling again and eventually started moving a little as we all passed the accident. This is when it started.
I will admit, I like to drive fast on the interstate, especially on this particular drive. What college kid doesn’t? I was in the right lane, with a decent amount of space between me and the car in front of me. That is when I noticed someone right on my bumper.
“Seriously?” I muttered aloud.
Traffic was no longer super heavy and the person could easily pass me in the left lane. Suddenly, the car began flashing their brights at me and honking. I was extremely confused. I turned off my podcast and kept a close eye on my rearview. The person continued to flash their brights, half blinding me in the darkness through my mirrors.
“Asshole,” I said, flooring it into the left lane.
I maneuvered in and out of a few cars, attempting to get away from whatever issue this person had. Except they followed my every move. Being a 21-year-old female, I began to get a sick feeling in my stomach. I had listened to enough true crime and general horror stories to be just the right amount of paranoid.
I had read on social media recently about girls from my school encountering sex traffickers in my town and along the interstate that runs through it. One of the town’s papers had even ran a series of stories regarding multiple sex and human trafficking rings that used this interstate to traffic victims because it basically runs the length of the entire country.
I shook the disturbing thought out of my head and continued doing about 85 mph in the right lane unless I had to go around someone. The car continued to following me, flashing its lights and barely letting themselves ever get more than a few cars behind or behind and beside me. I finally took the exit to my university. I looked back and the car had followed. It seemed as though the person was trying to get me to pull over.
*Is there something wrong with my car that I can’t see?* I wondered silently.
Even if there was, there was no way in hell I was pulling over on the side of an interstate in the middle of a dark, rainy night. That is exactly how urban legends or teenage slasher movies start.
At this point, I had no idea what to do. Looking back, I really should have driven straight to the local police station but I was too flustered and scared to think straight. I tried to think back on the last hour or so of my drive. Did I cut anyone off? I didn’t think so. I didn’t think I had done anything to make any drivers around me this pissed. I am a relatively good driver and tend to mind my own business on the road, not engaging in road rage or anything stupid like that.
I stupidly began driving to my apartment. The car continued to follow, still flashing their lights every so often but no longer honking. They continued to stay glued to my bumper. I began to panic. What if they followed me all the way home? What the hell should I do? Call the police and send them on a wild goose chase to look for me and this car as I’m driving around town?
As I approached another small exit off a local highway onto a smaller street that ran past campus and toward my apartment, I had an idea. As I got closer to the exit, I did not get into the far right lane to turn off. At the very last second, I jerked the wheel and careened across the gravel shoulder, so close to the grass that I barely missed driving off the road.
As I gunned it down the exit ramp, I glanced up at the overpass. The car had screeched to a halt and was honking its horn manically.
I cried the rest of the way home, calling my boyfriend and explaining what had just happened. I never got a good enough look at the car to get a license plate number or really even a good description of the vehicle, so I never reported the incident to police.
To this day, I have no idea what exactly it was that happened that night. My best guess is that whoever this person was, they saw me when we were all stopped on the interstate, waiting for the emergency vehicles to clear the scene. It’s very clear from the stickers I have on my car, one of my university’s name and one that said “Dog Mom” that I was a likely a college-aged female. All this person had to do was end up next to me, see that I was a female driving alone on the interstate in the middle of the night and have just the wrong intentions.
So, to the crazy person who followed me for an hour on the dark, rainy interstate, let’s not meet. |
This happened around 4 months ago. I debated over whether or not I should even post it considering for a time I wasn't sure if I was just being paranoid considering I watch a lot of true crime. Looking back now it creeps me out to think of what could have happened if I hadn't acted how I did, yeah sure, I could still be paranoid but something in my gut says I'm not.
I get to my back gate from a small path at the start of a creek just off a main road. You can go the longer way around to get to my front door but usually I just take the back gate because it's quicker. The creek is on the left side of the path, surrounded by trees. The local council has a problem with how many bats live there. The right side of the path is the backs of houses, some have gates like mine. If you follow the main road for a bit there's an underpass that is always covered with graffiti, it always gets painted over only for more graffiti to appear and the cycle continues.
I was hanging out with a friend, we went on a bike ride and had a picnic before school would start back up again. It had gotten pretty dark by the time I was heading back. I went through the underpass, which in itself is a sketchy thing to do at night, especially considering I'm a sixteen year old, 5ft 4 female. I got onto the main road and started riding in the bicycle lane and noticed all the bats in the sky, it was rather pretty actually, I also noticed two cars by the curb on the other side of the road with their lights on, one of the cars was black and had tinted windows and another was a bigger 4WD car, also black with tinted windows that had a mattress tied to the roof.
I just assumed someone was having a party or whatever and kept biking. I heard cars behind me but that's not unusual considering it's a main road, even if it does get pretty quiet at night. They slowed down so they were driving behind me which was odd. I was guessing it was just because they didn't want to hit me, I mean, no one was on the other side of the road, I was in the bicycle lane, they could have over taken me if they had wanted to. I found myself biking even faster because I felt bad I was the reason they were driving so slow. As I was thinking this, a car overtook me but it didn't speed off or anything, it remained driving at my speed just in front of me. It was then I noticed there had been a car behind that car that was also driving at my speed but just behind me.
Needless to say I felt pretty creeped out being sandwiched between these two cars when I realised they were the same ones that were parked on the other side of the road earlier. The fact they were pretty much the exact sort of car you think of when you think of a creepy car didn't help either. I kept biking till I got to the path by the creek I usually take to get to my back gate. I was having second thoughts though, it was dark, not many people take that path and it was surrounded by trees. Not to mention how creeped out I felt by what was happening with these cars.
I thought it would be best if I turned down the path because these cars would probably just keep driving. But the second I thought that, the 4WD in front of me indicated to go into the curb just up in front of the path. No. Nope. Not happening, no way was I going down that path now considering there was no reason someone would pull up there, there wasn't an entrance to anyone's house nearby or anything except the darkness of the creek. I was going to go the long way round. I over took the 4WD that had now pulled into the curb to continue along the bicycle lane the long way to my house.
As I overtook the 4WD it indicated to leave the curb. They hadn't even been there 10 seconds, they pulled out as the car that was still behind me stopped to let them out. The 4WD went back to sandwiching me with the other car. Pretty much any remaining thought I had of this all being a coincidence went out the window. I turned up a path that goes by the main road. When the cars noticed I did this, they too, indicated. By this point my heart was beating so fast, I came up with a split second plan.
I needed to turn left at the T intersection to get to my house but I didn't want to risk these cars knowing where I lived. So I continued going straight pretending I wasn't going to turn. They continued also. When it was no longer possible for them to take a left, I did a quick turn and sped down my street. I heard both of the cars speed off as well and I don't think I've ever biked faster in my life. I flung open the front gate and as I closed it behind me and my bike I heard speeding cars approaching my street from the left. I panicked and ducked down, peering through the gap in my fence, I had a sinking feeling I knew what cars would come past. Sure enough, the black 4WD and other black car sped past.
So to whoever was driving those cars late that night, whatever it was you wanted, let's never meet again. |
Thank you everyone for the support 3 years ago and for the thoughts of hope for my friend. I hope this update finds some people who remember my original story, I follow a lot of true crime and love seeing this kind of thing! |
Sorry for the long story but I can’t figure out this persons motive.
One night I was in bed with my bf, it was about 1:30AM. I get a text from a random number saying “Is this *my name*.. Sorry for messaging late and out of the blue like this but I don't think *my boyfriends name* is being honest with me and i need to talk to you”. We exchange a few texts and basically they’re accusing my bf of cheating on the Both of us.
Obviously I was annoyed, but bear in mind it was June 2020, bang in the middle of coronavirus lockdown in the UK. We’d spent everyday together since March, he denied it all and insisted he didn’t know who this person was.
The same number starts texting him, angry texts, calling him a “lying rat” etc. Not looking good for bf.
But this is where it gets weird... this person gives no specifics, they won’t tell me their name, what my bf has done, only that he was a liar and that I was an idiot for believing him. I’d ask but they would just reply vague angry texts. They’re grammar and spelling was good, but they’d use slang words from our local area.
We assumed maybe it was some kids who found our numbers off Facebook and were having a laugh so tried ignoring it.
Then nothing, until my bf gets a text the following afternoon asking him to meet them at a local social club for “some company”. Me and a friend got straight in the car and went down there, no one was there the club was closed cos of COVID.... But we couldn’t help feel like we were being watched, it was really weird.
A few days go by and the same number starts texting me again, this time the text language is all weird like spelling mistakes and saying “yu 2” instead of “you two” that kind of thing, it felt like it was a different person texting me. They seem a lot angrier with me now cos I didn’t believe them straight away, THEN they text me; “Yur so dull” (...) “I see him leaving yur house earlier LMAO”. Cocky I said something like funny that where’s my house then, and they reply with my Fucking street name 🤯🤯🤯 they also knew things about us like the fact he was in the army (but I guess you can figure that out from his social media photos).
I called them loads but it would just ring twice and cut off. Tried searching the number on whatsapp and on few social media sites, nothing. Only on Instagram the number would come up with a location of a film company in Raalte, Netherlands... when I’d google the number it’s provider is Tismi, I’ve never heard of it but looks like it might just be a fake number.
They’ve never asked for any money or anything like that either.
Don’t get why someone would go through that much effort just to wind us up. Last text I had was “Ok! Yu will see eventually LMAO” creepy.
Any advice please? |
Hey guys, brand new to this thread (and most of reddit). I just posted a photo on Instagram with this story as my caption and my friend told me to immediately post it here. It happened to me and my girlfriend on a hike a couple weeks ago in Washington.
We shot this picture a couple weeks ago just before one of the scariest nights of our lives. Me and My girlfriend hiked a little over 3.5 miles down in the dark from this look out completely alone. She had a bad feeling about it from the beginning, and she really didn’t want to hike down after sunset. About half way down, in a portion of the trail so dense with trees the moonlight couldn’t even find its way through, we saw a light up ahead on the trail. As soon as we shined our lights in their direction, they immediately turned their lights off.
As we approached from about 50 yards away, we started to get a bad feeling, knowing someone was on this trail in the dark. Once we were within about 15 feet of where the light came from from, we couldn’t find the person who shined it. Instead, we saw a lone camper backpack sitting upright on the ground, just to the side of the trail. Already on red alert at this point, we began scanning the trees with our lights, and asking aloud where the person was, knowing there was someone hiding nearby. As we side stepped slowly down the trail, we saw him. A tall but small bodied man, hunched over, with the backpack on his back. His small stature was hidden behind the size of his backpack, and he was perfectly still in pitch black darkness. When we shined our lights on him, just feet away and seconds from freaking out, I asked “how ya doing man?” Praying to god the guy was normal. No response, or even a glance in our direction. The guy looked angry.
As he remained perfectly still, My girlfriend shined her light on the ground next to him to reveal a MASSIVE FCKING AXE. And before you ask, no it wasn’t even close to a climbing axe. It was over 3 feet long and looked as if he had taped a spike onto the opposite end of the blade. When he saw us looking at it, he glanced up at me, and slowly picked it up, stood up from the ground, and began moving towards us.
My gf and I sprinted as fast as we could down the mountain and for the next 30 minutes we moved through the darkness in complete terror. We made it to our car, drove 45 minutes until we could get service, and reported it to 911. |
Believe it or not but I always have been the type of person who attracted deranged people. I am quite young but I don’t count anymore the number of time I had meet creeps.
This one however, I will always remember it for several reasons. Firstly because he was my neighbor and secondly because it could have end up so badly.
I first met him when I moved to my actual apartment. It’s in a nice house divided into 5 appartements. Mine was on the first floor, his was on the ground and I had to walk in front of his window to get to the front door. At first I didn’t mind him, he looked kind of creepy but to me everyone looks creepy. Well, he did get angry at my big brother for only walking in front of his window but he never was agressive to me. Plus i spent most of the time studying and was back at my place pretty late.
Life was going peacefully, I finished my studies and got my diploma. I found myself a great partner and I would have had everything to be happy if it wasn’t for my health. It was declining, nothing life threatening but I had to stay at my place instead of working. My life was pretty much boring and uneventful until one day, as I was tidying, my interphone ringed. Instead of answering it I just looked through my opened window and saw the neighbor staring at me. He was standing there in front of the front door, still and kinda threatening. I asked him if he needed something, waited for him to answer but after a really long silence, he just enters. I heard his door closing. It was weird but I had better things to do so... I just went back to sweeping my floor.
A week later, all of his shutters were closed. There was an inscription on all of them: ‘sealed’. It did not look official, more like crooked handwriting and messy black marker. Once again I brushed it off as I was kinda glad the creepy neighbor was gone. I figured he got arrested or something.
Once again, life was peaceful and two month after his disappearance, a nice dude started living in the appartement. A great guy, always smiling and ready to help. He had his head shave like the old neighbor but was chubby and friendly. Everything was good for a year but then, things went down. And oh boy! How ugly it got!
I usually said hello to nice neighbor, he would politely ask me about my day, about my partner’s day and everything. That day though he did not say hello when I passed his window like he usually does. Instead he was sitting in his chair, staring at me with dark eyes and following my every moves. I still waved at him, smiling. I figured he had a bad day.
Since then, he would passed daytime sitting in the dark looking through the window and his nights blasting metal while he laughed and screamed like a maniac. At this point, neither me or any other neighbors could sleep. We kept calling the police but they did not really care about some noise. I don’t know when exactly I figured the nice neighbor was the creepy neighbor but when I did it left me with a sour taste in my mouth for some reason. Probably because I knew for sure he had a history of violence and fight gone bad.
Then one day I was at a friend for a week. Since my partner was working, he was keeping our apartment. I was shopping with my friend when I received a message that made me shiver: the neighbor let himself in our apartment. My partner did not noticed he left the door unlocked and the neighbor just climbed the stairs, opened our door and entered. I can’t say exactly what happened since I wasn’t there but apparently he wanted to shave my partner’s hair and eyebrow. He was delirious, having a hard time talking and just saying gibberish. My partner managed to get him out and closed the door. He was merely amused by the whole thing.
When I got back, things were getting worst. First he would stop me and my partner in the street, completely gone, telling us how the only reliable source of information was our toaster. Then he started to corner me. He would wait for me to almost reach the door and would violently open his door. Then he would tell me how I shouldn’t go out, how I shouldn’t trust anyone but him. It was clear as day how bad his mental health was as his speech was more and more slurry and he would take long pauses while staring to the side. During two weeks, he managed to corner me four times. Not much, huh? It was the only four times I was going out alone in those two damns weeks.
This period was awful: I could not left my apartment alone. I could not live my life like I wanted. I just stayed locked in my place waiting for my partner. Even with precaution I kept meeting him and the more I saw him, the more uneasy I grew. For weeks it felt like a hostage at my own place.
I should have called the police.
As our encounter were more and more regular, he grew agitated. He would fidget, he would look all over and kept getting closer. There was a point I could feel his moist breath on my skin. I did not know what to do, I was terrified to call the cops because all of our others neighbors were in vacation. I was afraid he would try to hurt me if I call the cops. Until this day. I had to meet my boyfriend at a bar near our place. My first mistake was to leave long after my partner. I quietly climbed down the stair, did not make any noise when I opened the door and tried to sneak away from his window. He saw me, he opened the window and for the first since what seemed forever, he told me in a clear speech:
“Don’t go outside. Stay at home. If you need anything come to me or go out Monday at seven am.”
I frightfully agreed and smiled at him, my hands gripping on my purse. I looked at him closing his window, I waited for him to turn his back and started walking away. When he saw me he screamed:
“ DONT FUCKING GO!”
I saw him reaching for his door. I felt my blood running cold. I was nothing compare to him, i had no strength. I was just a still quite sick person against a massive man. So I just ran. I ran for two minutes to the bar, passing bystanders who I am sure stared at me. I ran for my life and I kept running like this until I saw my partner and our friends at a table. And then, just then I cried. I collapsed on the chair and cried for three minutes straight. Later we all went back home, our friends hiding me.
My second mistake that day was to convince the others they could go to the theater just three houses away from the appartement, that I would be fine since I would no go out. They left, it was hot so I opened the windows before turning the fan on. I was quietly spending my evening, sipping on ice tea and watching stupid videos when someone knocked. I knew who it was, there was only one person to pounce on my door like the maniac he was. I did not answer, I just froze on my couch. The only thing I was able to think about was that this thin door was the only obstacle between him and me. Then he started screaming... I did not get everything he said, the fan was covering much of the screaming but I still can remember some words. ‘Children of the devil’, ‘trust’, ‘open the fucking door’ and the worst one ‘you’ll burn’. Then there was the laughing, straight out of an horror movie. That’s when I heard him laughing that it dawned on me how alone I was. How we were the only two people in this whole house. How he could just snapped the door open and god know what he could do. I found the force to get up, I went to my bathroom and sat behind the door. And then I cried again, trying to muffle the screaming and laughing. I texted a friend who convinced me to call the cops. This time they answered.
I called too late, he was already back to his apartment when they came. Three polite knocks, I let them him trembling. They were five, one of them on the step of an other appartement. He found a glasses filled with alcohol, partially drank. I still can hear the poison in his voice when he bitterly said ‘This asshole took liquid courage’. They believed me, they reassured me but at the end of the day, there was nothing they could do. I could just sit and wait, terrified.
After this, I went to the police station and filled a report. I quickly learnt that two others people did the same as me. A social worker went to the neighbor, talked to him and apparently he sweared to not bother me again. After that, it was just loud musics in the middle of the night and nothing more. Still, I had this lingering feeling: it was not over.
For two months everything went fine until one morning I opened my door and found a beer. I left it here and it was only gone late at night. Next day, same thing. He kept putting beers in front of my door for a week.
It was 10AM, I was just out of the shower, dressed with a black t-shirt but still in underwear when my interphones ring. Like I always did and because my window reaches my belly, I passed my head through the window. There I saw a guy who worked in an office just in front of the house. He was maniacally screaming at me and doing wide gestures, obviously panicked but right next to him was the neighbor, grinning. It took me a couple of seconds to understand what was going on, way too much preoccupied by the sinister expression on my neighbor, but when I heard it...
“COME OUT! THE HOUSE IS BURNING!”
And I looked in the direction of my neighbor’s apartment. Sure enough, thick black smoke coming out of the open windows. I just put a jean and grabbed my key. No ID, no cellphone, nothing but my clothes and my key. In the corridor I smelt the smoke, I cough a couple of time before running out. I was frightened, I was confused. I was supposed to go to an appointment for a job only thirty minutes from this point but instead I was watching the house burning. I was fearing for my home being turned into nothing more but a pile ashes.
The neighbor was just standing there, a glass full of an amber looking like liquid and this freaking grin. He was smoking, looking at the smoke while the working guy screamed at him. ‘You see I told you there was someone inside! I told you!’. I was still watching it all burn, asking myself how long it would take before the fire reached my appartement when someone grabbed my arm. It was a woman, one of my neighbor who also work next door. She grabbed me and forced me to sit on the bench with her. She took my hand and kept telling the neighbor not to approached me. She gave me water, she helped me contacting the person I was supposed to see for the job. Most importantly, she did not let the neighbor getting to me and stood in front of me the whole time, doing her best to shield me.
The firefighters arrived quickly, along with the cops. They asked him basic questions like wether or not there was gaz inside but he mocked them, laughed at them. He tried to smash his glass on a cop’s head. That’s when they arrested. That’s when the woman let my hand go and told me this time we are free from him.
The fire was put down quickly, only his appartement was burnt thanks to a great isolation. However, the level of carbon monoxide was high, high enough to kill someone if anyone would have stayed. All of his belongings were put in front of the house. Inside, the wall of the corridor so white when I left where grey and every place a screw was left a black stain on the walls. It smelled like smoke, like burnt plastic and wet ashes but we were fine.
The neighbor was sent to a psychiatrist hospital and the landlord was finally able to broke the contract. A neighbor told me when he left that morning there was a beer in front of my door but when I exited in hurry there was nothing. The fire was ruled as accidental and we haven’t heard of him since them.
Slowly, I was able to go outside without activating my phone camera and gripping my keys like knifes. I was able to climb down the stairs freely, after all this time. I was finally able to rest... but... The belongings stayed for a long long time and each time I passed to get to the front door, I saw his notebooks laying around. I always told myself I wasn’t that kind of person, I wouldn’t snoop around. Still curiosity got the best of me. Like I expected, a lot of gibberishes were writing down, some racist stuff and a lot of nazi symbols. Nothing that abnormal coming from this guy. Then I found something else, like a log. Still hard to decipher until it all clicked. Under my eyes were the times when people entered or exited the house. He kept traces of everyone’s moves.
I found my pages quite easily. Each days for at least six months, he knew when I was alone. He knew when I was going grocery shopping, how long I left, how I looked when I was back. Each time I passed his window he would write it down, he would write comments which sometimes made sense, sometimes not.
And most importantly...
When the fire started, he knew I was still inside and he knew I was the only one left.
I closed the thing and just went to my apartment. I closed the door like you close a case but still I silently prayed to never meet this guy again. Because if we meet again, I don’t know wether or not I will be able to tell the story. |
Hey, folks. I'm kind of new and this is the first story I submit here, so let's get started.
I must clarify this didn't happen only to me, but my uncle too.
This was after Christmas Eve party, when everyone went home, I decided to stay, because my cousin and I were watching a movie. My uncle, who used to walk his dogs into the woods, next to a park, went off to take them out. Before this my aunt told him to don't do that, because it was too dark out there (it was around 04:00 or 05:00 am), he didn't care much, and he went off anyway, my aunt was still worried, so I went along with him.
Once there, anything wrong seamed to happen, everything was quiet. My uncle and his dogs were having a relaxing walk, as usual, and I wasn't really paying attention to the surroundings when suddenly, the dogs went still. This wasn't that strange, they always stopped their way to stare and bark to other animals they noticed, like rats, birds, insects or other dogs. However, this time was different.
When the dogs got still, my uncle and I noticed something was going wrong, the dogs wasn't angry or curious, they were kind of nervous, anxious, affraid. One of the dogs, the largest one, was growling and shaking.
As my uncle started to get worried about that situation, we heared it. People in the woods, we did't saw how many, because of darkness, they were saying something...
"We all gather here, by the blood of (incomprehensible) we (incomprehensible) thee and thy (incomprehensible)..."
As my uncle and I heard that, he yelled for his dogs to follow him out of the woods, as we all left, he turned his head back and he only saw a slight movement of branches and shrubs, perhaps because these people were trying to hide.
After all that happened he hasn't walked his dogs near to those woods nor when it gets dark neither.
So, to the strangers in the woods, let's no meet. |
Sorry this is a long one. This happened a few years ago but I still think about it to this day. I was on holiday in a city on the other side of the country celebrating my 21st birthday with my best friend. We were having an amazing night out with a few too many drinks and ended up meeting two guys, let’s call them Andrew and Billy.
They seemed like really cool guys and we were into them so when they asked us back to their hotel room we said yes (obviously a silly idea but we were young and drunk). Things were great on the way back to the hotel room we were all laughing and having a great time.
When we got to the hotel room there were two OTHER men there aswell, let’s call them Ricky and JD who were at least 10-15 years older than us (they gave us creepy vibes but we brushed it off). We asked Andrew and Billy who these guys were and they said they were their colleagues as they were in the city for work and the company paid for their rooms. So Andrew and Billy were in different rooms but we were all partying in Andrews room that he shared with Ricky.
I got a little too drunk and my friend put me to bed, she said that she was going to Billy’s room and asked if I would be okay with Andrew and I said yes (keep in mind my friend didn’t have a phone either so we basically had no way of getting in contact with each other- another stupid thing I know).
So I’d been in the bed for a while with Andrew just talking and chilling when he says “I just have to pop out and I’ll be right back” (I assumed he meant just out of the bedroom not out of the actual hotel room but he left the hotel room to get something from Billy’s hotel room).
Anyway I was just watching tv in the bed when the bedroom door opens and I assumed it was Andrew but my heart sank when it was Ricky (the weird colleague), he walked into the room and sat on the bed (keep in mind I’m very naked at this point trying to cover myself with the blanket), he said “you do realise that everyone has left you alone in here right? It’s just you all alone, no one is here and no one can hear you” and continued edging closer and closer to me on the bed.
At this point I was completely speechless and absolutely terrified, I was completely frozen in fear and I had no idea what to do. I tried to say something but nothing came out. He definitely sensed my fear and for some reason he just got up and left.
A sense of relief flooded me and I felt silly for overreacting, that was until I heard JD (other random colleague) shouting “GET THE FUCK BACK IN THERE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THIS ISNT WHAT WE DISCUSSED! GET THE FUCK BACK IN THERE AND DO WHAT YOU WERE MEANT TO DO! WHO GIVES A FUCK ABOUT THAT WHORE JUST GET BACK IN THERE AND DO WHAT YOU NEED TO DO”.
I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in because I was so scared but there was no way out and the only way out of the hotel room was through the front door and I had to walk past Ricky and JD to get there. I was just so terrified I had a million thoughts rushing through my head and I had no idea what to do but I knew I had to escape.
I decided my only option was to just leave the room and be ready to defend myself if things were to go pear shaped. I threw my clothes on and grabbed my shoes, I opened the door and Ricky and JD were sitting on a couch close to the bedroom door, JD said ‘hey sexy where are you going in such a rush come and join us come here right now’, I said ‘no thanks’ and ran to the front door and ripped it open.
When I got out I was so relieved but I was still in a random hotel in a random city with no way to contact my friend but I thought my best option was to go to the lobby and just wait.
As I was walking I heard two men yelling down the hall ‘WHERE ARE YOU? WE KNOW YOU ARENT TOO FAR AWAY COME BACK AND JOIN US, YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO’. It was Ricky and JD. I was absolutely fucking terrified by this point I began sprinting to the elevator, I could hear them gaining on me, I never knew I could run so fast but I just continued and didn’t look back. I felt like I was running forever until I reached the end of the corridor and my worst nightmare had come true, I missed the turn off of the elevator (fucking idiot hahah).
So I had to turn and run back towards where I could hear Ricky and JD still yelling down the hall way. I found the elevator and got in, I could hear their voices getting louder and louder and I didn’t want to imagine what would happen if they got into the elevator with me. The door finally closed after what felt like a lifetime.
I thought I would go down to the lobby and just wait there because at least there would be people there so there would be some form of safety. I got to the lobby and realised that there was no one in sight, no one at all not even behind the desk. I sat on a couch and didn’t know what to do with myself. I was absolutely terrified that Ricky and JD would come to the lobby.
Then I heard the elevator ding and the door open, my heart dropped, but it was Andrew. I told him what had happened and he was outraged that his colleagues did that and he took me to where my best friend was. Everything turned out fine but it could have been a lot worse. So Ricky and JD let’s never meet again. |
Abouymt 5 years ago I was volunteering in a listening service that was only aimed at helping children up to 18 years of age.
Alot of training was required for this role, even though it was an anonymous phone service, if a child presented with a dangerous situation and we had their permission then we could call the appropriate authorities, e.g the police or social services.
After a few weeks I was feeling settled in and I had taken many calls, the majority were just kids joking around, but there were many tough calls too. Most evenings after I had finished my shift, I would feel so overcome with emotion that I would fight back tears on the way home in my car. Having a small child of my own, pften made it harder to forget about.
One phone call in particular really startled me and to this day I often think of it. It was about 9.45pm, 15 minutes before my shift ended and I was sitting around, I hadn't taken a call for over an hour and time seemed to moving slowly. My phone rings, and a petite, soft, female voice says "hello". I introduce myself giving a fake name as I always do and tell her a little bit about the service and about what we do and what we would do if someone is in danger.
She says almost immediately "I need help, I'm babysitting my younger sister, she's only 2 months old and I'm 9. She's diabetic and she's turning blue. My mother and father are gone out. Please help".
I felt as though all my training had gone out the window, I was panicking but tried my best to keep my thoughts clear and my voice clear. "Go outside and get help, go and knock at a neighbours house and call the nearest adult you see" I insisted. The little girl talked me through her steps and said she had the baby in her arms and was out in the street, listening to the noise of the traffic and sound of the night air, my heart was beating so fast, aching to know what was going on and feeling so helpless.
I could hear the little girl speaking to someone, but I couldn't make out what was being said. Next of all, a lady came on the phone "I have them. Hello hello, I have them both. I'm going to take them to the nearest hospital". I thanked the lady and she told me that help was on the way. I ended the call and once I gathered myself, I informed my supervisor. She was as shocked as I was when I gave her all the details. She called the hospital in the area that the girl had given me and she also called the police. After an hour of filling in the mandatory documents, my supervisor followed up the inquiry about the call we had received and they said they had no such cases. Finding it quite strange, we finished off writing the notes and shut down for the night.
My next shift wasn't until the following week, which I was grateful for,I needed the time off. When I returned after my week off, my supervisor called me into her office and informed that she had gone through my notes on the call I received and had gone searched the system for similar scenarios and keywords. She told me that every caller has a profile and that the girl who had called was a frequent caller and that she wasn't a little girl, but a lady in her early 30's in a psychiatric hospital and she liked to pose as different people but mostly as a child. This creeped me out considering the nature of the service and the fact an adult was abusing the service.
This information angered me and also disturbed me. I felt silly and naive as I had believed this "girls" story. Over the next few months, she called a few more times under different descriptions and always posing as a vulnerable person.
I wasn't there for much longer but that story always gives me the creeps when I think of it. |
My mom was always very cautious of the bad things that could happen to her children. She would take all 3 of us, my brother, sister and I, to school in the morning as she worked close to the same time school started. I had been begging to bike to school since I got a new bike for my birthday a few months earlier. And she finally agreed.
I was in grade 7, so 12 or 13 years old (and female.) My school was a 2-3 minute drive and around a 10-15 minute bike ride.
I was eager to ride my new bike to school as I had also gotten a new helmet and bike lock to go with it. School started at 8:30-9ish so I left around 8, I liked to hangout in the yard with my friends before school started so I would always go earlier. The route to school was pretty much one straight line down one main road in my city. Now, it’s 8 o’ clock in the morning so it’s relatively bright outside and, again, I’m on a well-populated, main road around the time everyone is heading to work and/or school.
So I’m about halfway to school and I decide to cross the street, but not at a crosswalk or traffic light, just kind of J-walking or biking, if you will. As I’m stopped in someone’s driveway, looking both ways to cross, I notice a black car pull up to my left and park on the side of the road. It’s a 2 door, Honda Civic-type looking car from what I can remember (I’m 21yrs currently) and all of the windows were tinted. I didn’t think much of it, the only thing that crossed my mind was maybe I was blocking them from getting in their driveway, so I continued on trying to cross the street.
From the corner of my eye I see a man, dressed in all black with his hood pulled up to hide his face, get out of the drivers side and walk around the back of the car to the passenger side and before I get the chance to realize what’s happening he’s opened the passenger side door and is pulling me by the arm off my bike in attempt to put me in his car.
And for what felt like forever, it was like every car on this street had disappeared, any sign of help was completely gone. One of the busiest streets in my city felt like a gravel road in the middle of nowhere with nothing to be seen for miles.
It also felt like one of those awful nightmares where you try to scream but nothing comes out, so you’re just silently suffering until you finally wake up. But it was real. I couldn’t scream. I can’t explain that feeling any better than a nightmare but not being able to wake up from it.
These things didn’t happen in my city so I wasn’t prepared for what to do in a situation like this, so I did the first thing that came to my mind... I aimed for the nuts. I shifted my weight to my right leg and kicked as hard as I possibly could with my left. I landed one kick, which I recall actually hurt my ankle a bit so I can only imagine what it felt like on the recieving end, and he instantly let go.
I didn’t even look before I crossed that street, biking as fast as I possibly could, I remember trying to turn around to get a license plate but my eyes were watery from the tears streaming from them and it still felt like making any noise was impossible.
I knew my mom would’ve been at work by now so I just continued biking to school, silently crying the entire way. I pulled into the school yard and dropped my bike, I didn’t care to lock it or ever ride it anywhere again frankly. My schools front door was locked 24/7 and you had to ring a doorbell to get in, so I did exactly that. The secretary reminded me that I still had time to play outside before class started and that’s when I was finally able to speak again, “I need to call my mom”, I screamed. The door opened instantly.
I explained what happened to the secretary, then the principal, my mom and finally the police, who I had refused to talk to until I spoke with my mom. The police arrived to the school shortly and took my statement, then I went to the station after school to make another with my mom.
A business across the street from where it happened had video surveillance but it only captured the bottom 6in of the guys car pulling up, his footsteps around the back of his car and then the car pulling away shortly after. Basically, no solid leads on who this prick was or is.
The same guy with the same body description and car description went on to attempt to kidnap 3 other girls but still was never caught. I don’t really believe in a god but I do pray that he was/is never successful.
So, whoever you are, let’s not meet. |
When I reached my car this morning in the apartment complex parking lot, I noticed a white 3x5 inch notecard taped to my steering wheel. I was confused how it got there since I was OCD about locking my car at all times. I unlocked the car and sat in the driver’s seat to better read the note. In black cursive writing the note read “*Take an alternative route to work this morning*.”.
I stared at the notecard for a good minute trying to process how in the hell it would have gotten there. After letting my thoughts run wild, I tossed the notecard into the passenger seat. I started driving my usual route to work, thinking this was some kind of joke. As I waited at the red light to turn onto the highway, I picked back up the notecard and stared at the message again. In a manner aimed more towards speaking to myself, I blurted the words out “*Why the hell would I take a different route to work that would make it almost a 45-minute drive?*”.
Realizing I was talking to a notecard, I looked at myself in my rearview mirror and laughed. The note card slipped out of my hand and fell on its reverse side onto my lap. Another note was written on the backside that stated… “*There will be a shooting at the red light after you get off the highway exit ramp. You will be shot if you take that route*.”.
I felt a sickening knot in my stomach after reading. I flinched once I heard the car honk behind me, irritated by my distraction from the light which turned green. I stepped on the gas and U-turned away from the highway exit, almost causing a wreck as I did so. I took the long way to work and arrived about 20 minutes late.
My boss, Butch, called me to his office the second I walked through the front door. I still had the notecard in my hand and quickly folded it in half, shoving it into my back pocket.
“*Why the hell were you late*?” Butch said.
“*I just had a rough morning and I had to take the back roads to get here*.” I said.
“*Son, you’re full of nothing but excuses. This is why I am passing you up for promotion, I can’t have a senior manger working under me that can’t take responsibility for the little things he screws up*.” Said Butch.
“*But Sir, I have the highest performance numbers of any other manager here in this building. You have nobody else here that has brought this company as much money as me*!” I said with passionate anger.
“*Results driven, yes you are, but dependable? After this morning’s late instance, I just don’t see you as a fit for a senior manager. I need someone who is consistent. You can leave the office now; this conversation is over.*”
I stormed out of the office and walked back to my car so I could just be alone and cool myself down. Still pissed off, I grabbed the folded notecard from my back pocket. I shouted out loud in my car at the notecard….
“*Stupid magic notecard! Does Butch just not like me or something? Why would he pass me up knowing I’m the best performer? This was the only time I have ever been late!*”. I yelled with veins pumping in my head.
I opened the folded notecard, my anger quickly turning to shock once I saw a longer message this time. The message was written in the same cursive writing…
“*Butch passed you up for promotion because he is having an affair with one of your co-workers. He was looking for a reason to downplay your hard work, he will announce her promotion tomorrow morning*.”.
The anger came back into my flushed red cheeks after reading. For a minute, I seemingly forgot about the metaphysical anomaly I was experiencing with a magic notecard that was answering all my questions. Instead, my anger got the best of me, filling me with thoughts of going back into the office and beating Butch over the head with whatever I could find. Remembering that the notecard answered my question this morning with a continued note on its reverse side, I yelled out loud how Butch could just get away with that and if I had any shot of promotion in that company.
I flipped the notecard over and saw the answer to my question. The note read…
“*He will commit suicide in two weeks. Before that, he will take the life of your co-worker he is sleeping with; she gave him HIV. There will be two open positions as a result, both of which you will be able to apply to*.”
I sat in silence reading the note over and over feeling disturbed and uneasy. I wasn’t supposed to know this, it felt pervasive and wrong to have access to this kind of information. I decided I needed to just go home and drove off, folding the notecard and putting it back in my pocket. I noticed police cars as I turned into the ramp leading to the highway, several cars were littered with bullet holes.
I got home and poured myself a glass of whiskey, hoping the alcohol would somehow unlock a logical algorithm in my brain to help me understand what just happened today. I brought the bottle of whiskey to my office room, where I logged into my computer and started googling anything related to a notecard suddenly appearing to anyone. I found nothing but links to fictional books.
Still sitting at my computer, I pulled out the notecard and folded it in half again. I asked it who put the notecard on my steering wheel. I took a long sip of my whiskey before I opened the notecard and read the words that followed.
“*It likes to go by the name TRUTH*.” The words on the letter said.
I asked the note card “*Is TRUTH a person*?” before flipping it around to the other side.
“*TRUTH is not a person*.” The words said on the card.
“*What exactly does TRUTH look like*?” I asked the card, turning it around immediately to the other side.
“*TRUTH has 6 legs and 4 arms. It has no eyes, 8 ears, and 15 mouths covering its body with sharp teeth*.”
My eyes went wide as I read the description in fancy black cursive writing, fear tickled my senses causing the hairs on my neck to stand up. I asked the card the two dreaded thoughts on my mind. “*What does it want from me? Why did it give me this notecard*?” I said out loud and slowly turned the notecard over to read the backside.
“*It wants you to ask it that question yourself, its standing right behind you*.”
I dropped the notecard after reading, but I dared not move. I just sat staring straight ahead into my computer. I didn’t want to see this ugly TRUTH standing right behind me. A few moments later, I heard somebody opening my front door.
“*Baby, we really need to talk*!” I heard my girlfriend shout from the kitchen. I forgot I had given her a key to my apartment.
“*Don’t come back here! Please just leave*!” I shouted, hoping she would save herself from the sight of this grotesque thing behind me.
I heard my girlfriends footsteps getting louder and louder coming towards the office room I was in.
“*What the hell has gotten into you?* *What are you………*” Her voice cutoff suddenly as it reached the doorway.
It’s been 3 hours since I heard her voice. I am still sitting at my computer not daring to look behind me. I have kept the brightness on my screen turned up to avoid seeing any glimpse or reflection of the thing behind me. I don’t know if my girlfriend is still standing at the doorway, or if that thing did something with her.
I have about half a bottle of whiskey left. I am posting this hoping anyone can give me an idea of what the hell will happen when I turn around. I decided as soon as the whiskey runs out, I will finally turn around. The description alone from the notecard has me scared shitless to face it, but eventually I will have no choice but to face the ugly TRUTH.
|
I remember about 4 years ago my dad told me a story about the small little scar he has on his ear. One day when he was about 5 years old, he lived and partially grew up in a small village/town in Mexico. I don't know the specifics of where it was because he's lived in many small towns so i didn't ask. Anyway, when he was 5 years old him and his brother had just come back to his home after playing outside all day. Both of them were still pretty jittery after that they started playing tag in the kitchen. My grandmother was making food at the time and boiling some water. Well my dad bumped into the pot of boiling water and it ended up splashing all over the left side of his face. He stated that the water melted part of his ear off and parts of one side of his face.
#x200B;
Grandma was in shock and in disarray she had to act fast. So late into the night my grandma and grandpa and my dad went to a local Shaman, or Bruja. She had heard a playground rumor that there was a shaman in town and that she had the ability to heal severe wounds. My dad stated that he had heard weird chanting and whispers and strange choir like humming when they came close to the building. He couldn't tell much from his surroundings because he was in so much pain but he manage to make out what he saw when he went inside a brick building with other buildings connected to it. Almost like a small downtown shopping plaza but old. The Shaman had told grandma that she would need to have the child under her care for one night while they waited outside. The procedure that my father described was pretty bizarre. He saw the shaman mixing some odds and ends into a copper bowl with strange glyphs and writings on the copper bowl.
#x200B;
He then saw her put a strange small head not human but something different that he can't really describe may have been an ape of some kind and a liquid that he could only describe as blood. Then the shaman wrapped his face along with the contents of the mixing bowl in a type of leaf wrappings and from then on into the night all he heard was humming, and singing in a strange language. The morning finally came and grandma picked up her son and asked if he was going to be okay. She said that all would be fine but for the next two nights she needed to wear the beads that she handed her and that he needed to keep the wrappings on him and to keep her doors locked and to not go outside for anything while she had the beads on. So she did and, two days had passed and the beads were gone and so she got really spooked and went to check on her son and woke him up to check on his injuries. She carefully unwrapped the leaf bandaging and then saw that his injuries were gone. relived that her son wouldn't have a nasty burn scar the rest of his life. She went to the same place to thank and to repay her somehow, but when she arrived the building in the middle was gone.
#x200B;
It's as if the very building was taken to the sky leaving the pipes and gas lines exposed from the earth. She found burn marks on the floor and scuffing from where building used to be. She asked around the nearby area and asked what had happened the shaman that once lived in that lot and what happened to her building everyone told her that there was never a building there and that no such shaman or bruja lived around there. To this day she fears for her life and asks herself this question. "Who did I make a deal with, and what will they take as payment?" |
#x200B;
Now, I questioned if I was really a follower.
It was a potentially dangerous idea. The other end of the line brings about more mysteries than I was already comfortable with. I think one could observe I was knee-deep by now.
The work day felt agonisingly slow. Each hour felt as though it was ten, and I found myself constantly examining the clock, and was always disappointed by the muck of time that was holding me hostage at my desk. 5 PM was a blessing when it arrived.
I began to recall a conversation I had with my mother at her home a few days before. I could not recall what was actually being said - some filler about the weather, my sister, other random topics. But what I could fully embrace was the feeling of that conversation. It felt warm. That hadn’t happened in some time.
I don’t know, I just felt like adding that.
It took until around 8:30 when I had mustered the courage to call the number on the card. A stupid decision, one out of morbid curiosity, and with a deep hope that I would nerve up and notify the police afterwards. To be frank, I would have believed that I would have done so by that point - yet I hadn’t. My curiosity was not only guiding me, it was *deceiving* me.
I sat there, on the couch. My door was locked. The curtains were closed. I then called the number.
I heard someone pick up. They did not say anything, perhaps waiting for me first. After some moments of nothing, I uttered a “Hello?”.
“Did you get this number on a card?” It sounded like a man.
“Y- yes, I did.” I was stuttering already out of sheer anticipation.
“Describe it. The card.”
I held it back up in front of me.
“There’s not much to describe, it’s blank on one side, it’s white. The number is in purple.”
A pause again.
“Who gave you the card?”
I now pondered what to say. How should I describe it? Would it be believable? I resolved that none of this situation was very believable to begin with.
“He was wearing all black, he broke into my apartment. He looked dishevelled, kind of.”
Silent. I really could not take this. I said something like:
“I don’t know what it is you want from me. You’ve broken into my home twice. I don’t know what you’re running. I don’t know what this is, but I just want you to please leave me alone.”
Silence again. Then the voice said, “Pen and paper.”
I was confused, but followed his instructions out of sheer wonder of what he could possibly tell me to write. After a minute of scavenging for the items and setting them down (and already regretting that I was complying), I gave him an “Okay”. He then gave me the name of a website, that of which is still active to my knowledge. I will not disclose the name.
I asked, “What is this site?”
“You’ll find out when you go on. There are no viruses or malware on there. You don’t have to worry about that.” My computer already had a bunch of antivirus software on it, but it wasn’t top-of-the-line.
One more silence, then I asked a question that had been burning into my thoughts and clouding them for some time.
“Why me? Have you done this to anyone else?”
Silent.
“You’re (they stated my correct first and last name, and my middle initial), is that right?”
I didn’t even know what to think at that point.
“If that’s correct, you’ll understand. Thank you for your time.”
They hung up. I felt like crying my eyes out again, but I was rendered into this speechless, emotionless state of shock that I can only describe as a fearful dissociation. I felt that I was viewing myself from another perspective.
It was Friday, I only worked some Saturdays, the next day was not one of them. I let myself traverse into whatever rabbit hole I would find.
The website claimed a secure connection. Immediately upon entering, I would find myself scrolling through video players, clicking on a few hesitantly. They were seemingly advertisements to a location near my residence - only a mile away, closer to the heart of the city. They would feature all kinds of people, young and old, some looking a tad more loved than others. Prominently, someone would usually be speaking to the camera about the wonders of this place (extremely vaguely), sounding like a junk-driven hippie. I recall one in particular that I revisited a few times, typed here:
“Time is ticking. Everybody always likes to make up what they can. This world isn’t going to be easy for us. But we can make it together. Our community, at the tip of Illinois, comes together as one - when life has discredited us, when life has desecrated us. We always have each other.”
Then the address popped up on the screen as the video ended. I now pondered what I was told on the phone. How would this apply to me, so they said? I would understand? I scrolled down further and found a link at the bottom of the page, titled “Flag to Be”. Here went nothing, then.
Clicking on it, I was taken to a screenshot of a strange-looking poem on a white screen in large font. It read:
“The foundation of society is built on the riches.All riches started from rags.Our bodies flail with flinches,Our skin met with pinches,But none can disgrace the colours of our flag.
Our pride and joy not deep in drought,Our bones of steel are hardenedBy discontent from bargains.They state we are a cretin,But yet we are allowed.”
In the bottom right of the screen, I could see it was written by “Fantaspider”. Allow me to explain why this shook me further.
When I was in high school, I had this friend, for the sake of this story, that we will call Lance. He was born in Australia, and lived there for the first ten-ish years of his life. He once gave me and our mutual friends this trivia-esque fact that in Australia only, there was this short-lived soda product called Fanta Spider. For some reason, they found that absurdly hilarious because of Australia’s reputation as spider territory. Plus, he was the type to host parties in his senior year, at which he would always noticeably serve a lot of Fanta. So his friends gave him the name “Fanta Spider”, and it spread like wildfire.
It was a stupid nickname and I wasn’t sure why it stuck, but he told them he liked it. Now I’m questioning.. is this the same guy? He told me years back that he had wanted to move back home when he finished college, which would have probably been a couple of years ago. Did he just stick around in freezing Illinois? Glenview isn’t that bad, I suppose.
I no longer had his phone number, so I asked another kind-of-old-friend of mine. Sure enough, on the first try, she had it far in her contacts list. She did question why I was asking for it - to which I only responded that it had been a while and I’d wanted to reach out again. A tiny bit unnatural for me, but she had obliged regardless.
I called the number, and it went straight to voicemail, an automated message. I scoured the website for anything else, but it was bare as bones, with nothing else to find. I went to bed that evening only to fall asleep deep into the morning. When I woke up and checked my phone immediately - albeit, a bad habit of mine - I found a missed call (my phone’s ringer was not on) from around 5 AM. From the exact same number I had dialed the night before.
I called it again, and the other end picked up, saying nothing.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, who is this?” That was his voice.
“Lance, hi, it’s Jen.” (Jen is a placeholder here for my real name)
“Seriously?” He sounded gobsmacked. “Wow, you still had my number?”
I had deleted it a while back. I was going through something.
We then went over the rudimentary how-have-you-been-doing type of questions before I addressed the 'Fantaspider' alias I saw last night.
“That.. yeah. Listen, I actually still live in the area, so we could meet up and discuss.”
He gave a location and a time for later that day, and I agreed to it. We met at 7:00 PM at a cafe in Cicero.
I observed that the place seemed pretty well-kept, then walked in to find he was sitting down at a corner table. We waved and I sat.
Throughout our conversation, I told him about my job, my family, my father passing. He told me he had dropped out of Columbia College after a year. His single mother died of pneumonia, and he was growing increasingly lonely and depressed on campus. He gave up on his bachelor’s after his grades dropped drastically, he lost his apartment, was essentially rendered homeless, and quickly developed a drinking habit. He explained that he still drank occasionally, but it was no longer an issue.
But then, his enthusiasm seemed to rise as he went about the group he encountered. It was named “Chicago’s Ark”. He mentioned someone on the street meeting him while he was homeless, and giving him a card with a phone number on it. He knew that it felt shady, but continued on regardless, unfeeling and uncaring.
He continued to describe the eccentric but welcoming nature of the community, living near the middle of the city under an overpass. But I still struggled to believe it. I then described to him the events in my apartment, and he resolved to take me there himself one night to sort things out, in case this was potentially linked to this group, which he had doubted, but still believed as a possibility. He also mentioned that he could link me to this group for some money. He admitted that they engaged in some forms of illegal activity that he could not detail, but nothing serious and nothing violent.
My interests were torn between both sides. I had been struggling to pay the rent already - what with being underpaid to begin with working a monotonous desk job, plus my occasional dash of compulsive spending. I inquired on how I could belong, how I was truly unfortunate at this time, what the videos had claimed to support and uplift. I was doing fine from an outsider’s perspective.
“They know a lot of things around the city, probably stuff you or others would never know.” The connections they had in the city ran deep.
Well, that was reassuring.
I noticed throughout our conversation that a man was constantly entering and exiting the store to go inside the bathroom. He was wearing dark clothing and a pork pie hat, and I was rarely able to see any of his face. It pestered me throughout our talk. I only saw an eye of his when he glanced over at me for half a second before leaving the store for the final time.
I told him I would think about the offer, he paid for my coffee, and I bid him goodnight. Yet, I could still wonder what he meant when he said this group knew things no one else would know. I was curious as to how far their criminal recreation went (not that I hadn't been there myself).
The night passes, and Sunday arrives. My mail that day - I rarely had any - included one letter that both perplexed and severely angered me. My work had laid me off out of fucking nowhere. I then got a text from a work friend telling me of the same thing happening to her. Completely blindsided, I called the office, and they confirmed that many employees had been receiving layoffs, but would not give me any details.
The week progressed in a lonely daze, save for one (increasingly rare) conversation with my sister. I received a call on Wednesday - from Lance. He asked if I had considered the offer, to which I confirmed that I had, but had not yet made up my mind. He told me he would respect if I was to decline, but abruptly hung up.
Nothing felt normal. I drank a lot that night and imagined things I don't wish to describe.
Friday was when I drove around aimlessly. I seemingly had no way of understanding anything now, so the best thing I could do was to let everything go, even just for a moment. Just don't think about this.
And then I drove past my workplace. Or, what used to be, I suppose.
The building was blackened by an apparent fire that seemed to have coated it, surrounded by yellow caution tape. My vision turned to a deep grey just looking at it. I then drove away.
I think I nearly caused a collision a couple of times as an image repeatedly emerged into my head. The black figure on the subway. The dark shadow that was encroaching my reality almost made me crunch into another vehicle.
My thoughts at this time included, but were not limited to:
"This isn’t happening."
"It's a mind warp."
"This is not real."
"*PLEASE DO NOT BE ALERT."*
At home, I called Lance.
From him, “Hello?”
One may judge, yet I took a deep breath and accepted his offer.
#x200B;
#x200B; |
Mommy wouldn’t wake up, and I didn’t know why.
I didn’t draw any particular connection between that and the used needles scattered around her bedroom. After all, those were just her special medicine. They helped her body work right, so she would feel okay. She was always so sad and mean when she went without for too long, so I liked her medicine.
But I didn’t like the way she had to get it, how all these strange men came into our home — men who made me uncomfortable with the way they smelled, the way they looked at me. But I figured they must be nice deep down, because they always helped mommy get more of her medicine. They let me and my dog Bandit play in the living room while they went to the bedroom, and a little while later, he’d leave, and mommy would be able to buy more of her medicine and feel okay again.
That was what she told me, and that’s what I believed. God help me, I was only a child then. How was I supposed to know any better?
But even as blissfully ignorant as I was, I could tell that something was horribly, horribly wrong. After all, I’d never seen somebody sleep with their eyes open before. They were wide and bloodshot, staring up at the ceiling as if in a state of constant horror at what she was witnessing. It made me uncomfortable, so I covered them with a blanket.
Most kids, you’d figure, would’ve called the police. But the cops just weren’t a part of my world back then. I was always told that they were the bad guys, that they would try to take me away if I ever told them a single thing about mommy or the men or her medicine. I had no other family, nor friends, nor any other lifelines. I was on my own.
My approach to the problem was… unorthodox. First I tried giving her more of her medicine, of course, but I couldn’t figure out the syringes, and I only cut myself badly trying. Then I tried to coax her awake with my toys. We’d spent so much time together playing with my power rangers and hot wheels, I figured it must’ve been her favorite thing to do. Bandit, as good a dog as ever, even tried to help, bringing his favorite raccoon stuffie and dropping it at her side. It didn’t rouse her.
I tried for hours, which was impressive given my childhood attention span. But soon, concern turned to boredom. If she wanted to be lazy for a while, so be it.
The first two or three days were actually pretty sweet. Mom wasn’t around to stop me from stuffing my face full of all the candy and junk food I could reach, or coloring all over the walls and floors, or sitting as close to the TV as I wanted as I watched cartoons or played my shitty Spongebob TV game. Our apartment was a dump in retrospect, crawling with ants and cockroaches, but to my eyes, it was my own personal Xanadu.
It wasn’t long before problems began to arise, though. ‘Rationing’ wasn’t exactly a concept in my young mind. The snacks and junk food barely kept the hunger at bay, so I ran through them quickly. That left me with meals I didn’t know how to prepare, and cans I didn’t know how to open. Hell, I wasn’t even tall enough to reach half the shelves in the pantry.
In desperation, I took to eating leftovers dredged up from the garbage and whole, dry bricks of ramen noodles. At one point, I managed to create a tiny hole in a can of tomato soup by smashing it on everything in the house, and took to holding it over my head so the tiny droplets would fall into my mouth. Still, no matter how starved I felt, everything I ate, I shared with Bandit. We were best pals until the end.
It wasn’t until almost a week had passed that the thing first appeared.
I was awoken late on the fifth night to the sound of Bandit whining and pacing besides my bed. The window rattled as a thunderstorm billowed against the house, and I could barely hear my own thoughts over the roaring of the wind. It must’ve caused a power outage, because the hallway outside my bedroom was completely dark. No, even *that* was an understatement. There wasn’t that gradual fade into darkness you’d expect; rather, it was like there was some point in the doorway from which no light could escape, like a solid wall of darkness blacker than I’d ever thought possible.
Bandit was whimpering and growling at it, and I knew exactly why. Some primitive part of my brain was roaring with the instinct that warned our hunter-gatherer ancestors that a predator was stalking them from the shadows, in the same way that you can sense when a face is pressed up against your window even when the curtains are closed. Something was there. Just barely beyond that veil of shadows. It was too dark for me to even see a silhouette, yet I was still certain of it.
But somehow I felt just as certain that if only I could close the door, I’d be safe. I don’t know how I worked up the courage to start creeping towards it. It was like the doorway was a vortex, pulling me forwards.
I was shaking from head to toe by the time I finally stood in front of the door, peering out into what looked like an infinite void of blackness. I couldn’t see anything, hear anything, feel anything, smell anything… yet every single atom of my body was screaming at me that a monster was right *there*, inches in front of me, ready to swing its terrible claws out at any moment and drag me into that blackness. I craned my head to look up at the spot in the darkness where I was certain the thing’s head must be, and somehow I could sense a pair of eyes staring back.
I slammed the door shut as hard as I could.
I always kept my bedroom door closed and locked every night afterwards. And sometimes, I’d be awoken to the sound of Bandit whining and growling at it again, and I’d lay there in bed, paralyzed, straining my ears expecting to hear footsteps at the door, or scratching, or knocks. Somehow, the silence was scarier.
The sixth morning, I found my mom sitting limp on the couch in the living room, those wide, vacant eyes burning holes into the opposite wall. I actually welcomed the sight. In my mind, it was confirmation she was only sleeping, as she must’ve gotten up and watched TV here for a bit before returning to her slumber. It never occurred to me that something might’ve moved her. Still, that look in her eyes made me uncomfortable, and she was really starting to smell, so I laboriously dragged her body back to her bedroom.
The apartment was quickly feeling more and more like a prison. The windows were obscured by burglars bars and curtains I couldn’t reach the cords to, so the sense of claustrophobia was becoming suffocating, and all I could think about those sunny days at the playground in the park. I could barely tell if it was day or night anymore. And anything even remotely edible waa long gone, too, even the little crumbs I picked out of the garbage.
I’d vent these feelings by throwing a tantrum over my mom, sobbing, screaming, begging for her to wake up, even hitting her over and over. Still, no luck. My final gambit was to just go knock on someone’s door and beg them for help. I was raised to be absolutely terrified of talking to strangers, but this time, my hunger won out.
The room beyond my front door was creepy even in the best of circumstances: a cramped, musty Brutalist concrete stairwell dimly lit by sparse, flickering lights, cockroaches vanishing in and out of cracks in the wall. It was only standing there in the doorway, taking in the silence, that I finally realized something which, above all else, turned my blood to ice.
For this entire week, I hadn’t heard a single noise from my neighbors. Not once.
If you’ve ever lived in an apartment complex, you know the constant cacophony of your neighbors becomes the background music of your life. But the man upstairs hasn’t done his usual stomping, and the couple beside hasn’t been arguing. It’s been days of dead silence, as if I were the only human being in the building.
The stairwell seemed darker than it should be, and colder.
I wish I could’ve told you some primitive instinct drove me back to the safety of my room. But what instinct could be more ancient and primal than hunger itself?
I didn’t bother checking whether my neighbors were really still there or not. I could feel piercing eyes staring at me from the holes in every door as I passed by, as if eagerly waiting for me to knock. I didn’t give them the pleasure. All I felt I knew was that if only I could make it to the lobby, I could leave this terrible place and find somebody who’ll help. I wasn’t the only one who needed it, after all - I was worried for my mom, and Bandit, too. It was my love for them that helped steel my courage as I wandered down those concrete steps.
The concrete floor felt like ice beneath my bare little feet. I knew my neighbors had long vanished, yet I could sense eyes staring at me from every peephole as I passed. Even if everyone else was gone, I felt certain that the kindly old lady from the lobby would still be there — that once I reached her, she would make it all better and everything would be okay. I don’t know why I felt so certain. Perhaps it was the dash of hope my young mind needed to brave that darkness.
Imagine my disappointment when I reached floor *0* and there was no lobby. The stairwell just continued. And when I delved further, the floor signs read *-1*, then *-2*, *-3…*not that I’d any idea what those meant. I was crying now, but the tears were freezing upon my cheeks. It was so damn cold, and getting colder. It felt like something could come at me from any angle. I imagined hands suddenly reaching out from over the stair railings or down from the upper well, or even apartment doors bursting off their hinges as some monster rushed me from within.
But when it did come, it came from below, while I was descending one of the stairwells. And long before it crept into sight, I could hear its heaving, crooked crawls scratching upon that concrete floor.
My heart seized in my chest as she crawled into view at the bottom of the steps. She was a girl not too far from my age, with tawny skin and dark cornrows, and a pink *Dora the Explorer* t-shirt rendered almost unrecognizable by filth. I wish I could tell you she had black eyes and an impossibly wide smile. At least then I could comfort myself with the knowledge she was never truly human. But no. She just looked… sick. Her eyes were rolled back in her skull such that only half her pupils were visible, and her mouth hung slackly open, like a blackened pit from which vomit oozed down her chin. Her head twitched and jerked as if having convulsions, and she let out wheezing little croaks like an asthmatic frog.
To this day, I struggle to make sense of how she ‘walked’. She laid nearly crawling along on her belly, pulled forward by her arms which appeared to have two elbows - in retrospect, they were digitigrade, shaped entirely like a dog’s forelegs. Her legs were worse still, impossibly bent forward over her shoulders, feet resting on the ground before her. At first I wondered if she’d been mutilated by some terrible injury, until I realized her legs simply had four or five knees, all bent in the wrong direction, allowing her to kick her feet against the ground to help her jagged gallop.
She was a terrifying sight… but she wasn’t the main thing I was afraid of. I could sense she wasn’t *the* monster. She was just another victim.
After all, the real monster was standing right behind me.
It was the exact same feeling I had with the darkness at my bedroom door, but now I could hear - more, *feel* - its warm breath against the back of my neck, billowing out from only inches away. They were belabored breaths, as if multiple pairs of lungs were inflating with every inhale, yet still found a way to seem short, shallow and rapid. It was the frantic breathing of someone barely able to contain their perverse excitement and anticipation, like a perv at a peep show or a druggie about to get his next big fix.
I didn’t wait to find out what it was so excited for. Instead, I sent myself leaping headlong over the stair railings.
It was quite the feat of acrobatics and quick thinking, considering the railing was as tall as I was, and I ordinarily could barely count to ten. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I swear I could hear my mother’s voice, telling me exactly what I needed to do to make it away from this nightmare.
I landed on the stairway below, and took off sprinting down the steps, somehow certain that my salvation waited somewhere deeper. I could hear the *clap-clap* behind me as the little girl ran on her hands in a jerking, twisted pursuit, all while the thing from the darkness followed just behind like a master guiding a dog by its leash. Every so often she’d brace those malfigured legs against the concrete and spring herself down a stairwell in leapfrog fashion, slamming into the walls behind me, missing by inches. My little lungs burned, my legs pushing me farther and faster than it should’ve been physically possible for any kid my age to accomplish.
The numbers on the wall descended far deeper than was possible, *-14, -15, -16*, and soon they grew nonsensical, *-108, -489, -7,370*, before being replaced with inscrutable symbols or just being left blank altogether. Apartment doors began slamming open as I passed by, all revealing blank voids of darkness in which I swore I could faintly see silhouettes as I passed by. I ran past them without a thought. There had to be an end, a bottom to this fathomless chasm. There had to be.
I don’t know how long I ran. You could tell me it lasted ten minutes or ten years, and I wouldn’t be surprised either way. I paused only when I reached a floor somewhere deep in that infinite abyss, and found the first deviation from endless stairwells: an ‘EXIT’ sign. I couldn’t read it, but I recognized that neon red. I diverted from the stairs, tore down that concrete hallway without doors or features or lights, disappeared deep into that fathomless dark… until, at the end, there stood my mother.
No, not stood. Her feet didn’t touch the ground, and her body was pallid and limp, just dangling there, sickly yellow eyes bulging widely towards me. Her head bent at an angle, and overall it looked like someone had stuck a blade through her neck and pinned her body to the wall. It was grotesque, but my young mind didn’t notice, or care. I only knew one thing for sure.
Mommy meant safety.
I ran to her, wrapped my little arms around her dangling landings, buried my face in her dress and let the soft fabric dry my tears… and in a moment, it was all gone. The darkness, the frigid chill, the thing behind me. All the terrors of the stairwell.
When I finally worked up the courage to open my eyes, I was home. Safe in my mother’s bedroom, clinging to her body right where I had left her. She wasn’t as warm as she used to be, and she smelled ungodly too, but she was still my mom, and her presence made me feel so safe, like I was being loved and cared for. Every reserve of energy in my little body had been burned, and then further reserves I didn’t even know existed. I crashed. Hard. I couldn’t even stand, or so much as move a muscle. All I could do was close my eyes and let sleep take me somewhere far away, all while hugging my mother’s body like a newborn hugs a teddy bear in its crib to protect it from the terror of a stormy night.
That night, I dreamed of the branches of trees under the canopy of a starlit woods, and the warmth and sound of a grizzly bear eating something wet and stringy right next to my ears.
I’m afraid I must end here for now. My apologies, even writing this much took a lot out of me. I figured I’d be ready to talk about it after all these years… but even now, writing from the warmth and safety of my office, I’m still left shaking at just the memory of that place. I promise I’ll be back to conclude my retelling, once I feel well enough. |
I have finally moved into my eternal torment, but I will not stand by and let this continue if I can help it. If there are solutions to this problem in this world, then perhaps it will truly end with me. I adored my grandma, but I can't help but feel bitter against her for leaving me to handle everything on my own.
I at least got one of the things I've been waiting for, which is where this whole thing started. The head maid of the ancient country Victorian mansion gave me the first journal of many that would follow.
They don't have dates, but they do suggest what was agreed upon. Please pardon me as I can't seem to grasp all that is written down at first, but I will write out every detail.
…
The First Journal;
I am grateful for the presents I received from Papa on my eleventh birthday, but I was unable to get them before he died since he died last spring, and my birthday is in the summer. As I write this, my grandmother gave me this journal, but what Papa gave me was genuinely lovely.
Papa had given me a huge, lovely picture of a lady who resembled me but was older, tending to her garden, with Papa in the background gazing over her. Another porcelain doll that arrived with the artwork is another likeness of myself, even clothed in my favorite yellow garment with a magnificent bow that binds her lovely red tresses back. My papa's handwriting was scribbled on the bottom of her foot, Mary. Both the woman in the artwork and the doll have my name.
…
Father and mother are constantly far too busy to play with me, which saddens me, even though I dislike what father often says to me, "You're too grown to act like a child, Mary! You must put aside the toys and infantile outfits and become a charming young lady like your elder brother!" but I found his remarks troubling, as one Papa constantly stressed that I am still a child and must never forget that till I am of age, and also that I am a female. How can I be like my younger brother? It's illogical.
Still, I am grateful to my nanny, Ms. Amy. A stunning young lady with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes! Even though she is supposed to be busy like the other maids, she is always eager to play with me. She enjoys singing and dancing with me in the meadows behind the mansion, where I host tea parties. She and I will always play with dolls, with me having Mary and Miss Amy having one of my many other dolls.
…
It's late at night, but I've been having difficulties sleeping lately. I'm not sure if it's due to my strange nightmares or if the portrait of Mary is looking at me in the middle of the night. Even if I light a lamp to point at her, her gaze will return to her own flowers. I'm sure I'm losing it, but I must keep it to myself.
…
Ms. Amy used to come into my room many times a day to help me bathe, dress, and even play, but now she only comes in when she genuinely has to and constantly asks if we may change our playing somewhere since it's getting too stuffy in my chamber. I can't help but be perplexed, yet Miss Amy was always looking at the Picture of Mary and never turned her back on it.
I'm perplexed by what's going on.
…
I observed a maid in the backdrop right next to Papa behind the gate in the Painting of Mary today. She hadn't been there before, and I knew her as my old maid, who cleaned my chamber in the mornings. It's strange since the same maid never showed up to work today, yet she's now in my picture. I'm not insane; she was not around when I initially received this as a gift.
Father, of course, does not believe me, and Mother is far too preoccupied with her daily activities to stop and listen to me.
…
I know there's something wrong with this painting!
Why is it that no one ever stops to listen to me?
Ms. Amy is no longer here, and in the painting, she is immediately next to the maid. It's all my fault that we all heard her screaming early this morning! Despite Ms. Amy's reminders, I failed to wear the stockings that were on my bed. She walked back to get them for me and then yelled from inside my room! I rushed back with another maid in tow, and inside, one of my windows smashed and my wardrobe collapsed, even though I knew it was too heavy for anybody to carry.
Not only that, but there was blood on my bed and floor, and there was no sign of Miss Amy. Father says that she was hurt by the wardrobe collapsing on her and that she leaped out of my window or was forced out by the wardrobe, but that makes no sense! My wardrobe and the damaged window are on opposite sides of the room, and the blood cannot reach either! Not only that, but my room is on the third floor. Ms. Amy couldn't survive the leap, and she was nowhere to be seen outside my window, with no blood trail.
I'm not sure what it is, but it has something to do with that artwork! It needs to be, even if it makes no sense!
…
My Mary Doll, whom I adore, was smashed this morning while she was sleeping on my bed with me. I was in bed reading since I wasn't feeling well that day, and Doll Mary was on my pillow near me when she cracked. As a chunk slices my arm, I scream in shock and anguish.
I don’t know why, but when I looked up at the painting, Mary’s eyes were looking down at me. I screamed and ran out of my room to my father's study, refusing to go back into that room again, Father and Mother did agree to allow me to stay with them in their room for a little while as they believed I was still upset about Ms. Amy, but it didn’t last long as Father did eventually kick me out of their room, leaving me alone to go back to mine.
That same week, I decided to gather all of my dolls and lock them up in trunks to be put up in the attic. Another Maid did put Mary back together and she went with the rest along with any other toys I had. I didn’t want the Painting of Mary to destroy anything else or take anyone else that I love.
End of the first few entries.
…
That is all I got through for now, and I must say I am even more confused. Is this painting a replica of my great-great-great-grandmother's? So then it was made for her, and it must have already been cursed when her own grandfather gave it to her, or whoever did give it to her, as her grandfather was already dead before she received this gift.
Honestly, I am a bit disappointed in myself, as I thought there would be more answers or even a climatic event that caused all of this, but my Great-grandmother Mary said it began almost as soon as she reserved it. Could it have been her grandfather who cursed us all?
Wait, no, that isn’t right, as it seems he was close to Great-grandmother Mary, so perhaps it’s the person who painted the painting that was going to be given to Grandmother Mary. This would be a problem as they would be dead if that is the case, and these events happened 100 years ago, so I have no way of finding out who Mary’s grandfather ordered this painting from. Maybe it’s a witch, or perhaps a voodiest?
Trust me when I say that when you see things that I have seen, you will believe in anything to make what you’ve seen make more sense for your brain to be able to digest it all.
I am not sure where all of this is going to lead me, or perhaps it’s all just a pointless adventure to seek, but I can only hope there is something that I can find for the sake of my mortal soul. |
My wife, and I had always dreamt of owning an old, charming house in the countryside. Our dream finally came true when we found a beautiful, century-old Victorian mansion nestled on a secluded hillside. It was everything we'd ever wanted – picturesque, timeless, and surrounded by lush woods.
As we moved in, the real estate agent had warned us about the mansion's history, which only added to its allure. The house had been empty for decades, shrouded in rumors of a curse that kept potential buyers away. But we weren't superstitious; we were in love with the place and couldn't resist making it our home.
One evening, as my wife and I explored our new house, we stumbled upon a hidden staircase behind a dusty, forgotten bookshelf in the library. The staircase led to an underground room that was like something out of a gothic novel. Dimly lit, with stone walls and antique furniture covered in dusty white sheets, it was eerie yet captivating.
Curiosity got the best of us, and we decided to investigate. The room was filled with old books, strange artifacts, and dusty trinkets. The most peculiar find was an ornate, antique mirror that seemed to beckon to us. As we gazed into it, our reflections blurred, and we felt a strange sensation of being transported to another place, if only for a moment.
Over the next few weeks, odd things started happening. We heard faint whispers in the dark, saw fleeting shadows out of the corners of our eyes, and experienced inexplicable drops in temperature. She became restless, unable to sleep through the night, and her once vibrant demeanor was fading.
One night, as I lay in bed, I heard her whispering to someone. I couldn't make out her words, but her voice was frantic and terrified. When I turned on the light, she was alone, wide-eyed and trembling. She claimed she had seen a shadowy figure at the foot of the bed, staring at her with hollow eyes.
The next few nights were a nightmare. The whispers grew louder, and the shadows more sinister. hers condition deteriorated, and I began to see the figure too. It lurked in the corners of our vision, always just out of reach. The antique mirror seemed to hold the key to whatever malevolent force had invaded our home.
Desperate, I researched the history of the house and discovered a dark secret. Decades ago, a family had lived here, and a young girl had mysteriously disappeared. The locals whispered that she had been taken by something from another world, a shadowy entity that lurked in the depths of the house.
With no other options, I decided to confront the entity. Armed with knowledge and resolve, I descended the hidden staircase with the antique mirror in hand. The room below was colder than ever, and the shadows seemed to writhe in anticipation.
I stared into the mirror and saw the dark figure looming behind me. It reached out, and I felt a searing pain as it tried to pull me in. I fought back with all my strength, invoking the girl's name from the house's history – Emily.
The figure recoiled, and I shattered the mirror. A burst of light consumed the room, and the shadows vanished. Gasping for breath, I ascended the stairs, leaving the cursed room behind.
With the curse broken, Sarah and I started to rebuild our lives. The house no longer felt haunted, and the whispers and shadows were gone. We decided to seal the hidden staircase, never to be opened again.
But even now, we sometimes catch glimpses of Emily, the girl who had been trapped for so long. She appears at peace, her spirit finally free. We often wonder if it was her presence that had helped us banish the malevolent entity.
Our dream home still stands, now filled with warmth and love. And though the mansion holds its secrets, we've learned that sometimes, facing the darkness is the only way to find the light. |
It was just like any other day. As the rain softly pelted against my window, I was awoken by my alarm. It was 6 p.m. which was when I usually woke up for my job and as I opened my eyes I couldn't help but smile at how well-rested I felt. Sleeping during the day and staying up all night just felt natural to me. I am the textbook definition of a night owl and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Just as the sun began to go down I started my routine. First I took a stone-cold shower and washed my hair and body, brushed my teeth, put on my makeup, and finally, a bowl of cereal before I got dressed in a white button-up and a pair of black dress pants before I walked the four blocks to my job at, Underworld.
Underworld, was the nightclub I worked at and it stuck out like a sore thumb. While all of the buildings around it looked ordinary, Underworld was a solid black box with no windows. It had a giant red neon sign with its name, with the front door and an awning just below it. At the door was a red carpet and the bouncer, Jersey, standing beside it.
Jersey was a mountain of a man. He was white, 7 feet tall, and had the greenest eyes I'd ever seen, as I strolled over to him he gave me the same look of disdain he always did as he spoke with an equally distasteful tone.
**Jersey: "Percy told me to tell you to meet her in her office, meat bag."**
Me: "Alright, Thanks Jerz."
I could've sworn I heard him growl after I said that…
**Jersey: "Don't push your luck."**
Jersey would then swing his right arm, hitting the door open and motioning for me to go inside and I did as quickly as I could. I honestly don't know why he didn't like me…I thought I was a pretty nice person.
I entered the main room and could see some of my co-workers getting ready for the Saturday night rush. Joshua was setting up the lights, D was setting up his laptop on stage, and some of the waitresses were all chatting at the bar.
I was a little ashamed but I couldn't help but stare at them…they were some of the most beautiful girls I'd ever seen and just as one of them caught me I was met with a swift smack to the back of the head as Percy, my boss said:
**???: "Snap out of it."**
*Rule 1. Don't look at the waitresses while on shift unless you absolutely have to.*
I turned around quickly and noticed who it was.
Me: "S-Sorry! I-I was just on my way to come see-"
**Percy: "I'm sure you were."**
He said, cutting me off. Percy was just as appealing as the waitresses. He looked to be in her early 20s with jet-black hair and a well toned figure.
**Percy: "I just needed to tell you, that you'll be working the bar solo tonight. Red called in sick. Apparently, she's feeling a little under the weather."**
Me: "Oh, that's fine…I'll stop by her place and drop off some medicine after my shift."
**Percy: "Just remember to follow the rules and you'll be fine, okay? You're going to have a heavier workload without her here so don't slip up"**
Percy was the only one in this place that actually seemed to care about me. While everyone looked at me like I was unwanted, he seemed to want me to succeed here. If it weren't for him I'd most likely be working at a McDonalds…but here I could make a handsome wage even if it meant getting treated like dirt.
I always assumed it was just some sort of hazing but even after 4 months of employment I still haven't made a single friend at work. Maybe I'm just annoying to them or they don't like my attitude. Whatever the case, Percy didn't seem to mind me and I couldn't help but appreciate him for it.
Me: "I won't, sir. You can count on me."
Percy would sigh but smile as he patted my shoulder.
**Percy: "Just be careful, kid."**
With that, he'd leave me to prepare for my shift and I'd turn back to the bar.
*Rule 2. Never under any circumstances run out of stock during rush.*
I walked behind the bar and took note of what I'd need. I was low on multiple drinks and completely dry on a few others. After taking a short list I'd walk to the back freezer and grab a few bottles of various drinks and return to the bar to fully stock up…the drinks themselves never seemed appealing to me. Most of them were red and slimy. One particular drink that was popular was 'dead man's blood'…I had no idea what it consisted of but it smelled terrible and rotten.
Despite this without fail it was ordered multiple times a night. Speaking of which, the customers we got were some of the most strange people I'd ever met and were downright creepy at times.
*Rule 3. If a customer shows a particular interest in you or asks you to join them, politely decline and notify a fellow employee.*
After a few hours, customers would begin to come into Underworld and would make a b-line to the bar to be served. There was nothing out of the ordinary that night. Music blared so loud it was almost deafening, Customers ordered the usuals, some made comments about me, and I stayed quiet.
*Rule 4. Do not acknowledge any comments from customers. If they do not stop and continue, notify a fellow employee.*
Comments from customers were a given working here and I assumed this rule existed to protect me as a female. Some customers would compliment me and give me praise and others would look at me like filth and call me "Meat" or any synonym for the word trash. I didn't really mind all that much as I was used to being disliked here but It was tiring at times and it didn't really help that none of my coworkers seemed to have my back. It was almost like they silently agreed.
Tonight was a rather bad night. Most of my customers got angry with me over small details. Like how it was me pouring their drinks instead of Red or how their drink was poured slightly off. I would get a distasteful reaction from just about every other customer, which is why it was a nice change of pace when he showed up…
Close to the height of the night a man walked into the bar dressed in a 2 button, black suit. His hair was a dirty blond and his eyes were as blue as the sky, with skin that was unnaturally clear. He without a doubt turned every head in the bar and when he came over to sit at the bar, my heart nearly skipped a beat.
**Stranger: "Hey there gorgeous, I'll have some archfiend blood with a lime and your phone number."**
I couldn't help but blush slightly but I was strong. I remained silent and got him his drink, pouring the purple liquid into a class with a straw and putting a lime on its rim.
**Stranger: "Oh come on…I'm not a fan of the silent treatment. I don't bite. I promise."**
*Rule 4. Do not acknowledge any comments from custom-*
**Stranger: "Pretty please?\~"**
I looked around and nobody was around besides customers…it wouldn't hurt to have a nice conversation.
Me: "I'm…sorry sir I'm not allowed to give my number to people on the clock."
**Stranger: "For real? Pretty stupid rule if you ask me. Make you work in a place where people hate you and you can't even indulge yourself a little?"**
Me: "How did you know-"
**Stranger: "Oh come on…it's not hard to notice how people look at you. I don't get it though. You're a solid eight\~"**
Me: "You're not so bad yourself…"
**Stranger: "Care to join me then? Take a little break and dance?"**
*Rule 3. If a customer shows a particular interest in you or asks you to join them, politely decline and notify a fellow employee.*
Me: "I…Can't. I'm sorry but thank you for the offer, sir. I mean it."
He'd chuckle and lock eye contact with me…his once blue eyes beginning to turn a soft red.
**Stranger: "Are you sure?"**
Me: "I…Uhm…"
I blinked rapidly a few times as I began to feel a little lightheaded and I tried to look away but I just couldn't. My body began to relax and the music started to sound far off in the distance like I was hearing it from another room all while his voice sounded perfectly normal…drowning out the music
**Stranger: "Let's go dance."**
*Rule 3. If a customer shows a particular interest in you, listen obediently to them.*
Me: "Y-Yeah…Let's go dance."
**Stranger: "That'a girl."**
I walked around the bar and joined him. I couldn't think straight, it was like as soon as I had a thought I couldn't focus on it and I'd trap myself in a loop of trying to remember the thought only to lose it again. The man grabbed my wrist and led me across the main room…while this happened my heart started to race.
I can't really explain it but it was like my body knew I was in danger but my mind just couldn't comprehend it…
We walked right passed the dance floor and into the V.I.P section where there were booths that had privacy curtains. We rarely ever used this section of the club and because of that, there were only 2 booths in use at the time.
**Stranger: "You know you're boss is a real idiot. Why he thought hiring a human here would be a good idea is beyond me."**
He'd said as he pulled me into the booth and slid the curtain shut behind me.
**Stranger: "I mean what did he expect? Why would I wanna drink from a bottle when I got the tap right here?"**
Looking at his mouth I saw sharp rows of teeth that were jagged and yellow and as he softly chuckled to himself, his hair would begin to slowly fall out.
**Stranger: "It's been a while since I've had a good drink of some premium shit but I'm sure the Bureau won't notice one little human go missing\~"**
His neck would snap and crack as it slowly began to elongate like a snack…his formerly perfect skin, turning a soft grey hue as it became flaking and patchy.
At this point my heart felt like it was going critical, beating so fast and hard it felt like it would burst from my chest at any moment and as this thing head slowly winded towards my neck everything seemed to click. The strange drinks…customers, and looks of disdain. I really was just meat to these people.
My muscles began to cramp as my body desperately tried to make me move and as this thing bit hard into my neck I went into what can only be described as shock.
I gasped for air as I felt his teeth rip into me and begin to suck on my blood and it was at this moment that I accepted the fact that I'd die… and as soon as I did my heart ceased beating.
The snake-like man would suddenly pull back and start to cough like he'd just drunken something bitter and start hacking up my blood
**Stranger: "God what the hell?! You taste disgusting!"**
Without even thinking about it, I grabbed whatever this thing was by the head and smashed it into the wall with one hand. I honestly didn't know I was capable of such a thing…but when I looked at the results of my actions I saw that had smashed his head so hard against the granite wall of the booth that I'd fractured the stone itself and turned it's head into a mixture of rock and blood that leaked out of its remaining skull.
I didn't feel a thing though…despite my neck leaking blood and the fact I'd just killed someone I just let go of its head and left the booth.
As I did, one of the V.I.P. guests noticed me and immediately stood up to walk over to me. He was with a group of people and my presence seemed to stop what fun they were having.
**Customer: "What are you doing back here?"**
I didn't really register his words though…I saw him. I mean I really saw him. He looked like a normal person but I could see what he really was. Under his skin I saw fur and a K9-like skull with sharp, pointed teeth…the rest of the people at the table were like that as well, all having cups of a red liquid that smelled like copper.
I just stood there and looked at him unblinkingly as he began to walk over to me, baring his fake human teeth with a deep, guttural growl. He didn't care that I was injured or covered in my own blood. All he saw was a human annoying him.
And all I saw was a freak.
**(Freak) Customer: "Answer me! If you don't get out I'm gonna call your bos-"**
I interrupted him with the hardest punch I've ever thrown. Despite being only 5'11 my arm moved so fast I thought It'd tear off from the force and as my fist met this thing's jaw I heard an audible crack as a combination of blood and teeth exploded from his mouth.
The blow itself sounded like a hammer hitting a melon and as I looked at him, I noticed that he was no longer breathing.
It was at this moment Percy, Along with Jersey came in, with Jersey sounding annoyed.
**Jersey: "Meat, the fuck are you doi-"**
He stopped mid-sentence and I turned to see the two of them looking mortified at what I'd done…but I still didn't feel anything.
Percy would quickly walk over to the nearest booth and rip the curtain from it to wrap around my neck.
That's the last thing I remember. I must've blacked out because I'm now in Percy's office, completely alone. My neck is wrapped in bandages and I don't hear anything outside. I don't know what to do and I'm starting to fully grasp what actually happened.
I don't know what to do and I don't know what's going to happen so I'm posting here in the hopes someone will tell me what I should do. What's happening to me? And what is this place? |
God this was a mistake. This was all such a bad mistake.
Ok. Ok.
I am typing this on my phone… putting this down here for… I don’t want anyone else coming in after us and getting hurt. And I want people to know what happened.
There’s five of us. My name’s Frankie Sato. I came with Sequoia Watson, Matthew Nguyen, Jade Paulson, and JT Brenner.
Matt, Jade, and Sequoia are dead. I’m pretty sure JT is too, but I haven’t seen them.
It doesn’t matter though. None of us are making it out of here alive. Or dead. Anyone who reads this message—if you get calls, texts from me, anything, *do not try to rescue me!* I will not ask for help. Don’t answer any calls from JT either. I’m sorry to do that to them, but just… DON’T.
We went urban exploring. We live in—shit, I don’t want curious people coming. We’re in the Lowry neighborhood of a metro area. It’s this sloping neighborhood with mansions and some historic buildings, and at the crest there’s this huge old boarded apartment building called Oak Hill. Not just boarded up. It’s fucking *sealed tight.* We didn’t know why I swear we didn’t know.
Now we do.
So this morning, we got a message from Jade in our group chat:
**MATT:** What’s that?
**JT:** Oak Hill? Jade, are you there now or something?
**MATT:** Can’t see last pic’s dark. Are you inside? How did you get in?
**JADE:** inside
**SEQUOIA:** wtf? u serious? u there rn?
**FRANKIE:** morning oh shit what
**JT:** I am getting gear. Jade, you shouldn’t be exploring alone!
**FRANKIE:** shit im getting my gear be there in ten always wanted to check it out
**MATT:** Right, I’m coming, too. Let’s meet out front.
**JADE:** dark inside
**SEQUOIA:** kk, will bring xtra flashlights
We all showed up around the same time. Bright sunshine on the streets around us. Green trees, traffic sounds. The Lowry neighborhood is in the heart of the city. Anytime we’d walk through on our way to the food co-op or downtown or the bar, Jade would talk about Oak Hill and wonder why it’s never been redeveloped.
The building itself is brick, with the name OAK HILL carved into the stone arch over the boarded doors. Must’ve been nice apartments, back in the day. Now every window is blocked with metal gratings over the boards, rusted and nailed into the brick, so that curious teenagers and homeless folks can’t get in. No holes or gaps in any of these boards to peek through. Sealed up *tight.*
Until today.
“Guys! I found a way in!” called JT.
All of us hurried over. JT crouched in the well of an egress window, their hand resting on the rusty metal grate. Below the window well, a section of the grate had been peeled back, the rusted nails popped out. The board beneath was broken off and missing.
“Dang, did Jade cut that opening?” exclaimed Sequoia.
“Must’ve been. This wasn’t here last week,” said Matt. “Really stupid of her to go in alone though…”
Matt was the boss of us when Jade wasn’t around. I guess Matt was always the boss of us. Jade could be pushy but wasn’t a team player, whereas Matt kinda looked out for everyone and tried to get consensus. Jade’s kind of a badass but also really reckless and often just goes off and does stuff on her own, despite claiming to be our fearless leader.
After Matt and Jade, I guess the next in charge would be JT—the thoughtful one.
Sequoia and me, we were just along for the ride.
JT dropped in first, flicking on their headlamp and flashlight. One by one, we followed.
The window led into a small apartment unit with white walls, a narrow closet, doors leading to the bathroom and living room beneath the cheap popcorn ceiling. The apartment was totally bare except for this huge and disgusting stain on the carpet, reddish brown with spatters that bled out onto the linoleum.
We fanned out into the kitchen, closet, bathroom.
“Hey. I found a rubber ducky.” Sequoia, from the bathroom, squeezed a duck. *Squeak! Squeak!*
I came over to take a look, but Matt barked at us—
“Focus! We gotta find Jade. JT?”
JT was opening the door to the hallway and stuck their head out, flashlight flickering up and down the corridor as I came and peeked over their shoulder. Most abandoned places, you have daylight shining in through windows or doorways. But here, with *everything* sealed tight, the only light came from the egress window we’d climbed through. The rest of the building was black as a tomb.
Creepy.
Dangerous, if your batteries run out.
Fuck… my phone is running low. Maybe I shouldn’t be writing this.
\*\*\*
There’s no escape. Just going to finish this account since there’s no way out. Thought I heard JT but it was probably just that thing…
Fuck… fuck! Sitting here in this bathtub in the pitch dark is terrifying. I can hear every beat of my heart. I’d almost rather run out there and end it… Don’t know how Jade was so fucking ballsy to come here *alone.* Though I guess, like us, she just thought it was an abandoned building. If she’d known, if she’d had a chance, I’m sure she’d have warned us. Jade was always brave… she’d have sealed herself inside and let that thing take her before she’d ever let us explore as far as we did…
When she didn’t answer our phone calls or our yells, we decided to search.
“What is this, a three floor building? Four with the basement… that’s a lot of rooms,” said JT.
Sequoia dialed Jade’s phone again, while Matt called, “JADE??”
Silence.
“Probably gonna jumpscare us or something,” I nudged Sequoia.
“Mmhmm.” She held up her fist, which I bumped.
Matt sighed, giving us an exasperated look. “All right. Let’s split up—wait, *Sequoia!* Buddy system! You and JT—” But I was already waltzing out the door with Sequoia. Matt glanced to JT for help—he knew Sequoia and me would just goof off. But JT just shrugged, not wanting to get involved.
“Fine,” relented Matt. “Frankie and Sequoia, you two take the second and third floor. JT and I will take the basement and first. Call *as soon as* you find anything. No pranking. Ok? Frankie, you understand?”
I did a mock military salute. “Roger that!”
“Roger that!” Sequoia echoed.
“Roger!”
“Roger!”
Matt sighed as we took off “roger”-ing down the hall.
Yeah I know we were real fucking dumb, okay? It just seemed like an empty, ordinary apartment building. Jade was gonna be fine. Everything was gonna be fine.
It was all supposed to be fine.
\*\*\*
All the apartments had an identical layout, most with white walls but a few with beige and one with godawful lime green—“Why, though?” Sequoia asked, clicking her tongue in disapproval. We split up to explore faster. I ended up in a unit chock full of garbage bags, messy and *reeking.* Sequoia found one with ugly wallpaper and a battered baby doll. The next unit of mine had furniture still inside, including a bunch of chairs stacked on top of one another toward the ceiling—spooky!
“Hey!” called Sequoia from across the hall. “Want lunch? Found some food in the refrigerator!”
Meanwhile, our phones kept buzzing:
**MATT:** Basement clear.
**JT:** First floor mailroom clear.
Etc., etc. Gawd. So serious. Then Sequoia texted.
**SEQUOIA:** ur mom, clear.
I laughed from the apartment I was exploring, and heard Sequoia’s peeling laughter from down the hall. Too bad Jade wasn’t paying attention to our hilarity. She would’ve joined in.
We were about halfway through the second floor when my phone buzzed again:
**JT:** Too dark, can’t see it. Which floor are you?
**JADE:** whi ch f loor are you
**SEQUOIA:** girl r u waiting to try to jumpscare us?
I was crafting a text to reply to the group when something winked in my flashlight beam.
I peered down the hall, frowning.
Near the end of the corridor was a door marked TRASH ROOM. Wedged into the door was a black satchel decorated with enamel pins. Drawing closer, I saw cats, rainbows, and one that read “bad bitch.” Jade’s shoulder bag.
“Jade?” I called.
I yelled back down the hall for Sequoia, but she was exclaiming about paintings and old balloons and some expired cookies in a cupboard. I sucked in a breath and shoved the door, throwing my shoulder against it because something was blocking it from the other side.
Finally I forced it open enough to squeeze through—
I tripped over legs.
The flashlight skittered out of my hand when I fell, bouncing into the wall and coming to rest so that its beam shone back at me, blinding me, but also leading my gaze to glistening red. I looked back at the door, to the weight that had been blocking it, and my heart shot into my throat, my airways closing and my lungs tightening and every muscle snapping taut.
I couldn’t get in air. Couldn’t get in enough oxygen to scream.
Jade’s vacant eyes stared back at me, her head at an impossible angle, bent backwards to stare over her shoulders, her legs and arms twisted in odd directions like a broken doll.
*BZZZZZZT BZZZZZT BZZZZZT*
“Fuck,” I gasped, ignoring the buzzing of my phone. “Fuckshitshit—"
I scurried against the back wall, under the trash chute. Fumbled my phone. Opened up my texts to type a frenzied message—
**MATT:** basement and first all clear. Jade, you on the 3rd floor?
**JADE:** 3rd floor
**MATT:** Ok, coming up. Let’s meet in the west stairwell.
I froze mid-typing, eyes on the phone because what the fuck—what the fuck—“3rd floor”? I glanced up at Jade’s body. How—
She didn’t have her phone…
“DON’T GO TO THE THIRD FLOOR!” I screamed, and quickly tapped on the keys.
**FRANKIE:** DON’T GO TO THE 3rd FLOOR!!!!
**FRANKIE:** JADE IS DEAD 2nd FLOOR TRASH DON’T GO UPSTAIRS
I shrieked for them as I ran out of the trash room and into the hallway. At that point, I wasn’t thinking about making noise. Wasn’t thinking at all. I just screamed, “SEQUOIA!” And ran back the way we’d come, toward the apartments she’d been looking at with the paintings. No trace of Sequoia. I ran all the way to the stairwell and dialed Matt. After a few rings, he picked up.
“MATT!!”
“Frankie, what’s—”
“Don’t go to the third floor! Jade’s DEAD!”
“*What??”*
“She’s dead!” I shouted. “In the second floor trash room I found her body she’s dead her neck is broken something fucking killed her—”
I was hysterical. Matt on the other end kept saying things like, “whoa, whoa, whoa” and “calm down,” and I heard him tell JT, “It’s Frankie, freaking out, saying Jade is dead—” In the background, JT asking if it was a prank and Matt saying he didn’t know and then asking, “Frankie, is Sequoia with—"
“NO! Listen, Matt? You can’t stay up there. You and JT, you have to leave NOW—”
“Frankie, just chill—we’re coming back down for—”
The phone went dead.
No more words. No screams or shouts or any sound at all. Just—suddenly—dead.
Just silence.
“Matt!” I whimpered. “Matt!”
I tried calling back. But it didn’t connect. Tried calling JT but got no answer there, either.
When I tried calling Sequoia, her ringtone, a cutesy bubbly anime song, came drifting out from down the hallway. Not far. The room with the stacked chairs. The phone rang for awhile before going to voicemail. So I dialed again.
That same bubbly song. Still no response from Sequoia.
I inched my way down the hall, my flashlight beam shaking. Poked my head into the apartment with the chairs and swung around the beam. Its light fell across—old papers, broken gratings and a discarded furnace filter.
*Drip… drip…*
The stack of chairs in the center of the room climbed to the ceiling. There was a hole in the ceiling, above the chairs. And from it… a pair of legs, dangling.
The cutesy anime ringtone kept going, and now I saw a faint light emanating from the jeans pocket.
“Sequoia,” I whispered, inching closer. That dripping… oh God, was that… crimson trickled down the wood of the chairs…
The body came down suddenly, slipping through the hole and bringing down the cascade of chairs in a crash. I screamed, fleeing from the noise before I even knew that I was running. But I’d seen what was left of her—just the bottom half came tumbling down through that hole ohGodohGod—
I ducked into a closet across the hall, sliding the door shut and turning off my flashlight, trembling. That noise… whatever had done that to her, whatever had gotten Jade and probably Matt and JT, must have heard that crash. Must be on its way…
My phone buzzed. I quickly silenced it before checking the screen.
Matt was calling.
I picked up. “Hello?” I whispered.
“… llo?” whispered Matt’s voice.
I almost sobbed in relief. “Matt… where are you guys? Are you okay?”
“Are you o… kay?” said Matt.
Something about the way he spoke, an echo of my words, chilled me. His vocal inflection matched mine, almost a mimicry.
“What happened to you and JT?” I whispered.
“Where are you guys?” asked Matt. “What happened to you and JT?”
And then, something that turned my veins to ice… the soft rustle of movement in the hallway. A shuffling, and a faint wet smacking sound.
“Hello?” said Matt. “Hello?”
I didn’t speak.
“Hello? …. Hello? Where are you?”
I hung up. Messaged JT.
**FRANKIE:** JT what happened are you OK? Matt just called me but I don’t think it’s Matt where the fuck are you? Sequoia’s dead. JT are you alive?
No response. I waited in the closet.
I waited for fifteen minutes before finally pushing open the closet door. “Fuck this,” I whispered. “Fuck this.” I had to get out. Crawled out from the closet and tiptoed to the door by flashlight. Then it occurred to me that if whatever got them saw my light, it would catch me, too.
Panic sent my heart into overdrive. I couldn’t hear over the sound of my blood pounding. But there was no choice.
I switched off the flashlight.
Pitch. Darkness.
The sound of my own breathing… I can’t describe how loud it was… how each footstep creaked or thudded as I tried to tiptoe down the corridor between apartments, feeling my way by touch. Listening. Listening for any sound, and cursing my own hammering heart for being so incredibly fucking *loud.*
I just had to get to the basement. To the egress window.
I was almost to the end of the corridor when I yelped at the blaring of that anime jingle. Sequoia’s phone. I covered my mouth and didn’t move for several seconds. Finally the ringing stopped. Nothing but a faint, occasional, *drip*… *drip…* I guess the upper half of her body was still leaking blood through the hole in the ceiling…
It seemed to take an eternity to reach the stairs. Another eternity to creep down them, finally out into the basement, and peek into the pitch dark corridor. The tiniest trickle of light bled through the open door of an apartment, that feeble light coming from the broken egress window, opening out to the bright day. All I had to do was go climb through the window, and I could escape!
I wanted to run so bad. Just make a break for it.
Thank God I didn’t.
As I crept to the door, a soft rustling sent the hairs on my neck standing on end, and I peered into the apartment.
It was Matt.
He stood by the egress window. Just stood there, in the dark. After a few seconds, he turned his head. Shuffled to the window and sniffed at the air. Shuffled back into the room. Swaying slightly. His footsteps… dragged. There was a puddle behind him as he moved. “Frankie?” he said, and I nearly jumped, heart leaping into my throat—
*Shit!* Had he seen me?
But then he cocked his head, smacking his lips. “Fr… ankie,” he said. “Frankie? Frankie.”
Like he was practicing my name.
I shrank back, retreating to the apartment across the hall. Shortly after I got inside, I heard footsteps out in the hallway. I don’t know if they were JT’s or… or if it was Jade, maybe… come to join Matt. The window is the only exit.
I’m trapped here. Trapped with no way out.
I’ve been typing this up for the past hour and a half. There’s nothing else for me to do here other than write this account. I can’t voice call anybody. I don’t dare make any noise. I don’t want my family trying to get in, doing something stupid. Recently I heard sounds outside… I think it was police boarding up the hole. This complex, the way it was sealed before—someone in authority knew that it had to stay sealed. The apartments are in good condition, and the city is low on housing. Pretty sure the reason the building isn’t in use is because… well, because of what *else* took up residence in here.
I just checked… the light outside in the hall is *gone.* They’ve boarded the window.
And I’m never getting out.
God, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. My battery is low. I’m just going to post this and… fuck, once I do, I think I’m just going to go out there. Get it over with. I don’t want to sit here terrified and waiting to die alone in the dark. I think I’ll make one final break for it…
|
Somethings outside my room… I don’t know who or what it is. I’ve been staying at my house for the last month and I’ve been hearing noises outside my door.
It all started about 2 weeks ago. It was a little past midnight, I was up watching my TV when I checked the time on my phone. I realized how late it was getting and decided to punch out and go to sleep. I turned off my TV and started to drift to sleep when I woke up to a creek as if someone had been putting all their pressure into a loose floorboard. I sat up and looked around my room and saw nothing. Assuming my mind was playing tricks on me I decided to lay back down and tried to hurry to sleep.
When I closed my eyes I started to plunge into the abyss when I was awakened by another creek. This time it sounded as if someone was walking away. Now almost certain I wasn’t going crazy, I grabbed my bat by my bed stand and headed to the door. Not knowing what I was looking for assuming someone breaking in. I quietly opened my bedroom door and looked down the dark hall which was barely light up by nothing but a pungent yellow street light. Down the hall near the corner, I saw a shadow. Focusing my eyes trying to see what it is barely out of reach of the dim light, I could make out what I believed to be ahead. In a mixture of rage and fear of an intruder, I shouted “Who the hell are you what are you doing in my house.” *BEEEP* a loud car horn from down the road startled me, and I ended up turn my had to face the window out of fear as my body moved on its own.
Turning back to where the person was I couldn’t make out the silhouette anymore. “Where did they go?” I asked myself. I proceeded to tiptoe down the hall with bat in hand trying to keep my composure. When I reached the corner I clenched the bat tight and jumped around it… There was nothing there what? I just saw them, I slowly reached for the bathroom door nob sweat drenching my palms. I swung it open expecting to catch the perpetrator red-handed, but there was nothing. I slowly shut the bathroom door and breathed a sigh of relief. *SLAM* “What was that?” I peered around the corner and saw my bedroom door had been shut. Now visibly shaking I crept back to my room opened and scanned it. There was nothing. I ran around my entire house making sure every door and window was locked while checking for someone. Nothing, thinking I was paranoid or just downright insane. I went back to my room crawled into bed and had the worst sleep of my life. When morning came I chalked everything up to it being a wild lucid dream and went to worm.
2 days later, I had my next interaction with this unknown entity. I was sitting up in bed on my laptop scrolling through Twitter, when I heard a light scratching at my door. Startled I assumed it was my cat trying to get in. I went to let her in but being so caught up I realized my cat had passed away not too long ago. Hand on the door knob I froze sweat dripping down my forehead. I decided to open my door but nothing was there. I decided to call it a night and sleep since I had work in the morning and didn’t need to hear my boss chew out for being late. Suddenly I woke up out of nowhere. I’m a heavy sleeper and I could sleep through a hurricane if given the chance too. I opened my phone and read 1:12 a.m., confused about why I suddenly woke up. I panned the room to be greeted by darkness. Then I heard it *chhhhhh* a loud long scratching noise from the top to bottom of the door was heard. So loud it felt like I had headphones on. After gathering myself from almost shitting my pants, I had a weird wave of nausea hit my head. It was my 20th shot of vodka and I passed out. I woke up in the morning and completely forgot about what happened until I saw the 1-inch thick nail marks along my door. Terrified I took a picture and left in a hurry to work skipping breakfast.
About a week after that I haven’t had anything happen. While brushing my teeth I heard the creaking again, assuming it was my lard body cause I brushed it off. Then my lights cut out, assuming I forgot to pay the light bill. I hurried to finish brushing my teeth. When I went to open the bathroom door I heard a light knock. In shock, I sat in silence nearly pissing myself. *bang bang bang* the banging kept getting louder. I was in the corner furthest from the door curled up in a ball, waiting for the door to give any moment. The banging got so loud it was ringing in my head like bouncing a ball in an empty cave. What felt like hours was only a minute the banging had abruptly stopped. I sat there for a moment trying to figure out what the hell had happened and gathered my composure. Cautiously I opened the door, but there was no one there. I ran through the house trying to figure out what caused that god-awful banging. There was nothing.
3 days ago I was after not sleeping for what felt like an eternity it happened again. This time I had what sounded like a dripping faucet outside my room. Then I heard it, a child’s giggle. The giggle sounded painful like it was choking on its mucus or someone trying to get water out of their lungs. The giggling slowly turned into a painful laugh the a cry. The cry was so loud it was painful, I covered my ears to try to stop my head from throbbing. But that didn’t help it was like it was coming from my palms. In tears from my head throbbing it stopped. I sat there in silence out of nowhere a scream so loud it felt like my eardrums ruptured and I ended up passing out like I was hit in the head by a tire rod.
Yesterday I woke up to what sounded like something dragging itself under my bed. Shuffle around and adjusts itself. I sat there frozen not wanting to alert whatever was there that I was awake. Then I heard the giggle… A chill ran down my spine I grabbed my keys and jumped off my bed. I went to run for the door but something caught my leg. I looked down and a decomposing blueish-tinted arm dripping water was grabbing my pants. Frantically I pulled and tugged and got free I booked it into my car and put it in reverse, but before I pulled away I looked up and saw my blinds being pulled open. Just a few a few inches signifying someone was watching me as I ripped out of my driveway.
I'm writing this to you at 2 a.m. from a motel to warn you. If you hear strange noises outside at night you’re night safe. Your fate has already been sealed to be decided by this creature. She is here for me I hear her giggles. |
*She was fucking perfect.*
The voice in my head was new.
I was no longer in my own body.
I'm used to body hopping, as it's a family tradition, especially when we get older. Grammy calls it our rite of passage. We were bound to souls just like ours.
When I was a little kid, my grammy held each of my sibling's hands and told them they were going to inhabit beautiful souls; ones that were full of hope. Maki, my little sister, was reassured that she would find a boy who needed her help with finding himself. While Jun, my older brother, would find solace in an old soul scared of leaving their family behind, and finding peace. It was fun to watch their eyes light up with excitement at the idea of gently enveloping with another soul. We were told not to be scared.
It was completely normal, even if the thought of leaving our bodies was scary to me when I was little. Mom's explanation was that family, and our ancestors' souls had always been "loose" which gave us the ability to temporarily find new bodies.
My ancestors used this ability to heal sick people, both in body and mind, dragging them from mental turmoil. I still remember sitting in front of my eighty three year old Grammy, eagerly anticipating my future.
When she reached out and took my hands, she jolted like she'd had an electric shock. Her eyes flickered open, wide, and terrified. "*Only the wrong ones,*" was what my grammy had told me through a hissed out breath.
She let go of my hands, shuffling back, her fragile body hitting the ground before she could get away. When she started screaming at me, both in English, and then in Japanese, Mom rushed in to gently pull me away so she could calm down. But grammy never calmed down. She followed us, struggling to keep herself upright, trembling, her wide eyes glaring at me.
She was… accusing.
Like I had done something… or was yet to do something.
My soul did not become loose until last night.
I gave up waiting for it, trying to ignore my brother and sister talking endlessly about their travels around the world, after gaining control of their ability, and soul-hopping to every lost or confused mind silently reaching out to them.
I never understood what either of them meant when they told me of the sensation of being wrapped in warmth, emotions and memories lulling them, easing them inside a soul.
Because all I felt was… nothing.
Have you ever inhabited a body that feels nothing for both themselves and the people around them? She was numb.
This body had intelligence, but beyond that, beyond an almost crafty way of problem solving, and not enough problems to solve, there was nothing, a deep, dark cavern inside her mind. My Grammy's words started to make sense.
Her terror when touching my hands and seeing into my soul, and the future one I would take over. This girl did not have a name– or she did, but it had been drowned out, suffocated by her thoughts penetrating me like tiny knives. She was filled with excitement that I didn't understand. *Perfect*. She said, and then in a sing-song voice, "So perfect! So cute! Oh my god, I want to squeeze her cheeks! So naive! Dumb!"
Her mind was a tumultuous storm cloud of everything and nothing, but there was no emotion I could cling onto, just like Mom had told me to.
If I found love or pain, or even a stray memory, I would be able to anchor myself to the soul, no matter how *wrong* they were. But this girl didn't have a memory to hold onto, or an emotion I could confide in. Instead, there was… I could feel her mouth–now my mouth–watering, saliva pooling from her lip and down her chin. *Hungry*.
No, **starving.**
I had no way to adjust myself, already bleeding inside her no matter how hard I tried to fight back, battling the vicious, seeping black shadow suffocating her. Grammy had always talked to us about something called bad intention. We can see it. We can see the start of a bad thought or a bad action, a lust or a hunger. I have only ever seen it it in small doses. I saw the cloud hanging over the kids in my class, smiling widely at our class hamster.
I saw it in my aunt when she was crossing the road with me, after having an argument with my uncle.
This, however, was not bad intention.
No, she had already carried it out.
I blinked her eyes, struggling to ease myself inside her limbs.
Her thoughts seeped into my mind, poison streaking through me.
This girl's voice was louder than mine, already the dominant one, despite me being the one entwined around her. **Hannah!** Her internal monologue squeaked. **She's quiet and a little timid, wearing a polite smile that didn't know how to say no. Which is perfect.**
Mid twenties. Also perfect.
Probably has a toxic relationship with her family, since she was hesitating to share her parents details on the phone. She arrived on our doorstep with wide, curious eyes– like a deer caught in headlights. She complimented our hallway, commenting on the decor.
I proudly remarked that the house was a perfect mix of modern rustic and ancient, a cheap and yet comfortable place to stay.
She's impressed with the aesthetic, nodding and smiling at the stupid cat photos I put up as a nice touch. I can't tell if she's a millennial or Gen Z. Her naive attitude and patchy clothing choices says millennial, but I'm reaching more towards Gen Z. The girl has awkwardly said, "Like, for real" in three different tangents which either went nowhere, or I had to laugh off.
"Hey!" I settled her with a grin, cutting off her random rant. Something about the traffic being bad, I honestly do not give a fuck. "You're Hannah!"
Hannah nodded with her own awkward smile. She cocks her head, and I can glimpse an embarrassed blush blossom across her cheeks. She regretted ranting about traffic, definitely.
The way she fidgets, her fingers going to her hair, and then the zipper on her jacket, tells me she's a nervous person. "Uh, yes! I spoke to you on the phone about moving in? I just came to check the place out," she blinked, and the girl who's body I was inhabiting, was practically vibrating with elation, her voice once again taking over mine.
*Fake smile. Faker voice.*
*Sooo cute! She's like a doll!*
Her inner monologue continued, dripping with bad intention.
The second I stepped inside that house, I could smell it, hanging in the air and dripping off of every surface. Grammy told us to avoid that stink like the plague. She didn't tell us what it meant as little kids, but as I hung around in her body, following the bouncing girl excitedly showing Hannah each room shadowed in the dark, I knew exactly what she meant. Hannah was in danger.
Whoever these people were, had already planned out her murder in vivid detail, to a fucking T.
I could already see where this girl was planning on laying plastic wrap on the flooring, to avoid blood splatters.
Again, I tried to retract from this psycho, but the harder I pulled away, the closer this damaged mind and soul enveloped me. Until my thoughts were no longer mine. They were hers, while her mind spiralled, and I was stuck.
I was stuck inside the vicious rotating oblivion, her words slamming into me.
**Hannah wanted to meet the others, and I was like, what kind of housemate would I be if I refused?**
**Besides, this girl was like, super dumb.** Perfect to fuck with. She didn't ask questions, like, "*Why is there no carpet in the lounge?* or "*Hey, so, is there a reason why your welcome mat has been scrubbed squeaky clean?"*
Nah, it was oblivious shit like, "So, how long have you guys lived here?"
To which I had gleefully replied with, "Not long actually! But, hey, we're already preeeety close! Like a family!"
Hannah smiled warmly at that.
*Found family– or at least the thought of it–always drew in lost boys and girls.*
I showed her the kitchen, where Jonas, housemate number one, was on his laptop, frowning at the screen. I made my presence known, introducing our guest. "This is Hannah," I told him with a wink. "She's coming to check out the empty room."
"Run." Jonas said, with a chuckle.
I threw a cushion at him, and, being him, he hurled one back with maximum velocity. When he jumped up to kick my ass with another larger cushion, my gut twisted at what Hannah might see if she turned her head at just the right angle. Luckily for me though, Jonas gave up, instead shooting me a teasing smile and drawing his finger across his throat. Hannah surprised me by laughing at that, and I remembered how much of a good actor my boy was.
Damn. He could really pull off a performance.
Jonas offered her a nod, and then shot me a *be nice* look, to which I returned a, *Me? When have I not been nice?* one back. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his laptop. Wrong angle. Hannah's curious eyes were on him, while mine were waiting for her to see it. I blocked it out most of the time, but when we had guests, or when he was turned a certain way, you could totally see it if you were looking for it.
Jonas shooed us away with a promise to cook dinner, and went back to typing. Jonas's Macbook was still broken, a splintered spider web of glass and plastic staring back at him.
He was going to get tired of reading that unfinished email at some point, right?!
Next, the lounge area, where Maddie and JJ were sitting in front of the television, watching some Netflix drama I had no interest in. I did a quick tour, making sure Hannah didn't stand in certain spots, and turned her attention to the modern decor, when her eyes went tor the ceiling. Maddie and JJ were housemates two and three. The two of them tossed me weary glances, smiling politely at our hopefully new addition. JJ pulled her into a hug, being his usual clingy and teddy bear like self, while Maddie stood by with a shy grin.
"Where did you get the stray?" JJ commented with a laugh, and I shrugged, offering him the finger instead of an answer.
Hannah had already taken interest in JJ. His handsome smile and thick, dark brown hair falling in sleepy eyes. I had to make sure she didn't look at him for too long. With Jonas, it was easier.
I could just tell him to wear a hat.
But JJ stuck out in plain sight. I waited for Hannah to notice what I had been struggling to hide, but her gaze also kept flicking to the nervous Maddie, who was thankfully more of a showoff in that room. Which took the heat off of JJ, and his… problem. With bright red hair pulled into a clumsy ponytail and doe-like eyes, this girl could attract anyone. I could already see she was panicking about what to say and do, but I easily introduced her to Hannah, and the two of them meshed well.
Both of them were vegans, and had a soft spot for potted plants.
When Hannah asked to see upstairs, I nodded enthusiastically. I had done this three times already, a fourth would be a piece of cake. "Sure!" I hopped up each step, shifting the carpet ever so slightly with the heel of my foot, so the red smears on the stairs weren't too noticeable. Jonas had made a real mess when I'd pushed him from the top stair, a nail sticking out of the floorboards going straight through his head.
*Ouch*.
He'd gone down like a sack of potatoes, tumbling down the first few steps. I thought he was already a goner, with the sickening, lucious sound of his neck snapping– but then he hit the hallway in a heap, head first, a particular long and rusty nail slicing straight through him.
Stop.
I couldn't stand it. Her voice was so loud, so invasive!
She wouldn't get out of my head.
And I couldn't escape her, these sickening thoughts twisted and tangled.
**In and out, perfectly perforating** skin, cartilage and bone. His Macbook was next to him, the barely surviving screen still displaying the email he was sending.
**Hi, [LANDLORD]**
**I'm writing to you to express an issue we have with Amy. Each of us have expressed wanting to leave, as we have found an alternative place to stay. But Amy is not letting us leave. She has locked the door, and taken our phones, we need help, she's a fucking crazy--**
There was a giant blood spatter where his head had made contact with the screen.
I didn't mean to bypass him on the stairs.
And my hands slipped!
Then my leg! Kicking him backwards.
Down, down, down he went!
He perfected, like, the most amazing cartwheel, and then a front flip.
"I like the pattern!" Hannah said, a little too over enthusiastically, for, I don't know, a generic carpet pattern.
Her eyes were a little too wide, staring a little *too hard* at one in particular.
I stepped over another stain, maintaining my smile. This time it was a pretty bad one, scarlet ingrained into carpet fibres. I spent so long picking up tiny pieces of skull. They were like cat hairs. I thought they were gone, and then I was picking them off of the soles of my socks.
*Amy.*
My own thoughts began to drift back, seeping into fruition.
*This psycho bitch's name was Amy.*
"Thanks!" I gestured further upstairs. "It's just been deep cleaned, actually."
I showed her the bathroom next.
Which was sparkling clean, obviously. It had taken me 4 days to fully dismember JJ's body, and I was still finding smears of red. Our bathroom was still pretty, a large tub and shower, and a toilet in the corner. Above the lid, were the vomit stains after I'd taken the first slice. It wasn't pretty.
Cutting through a human body was bad enough, and the head? It took me sawing to finally get the damn thing off.
With JJ, I got him in the shower. I mean, it's not like I could explain Jonas being dead in the hallway. I wanted it to be very Psycho-esque, but instead, I couldn't find a good enough knife to stab him, so I suffocated him with a towel. JJ was an orphan, anyway, so really, who would miss him? I was the only one who actually cared about him.
When he was too tall to dump, I had to get… creative.
And then I barfed up most of my stomach lining.
Hannah didn't notice the greenish tinge on the tiles, instead picking up a rubber ducky, and making it hop across the edge of the tub.
Yeah, she was definitely going to fit in here.
I stood on a particular red splatter on the floor tiles, exactly where I sliced up JJ's body, my smile growing wider.
When the tour was over, I made sure to crank the Alexa in the kitchen to the highest volume, to block out the unearthly wails coming from the basement. I might have had control of their physical bodies and minds, but their souls still cried out for help, sometimes banshee-like, splintering through the door doors. They wanted to move out, and I wasn't going to let that happen. Following Hannah to the door, I couldn't contain my excitement.
Maddy was close behind, and unlike the boys, I had to keep an eye on her. She had already tried to open the basement door. I managed to stop her, but only just. Maddy was a slippery one. I noticed her backing away slowly, before I reached out and grabbed her, yanking her by my side. It's cute that she thinks she can fuck with me.
I gave her my sweetest smile.
"Maddy, it's rude to ignore a guest."
And ignoring her attempt at formulating words, I turned my attention to Hannah.
"What do you think?"
"I like it!" Hannah said excitedly, her voice finally allowing me, not Amy, to take full control. But I couldn't move her lips, or try and thrust out my hands to stop her– to warn her. All I could do was take in the growing darkness choking the hallway, suffocating every living and dead soul in bad intention, as Amy's thoughts plunged deeper and deeper. All she could think about was the knife she had specifically picked out for Hannah– and how perfectly the teeth of the blade would slide across her throat, opening her up just like a doll.
I caught JJ's eye, his empty smile. He was unknowingly swimming in it, already being twisted out of shape.
*"When can I move in?*
Hannah's smile grew with the idea of joining these guys, and Amy's twitching fingers went to her back pocket, slowly wrapping around the handle.
There was that hunger again, that insatiable need clouding her thoughts.
I could feel myself already retracting from Amy's soul, but she kept going, shooting a look at the others, who stood silently, eyes half lidded, lips sewed shut.
Now I could see the phantom chains around their wrists, binding them to the basement– and their real selves. Jonas' head was twisted at an awkward angle which looked permently inclined, a bloody gash splitting the back of his head apart.
I could see where Amy had sliced through JJ's torso, phantom stitches holding his head in place. They were crying out to me, screaming, their agony turning violent, a physical force knocking me backwards. The basement door trapping them inside rattled, phantom hands slamming into harsh wood, their wails cruelly stripped away, silenced.
Amy took pleasure in their pain, their desperate attempt to warn Hannah, who was completely oblivious to her fate.
The last thing I heard and felt was her voice, manicured fingers wrapping around the blade. "How about now?"
…
I can't stop thinking about Hannah, and it was hard enough writing you Amy's thoughts. They're still haunting me.
I can't find her soul, no matter how hard I try. I'm too scared to look for Amy's.
I can't find the house, or the location. I just know that somewhere in the world, there are three, possibly four murdered lost souls being held hostage.
And I can't save them. |
The man in a white coat was walking hurriedly down the hall of the old building, each step creating a deafening echo in the silence around him.
“Fuck”
The man exclaims as he opens the door to a mess of an office at the end of the hall, he flicks the light and stumbles around the office slinging open drawers and cabinet looking for something.
“Where is it?!” The man yells
Where “clunk” the man’s hand slides his hand across the cold metal of the gun.
He turns then… “silence”.
“What the fuck?, it just ends there?” Mike exclaims stepping away from the screen.
“Told you it’s an odd one” I say, “now, let’s go check the body”
“Nothing?” Mike says
“there’s nothing wrong with the body just cold”
“We’ll then what was he shooting at?”
Right then we hear a bang from the end of the hall, as we both spin around looking at the hall for the source.
“Did you hear that?” I said already knowing the answer
“Come on let’s go check it out” Mike says
“hate this part of the job” I say letting out an unenthusiastic sigh
“The main part?” Mike chuckled to himself
Trying to replace our fear with comedy.
We work our way down the hall, Me and Mike each have our hands on our service pistol, as we inch our way with each step around the corner at the end of the hall we freeze.
Standing in front of me was a 6ft tall dog like creature that had more mouth then face, rows and rows of sharp blood stained teeth, and fur that was black, patchy, and covered in blood the beast shot its head up as me and Mike pull our weapons and immediately begin firing, What the fuck is that!” I scream as we start taking steps back towards the office.
Mike just looks at me as with fear in his eyes as our bullets seem to do nothing more than scratch the beast.
“Reload”
I yell as I switch the mag to my pistol.
The creature starts to slowly walk towards us, speeding up with each step until we’re all running down the hall, Mike turns to fire hoping to catch it off guard as the creature jumps and bounces off the wall tumbling towards Mike at full speed
“MIKE!”
I scream as the beast digs into his flesh, but I don’t stop I take the chance to grab Mikes gun and run past the creature and around the hall,
As my shoes scratch on the ground further grabbing the creatures attention as it slowly picks it’s head up looking for me, it screeches as it runs and bounces off the walls as I make it to the red exit door.
I slam my shoulder into it falling into a room full of desks and chair
“Ah fuck” I yell
Picking myself off the ground trying to pop my shoulder back in place when I turn to see the creature about to leap through the door when I slam it hitting the creature in the face.
Quickly grabbing a chair and putting it under the handle as the beast slams against the door, not getting through until I’m almost to the stairs, I run and run sweat beating of my face as I swing the door open just then the creatures flys over my head landing at the bottom of the stairs, I quickly started running up as fast as I could feeling pain in my chest with each passing breath,
“Fuck you, I yell at the creature”
Going through another door at the dip of the stairs the beast close behind, when it dives and grabs my foot swinging me back and fourth until it snaps off like a twig.
AHHHHH SHIT!!
I scream as I fly through the air slamming through another door.
The creature stepping towards me slowly spitting my leg on the ground.
“What…, what are you I yell?”
It seems to smile as it charges towards me, quickly I grab a metal pole from the broke door holding between the creatures open mouth as it try’s to bite down on my head, grabbing my pistol with my other hand I hold it to its eye and unleash every round left in the clip.
The creature finally dropping to the ground, life fleeting from it’s eyes as I passed out.
I woke up 5 days later in a hospital covered in scars, a broken shoulder and a missing leg, when I asked the supervisor if I killed it
He simply smiled and said some folks are here from a government agency when 3 men wearing all black suits with a logo of 3 arrows pointing towards the center on their shoulder, the oldest of the 3 steps forward extending his hand saying
“If you can tell me how you killed the beast I can get that leg situation handled for you, maybe even a promotion as he winked”
I just smiled. |
When I was about nine years old, my family lived on a beach, a little alcove covered in trees, the cooing of birds, and floury white sand that dusted your toes. The kind of tropical oasis they make beer commercials out of, the ones the locals keep to themselves. I was lonely then, I was being homeschooled, and the homes nearby were only occupied for part of the year by retirees. We were there because my grandfather had gone missing long enough to be declared dead, and the property had been bequeathed it to my father, my father said he couldn’t bear to abandon what he’d be given. Not that they’d ever complain about it. Though a particular incident marred those days for me.
I was holding my mother’s hand as we walked along the beach looking for shells, I had big cargo shorts on to carry as much as I could, and I picked up plenty of tiny, fragmented rocks and empty clams. The sky had a pink hue, and a wind moaned and ran through my hair. I shivered, and tugged at my mom’s hand to go inside. I looked back at the ocean, and I saw it, a golden light, below the surface of the water, like a lantern. It moved back and forth, and emanated a hospitality. As if the lights were left on to welcome an old friend coming into town.
The frogs chirped “ko-kee”, “ko-kee” and the wind howled, and the light in the water seemed to glow a little brighter as the ocean dimmed under the setting sun. My mom tugged at my hand then “It’s getting dark” she averred, her forehead curled into her eyebrows, and her voice bore a tone of consternation. I wanted to walk toward the water, I wanted to follow the glow. I stood, somnambulistic, my toes digging into the fine powder that caked the earth. The sun drooping further behind the earth, the light, dancing, twinkling, all but calling me toward the waves that lapped and clapped.
My mother tugged harder, starting to drag my bare feet across the sand, I could feel dew on her palm, and for just a moment I thought I could slip from them, and run into the ocean to greet my welcoming friend. But we walked, we trudged, up the little hill and into our home. I could still hear the frogs, and the wind, just a little more faintly behind the window. I could still see the glow, soft and ebullient, lighting the water and the water’s little waves.
My father came over and drew the curtain, and I screamed. “I want to look at the ocean!” tears flowed down my cheeks, I felt a panic I had never felt, a tightness in my stomach, a need, my skin pricked me like tiny needles, beads of sweat fomented at my knuckles, as my fingers dug into my palm.
My father refused, and told me that he couldn’t, “You must stay in at night, you mustn’t when it’s dark; you mustn’t look from this window” his voice was sonorous and foreboding, the words warbled, and ached in my head, I continued to cry, I didn’t answer. “Promise!” my dad’s voice grew, and the fear of angering who was to me a giant, elicited an acquiescence.
“I promise” I said, my fingers still digging into my palms. My mother walked me to the bathroom where I brushed my teeth then we came into my room where I changed into my nightshirt. A long heavy shirt that reached down to my ankles, it was white with a large brown coffee splotch. It belonged to my father.
I lied in bed, a blanket up to my chin, staring at the little shapes the popcorn-ceiling made. Scenes of men fighting monsters, of dragons, have creatures with strange eyes, and tiny bugs that froze in mid skitter. All little dots that morphed into new shapes whenever my eyes would turn. I’d look at these shapes until I fell asleep, dreaming of whatever scenes were stirred. My mother sat at the foot of my bed, and softly clenched my ankle from over the comforter.
She spoke, “I know what you saw at the ocean today, and I want to tell you what’s down there” I didn’t say a word, and she continued. “The light we saw in the ocean is the old witch, and she uses a lantern to lure little boys and feeble old men to the depths” her voice was humorless, and flat.
“If you follow the light, the witch will grab you, she will take you under, and you’ll never see any of us again. Believe me, she took your grandfather, and she wants all of us. Your father and me never go out past dark, we never look out the windows at night, and you can’t either.”
“But the light was so friendly!” I pleaded; I couldn’t imagine that something so sweet could be insidious. “What does she look like?” I asked.
She has a human face, and long tentacles that grab hold of you, when she opens her mouth there’s that yellow glow, luring you to the back of her throat. Her teeth are sharp, and they grind through bone. She wafts and glides in the water, entrancing you like a tick-tick-ticking of a clock” she annunciated every click. She clenched my leg a little harder, and I winced. She got up, kissed me on the forehead, and walked out, flipping the light-switch as she did so. In the dark I imagined the horrible witch, her teeth digging into my arm, my heart pounding as I struggled to breathe, adumbrated by the depths.
But I had an urge to look at the window toward the ocean, to see the glow once again, if I didn’t walk out there, I thought there was no harm in only looking. I could hear my parents whispering in their room, I needed to wait until they were asleep. So, I lied there, little spots and figures floated in the darkness, and I struggled to stay awake. When I thought the whispering had died, and that my parents must be asleep, I crept my way to the window, and drew up the curtain. I could see it right away, that glow, floating in the water, beckoning.
I couldn’t resist it for long, and I reached up to the doorknob, and twisted it as gently as I could. It creaked a little, and I hoped my parents wouldn’t hear. I walked out on the sand, the frogs chirped “ko-kee”, and the wind howled. The glow light beckoned, and that water splashed its little waves, it was surely safe to go in.
The sky was dark so that the end of the ocean touched the bottom of the sky, and I walked toward it until my feet were in the water, rivulets streaming in my toes; I walked further in, following the glow, feeling the cool water on my ankles, sparks of water jettisoning up my calves at the occasional wave slightly larger than the others. I had to follow the glow.
Soon I couldn’t touch the ground, and I was wading in place, just above the light, I could barely see except for what that golden glow illuminated. I heard my mother then, screaming, and running onto the beach “Come back!” she shouted, “Come in!” her voice shook.
In a moment of compulsion, I dove in, I was further out than I knew, but I swam until I reached the bottom. I could hear the voice of my mother, distorted and truncated by the screen of the water above. My foot hit something, and I turned to look, in the glow of the light, I saw a cinder block, and a corpse tied to a rope. I screamed, bubbles filling the water, taking away my breath. The body was swollen with shades of blue and purple. It’s face cracked, and its hair dangled in the wind. I tried to swim away, but something caught my foot, I thought it must be grabbing me.
I pulled, and thought of that sea witch with her tentacles, and her razor teeth, this must have been her meal, and now she was coming for me. I would stay tied to a rock while my body ballooned and ripened. I looked back at the body dangling in the water, and I recognized it. It was my grandfather, and there were holes in his shirt, something had cut through him multiple times. I could hear my mother’s feet stomping, running into the ocean. Finally, I broke through the grasp of whatever was holding me, and made it halfway to shore, my mother was in the water to meet me. We walked out of the water and she held me, both of us soaking and shaking.
There was some seaweed wrapped around my ankle; my mother stopped for a moment. “Did you see anything down there?” My mother didn’t sound scared, but something else, it sounded almost menacing, as if she were daring me to tell her what I saw. Something told me I shouldn’t, and so I shook my head.
“Good” she sighed, and we walked back into the house.
part 2:
|
I’ve owned and operated a small pig farm my entire adult life, my father owned this farm before me, and his father before him. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s honest. Pig farming isn’t as simple as one would think either, you have to keep up with the latest in disease prevention and keep good track of the pigs bloodlines. My farm consists of a few hundred acres of fenced off woodlands, plenty of streams and ponds for the pigs to keep cool in hot months and shelters for the cold months. I don’t like the modern hog sheds where they live on concrete their whole lives. My pigs are big, happy creatures.
A few years back my neighbors started selling off their farms to a big corporate pig farming operation. They made me a nice offer also, but I wasn’t interested in selling. That was that, they had their farms, I had mine. They built a number of huge hog sheds for mass production all around the county. A few miles down the road the corporation built what I assumed was their big office building. The office was a rather large, nice looking building, two stories tall and about the size of a football field. For the first few years everything was fine, no troubles from them. Then a few odd occurrences started happening.
I first became suspicious that something was wrong when I went out to feed the hogs their corn one spring morning. I was filling one of the troughs to the usual happy reception, when I noticed a sow in that section that wasn’t one of mine. See all my swine were dark colored and woolly. This one was of the pink variety. That wasn’t all that unusual as once in awhile a neighbors pig would find a way through the fences and get in with mine and I’d just check the tags and get it back where it belongs. No, the problem was that this pig had very human like arm growing off the side of its right front shoulder. Not a grown man’s arm, but an older child sized arm. It wasn’t just hanging there either. That pig was using that arm to scoop corn out of the trough and bringing it to its mouth. It worked that arm good, that was no vestigial limb. After staring in shock for a spell I went for a rope to lead that one out of there. Thank goodness it was a sow because I sure as hell didn’t want that mixing with my stock. I’d never seen anything like that before. I took that thing out behind the shed and shot it dead. I burned the remains to ash, and didn’t tell nobody. Thing like that could damage my farm’s reputation. I went around the entire property and reinforced all my fence lines real good. No more of that business, or so I thought.
Might a been a year or better passed without further incident. Then one evening I was out taking a count when I heard some feller calling for help down by the stream. I hurried down there and I seen something I wish I hadn’t. There stood a man waist deep in the stream just a calling out for help. This guy wasn’t from around these parts though. He was naked for one thing, and had a boars head growing out of the middle of his chest. As soon as he laid eyes on me the man’s head went all limp, and the boar head seemed to wake up and start to cackling. That laughing noise will haunt me all my days. I ran as fast as I could get back to the house. That thing giving chase the whole way just making that awful croaking laugh, and throwing rocks at me. I got back to the house and bolted the door fast. With shaking hands I called the sheriff. I didn’t say what was really out there, but said there was some naked lunatic on my property and if they didn’t get here fast I was gonna shoot him myself.
Things got quiet out there for a bit. Then I heard this big thump noise from the living room. I grabbed up the 12 gauge and crept around the corner. At first I didn’t see nothing, but then another thump. It came from the fire place. This thing was up on my roof tearing bricks off the chimney and throwing them down into the fireplace. It had stopped the laughing and had begun carrying on for help again. Just yelling for help down the chimney and throwing bricks. I went over and stuck the 12 gauge up the chimney and fired off a round straight up. I heard it scrabbling around up there, then heard it jump to the ground and run off.
Once the sheriff got there a good 2 hours later I described everything that happened sans the part about the pigs head growing out of that fellers chest. Sheriff said it’s probably some of them kids been smoking wacky tobbacy again and just to call if he comes back. I thanked him for his time and he went on his way.
The next day there was some blonde lady at my door asking what exactly I seen. I told her like I told that sheriff. She seemed to be doubtful of my account and asked what I really seent. So I told her the truth of it. Strangely she didn’t seem too phased by my story and wanted me to sign some papers swearing I’d never tell anybody else about what happened. She wrote me a check that could have bought this whole farm twice over too. Gave me her card to call that number if anything else happens.
So now I’ve branched out from farming. Now I raise pigs, and I don’t see things. |
When I was a kid, I used to have these horrible nightmares about a man who would watch us through our window while we slept. At the time, I was living in a 2 bedroom apartment with my parents and two younger sisters. Our apartments were hacked out of this old house in Apache Junction, Arizona that was built in the late 60s. Each unit was just former rooms of this single-story estate that they quickly threw some brick walls between. Each of us had our own exits and “backyards” that were more like fenced off alleyways. Over the decades, other developments had sprung up around this weird house, some as tall as 3-stories with fully fitted attics that basically acted as fancy lofts or spare rooms. It cut this house off from the world completely, creating a barrier of houses with very few windows pointed at it because it was such an eyesore. 20+ years later and it’s the late 80s. Mom and Dad conceived me out of wedlock and were promptly disowned from their families. The only place that would accept two late-teenaged parents with shit credit was this weird Tetris house.
Our neighbors were cliches. There was Old Man Wilkins in the South unit. He smelled like mildew and sweat all the time and he kept this mangy, ugly, feral cat in his house that acted more like a vicious guard dog than the furry corpse I thought it looked like. Mrs. Moira, as we called her, was an old widow who lived in the East unit. She was nice and would always give us Oreos whenever we asked for them. Jacob and Tamara Kitter lived in the West unit and they were a shady couple. I just remember we were never to speak to them under any circumstances and that they hated kids. Apparently, they filed several complaints when my little sisters were born because they couldn’t stand the crying. Lastly, us. We lived in the North unit, which was the most inconvenient unit to get to. The covered parking was south of the building and the only walkway to it was around the West side of the house because the AC boxes for each apartment created a wall between the North and East units’ shared walkway.
Everything was supposedly fine for the first few years. Mom and Dad adjusted quickly to being cut off from their parents different forms of wealth and became dedicated workers. Our aunt, my mom’s youngest sister, who was only about 9 years older than me, became our regular babysitter while my parents worked. Mom got a job at a local diner as a waitress and my Dad wound up working as an auto mechanic.
One evening, dad was running late and mom had to go in for a night shift, so my then-13-year-old aunt had to watch us well into the evening on a Friday night. She wasn’t thrilled, but she loved us. I don’t remember anything about this night personally, but my aunt still talks to me about it because it traumatized her.
At 8:45, someone attempted to break into our apartment. When they couldn’t get through the deadbolt on the front door, they came to the kids’ room window. My window. My aunt screamed and closed our door, holding it shut because it didn’t have a lock. She heard glass break and someone tried to open the bedroom door from the inside. She had to put both her feet on the doorframe to keep it shut. She heard lots of terrified screams from Mrs. Moira, commands from Old Man Wilkins saying things like “Get outta there!” before whoever was tugging on the bedroom door let go. My aunt let Mrs. Moira in and Old Man Wilkins spoke to police and met my parents when they got home. It was nice to know that they all had our backs.
Except the Kitters, of course. Nope. They filed a complaint with the police for the noise we caused during the scene. That was the first time I had even seen them and I DO remember their faces. They were hollow-cheeked, wide-eyed, and withered beyond their years. Tamara had string for hair that was thin and pulled into a wispy ponytail. Jacob didn’t have hair, but had huge sacks under his eyes and most of his teeth were missing. They looked so angry and when they saw me standing in the doorway, they stopped talking to the police and rushed to me to yell at me for being loud; for disturbing them.
My mom refused to take a night shift after that and my dad surprised us with a rottweiler puppy called Samson. We called him Sammy. Sammy slept in the kids room on my bed, which is right under the window. The landlord was cheap and took forever to replace the window, so I slept with plywood nailed to the windowsill for about a year after the incident. My mom also had to put my sisters in daycare while I was in kindergarten because my grandmother accused us endangering my aunt. It was a weird year.
We got the new window the night before I started first grade. That night, I had the first nightmare. In the dream, I was in bed sleeping, but I wasn’t really in my body. More like I was observing myself. I could see Sammy asleep by my feet and I could see out the window into the alley. This was the side of the house nearest the wall of AC units, so I could vaguely make out their angular shadows stretching across the nearby walls of the surrounding buildings.
It felt like I was slowly approaching the window, like I was sinking sideways. I kept looking at myself in my bed, wondering why I wasn’t awake, but I couldn’t say anything. Then, I heard gravel shifting outside. Sammy’s head shot up, and twisted around to look at the window. I stared - helplessly outside my body - floating inch by inch towards the panes of glass.
Something I couldn’t hear what triggered Sammy next, but he jolted to his feet. He let out a soft huff. I looked at my body, asleep, but with a furrowed brow. I could see myself having the nightmare.
A loud bark from Sammy tore through the silence. Just one bark. It had been enough. A figure at the edge of the shadows darted away just as my gaze whirled around towards the window. I didn’t see who it was before I heard a voice that sounded like me, but somehow different. My gaze twisted back towards my body, which was now sitting upright, head hanging backwards away from me, mouth open, eyes shut, speaking in a voice too low for a five-year old.
“He’s going to hurt them.”
I was spun suddenly towards my sisters, who slept on the other side of the tiny room. Both of them were standing on their beds, eyes bulging, mouths bleeding, pointing at the window. A gurgling scream erupted from them.
The way I snapped awake felt like someone slammed a book shut and I fell backwards into the bed. I had actually been sitting up like in my dream. I heard thumps beside me and, across the room, the girls beds were rattling in place as if they had just jumped into bed. I lunged out of my bed and checked on them, but they were fast asleep. No blood, no bulging eyes. I thought it was just a dream, that it was just pre-school jitters or something. Then I climbed back into bed and realized I couldn’t draw the covers over me because Sammy was standing on them.
He was still staring out the window. |
That’s it, OK?
It was an accident. Purely an accident. Gus slipped out the door and got hit on the road. He was the sweetest dog. I felt horrible. He’d been the Henry’s family dog for years.
Mina and I had gone over to babysit their three year old Jack that afternoon. The Henry’s wouldn’t be back for a while- they were tailgating at a football game- so we ordered pizza when we got Jack to bed. That’s when Gus slipped out, chased a squirrel into the road, and got hit by a truck. Asshole didn’t even stop.
“What do we do?!?” I shrieked. “We let the dog die! We are the worst babysitters in history!”
Mina was sobbing. I felt miserable. I *love* dogs. This was all my fault.
We wrapped Gus in an old beach towel we found in the garage. He was already dead. The truck had killed him instantly, as far as I could tell. His neck was bent at an angle that was sickeningly wrong. Mina gently covered his head with the corner of the towel.
“We’re dead,” I said. “Completely dead. If they don’t kill us, my dad will.”
We stared at the lumpy beach towel on the kitchen floor. There was a long pause.
“I have an.. idea,” Mina said.
“What?”
“Maybe we could bring him back.”
I stared dumbly. “How?”
“Well, maybe we could google it.”
We grabbed our phones and started searching. After a few minutes, Mina held hers up. “Here it is. *“How to bring a pet back to life.”* It doesn’t look that hard. Just draw a big circle, light some candles, and say a few words.”
I didn’t believe in witchcraft, but I did know I would be grounded for eternity if my parents found out about this. “Ok. Let’s try it.”
We rummaged around the house and came up with the stuff. Mina opened a box of sidewalk chalk.
“Not in here!” I hissed. “Take him outside.”
We both gently grabbed the beach towel mummy of Gus and brought him to the concrete patio out back. Mina pulled out a stick of bright blue chalk and began drawing a circle. Meanwhile, I assembled the candles.
“Do you think I need to light all three of the wicks?” I asked, holding up a large Pumpkin Spice candle. “Or just one?”
“Better safe than sorry. Light them all.”
I had to admit, the candles and circle looked pretty legit when we were done. Sure, they were of assorted sizes and flavors, but I hoped they would work.
“Ahem,” Mina said, reading from her phone. “We have lost our beloved friend Gus. He was a good boy. He’s gone too soon, and we invite his spirit back.” Then she read a long string of words I didn’t understand, before wrapping up with “Blessed Be.”
“What was all that?” I whispered.
“No idea,” she replied. “But it was part of the spell, so I just went with it.”
We both stared intently at Gus. His body didn’t move.
A few minutes passed. The wind picked up suddenly, ominously whipping the tree branches.
“I think it’s going to rain,” I mumbled defeatedly. I think we both hoped he would jump up and start barking.
I felt a raindrop on my face and stood up to go inside.
“We can’t leave him out here,” Mina pleaded. “Let’s bring him back to the kitchen. We can just tell them it was an accident.”
I nodded, and we brought the stiffening body of Gus back in the house just as the rain let loose.
The two of us dejectedly put away the candles and chalk. I went to check on Jack.
The door to his room was ajar, and when I pushed it open his bed was empty.
“MINA!!” I yelled. “Where’s Jack?!”
I heard a muffled “what?” from the other room. I walked quickly out to the main area, scanning for the little boy, and then into the kitchen- where I found him crouched over the unwrapped body of Gus.
“No, Jack! Don’t touch him.” As the words left my mouth I knew something was wrong. Jack turned his head to face me. “Oh shit,” I whispered.
The white’s of Jack’s eyes had turned a sickly yellow, and his pupils were unnaturally red. His skin looked sallow, almost jaundiced, and when he opened his mouth to hiss at me I could see his tongue was black.
Then I noticed Gus. Gus had a big chunk out of his shoulder. Jack had been *chewing* on him.
“MINA!!!” I screeched. “GET IN HERE, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!”
She popped into the kitchen. “OH God, he’s eating the dog!” She wailed.
“What the hell did that spell do! That was something you just found on the internet! It could have been anything! And now we have a dead dog AND a zombie demon baby!” I yelled hysterically.
“Oh shit,” she wailed, “Grab him! We can’t just leave him out here!”
Jack may have been demonically possessed, but he was still only 3. We each grabbed a pudgy limb and carried the hissing toddler back to his room.
“We have to restrain him!” I yelled. “Go find something to tie him with!”
Mina bounded out of the room and returned a few minutes later with fuzzy handcuffs. I stared at her. “At least they won’t hurt him!” she said defensively. I would have died from laughter had we not been so desperate.
I tightly closed one fuzzy cuff around his upper arm, and clipped the other to the bars of his bed. Jack wailed loudly.
“See if you can find a belt,” I huffed, holding him down. Jack’s face was red from screaming. She returned with one a minute later, which we used to secure his torso.
“That should hold him.” she said. “Or at least prevent him from falling.”
We retreated to the kitchen, ignoring the noises from Jack’s room.
“Bring up that website. Maybe we did something wrong.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” Mina said after a minute of scrolling.
“What?” I asked.
“Forgot the salt. We could have invited in.. anything.”
#x200B;
I jumped as my phone buzzed.
I read the text. My heart fell. It was Mrs. Henry.
|
I’ve always preferred nights. Something about being up while everyone else is asleep feels great—that, and I can’t sleep.
#x200B;
Ever since my fiance passed away, sleeping became a luxury I couldn’t afford. I used to lay in bed, tossing and turning, the entire night. My eyes would be bloodshot. When sunlight peeked through my blinds, I rose up and off my bed like a zombie.
#x200B;
Melatonin never helped. I guess my body grew an immunity to it over time. I mean, why wouldn’t it? I’m surprised I didn’t overdose, taking ten pills a night.
#x200B;
Herbal teas that ‘help you sleep’ are bullshit. Nothing but a waste of money. Don’t even get me started on those intense sleep routines: Shut off all electronics/artificial lights thirty minutes before bed, don’t eat an hour before bed, read a book, and whatever other shit they have you do. That may work for some people. Sure as hell didn’t work for me.
#x200B;
I even resorted to counting sheep—well, my version of counting sheep: Imagining millions of alternate realities where Vaneet was still alive. I laid awake, smiling like a fool up at the popcorn ceiling. My imagination got so vivid that I would see her silhouette in the corner of my room for seconds at a time. I wanted nothing else but to believe it was really her. To believe she came back just to say one last, proper farewell.
#x200B;
The logical part of me knew what’s dead will always stay dead. The other part of me found loopholes in that saying: What’s dead may truly never die… In my mind.
#x200B;
The sleepless nights and hallucinations took a toll on my mental health. I contemplated suicide many, many times. *Maybe I’ll be with her in the afterlife,* I thought. S*he's waiting for me.*
#x200B;
Thankfully, the logical side of me won, and I attended therapy. My therapist was, and still is, the kindest woman I’ve ever met. At first, I thought she was getting paid to act nice to me, pretending to care about my feelings. But no, she truly listened and understood.
#x200B;
When I told her about my sleep problems, she recommended that I get a graveyard shift job. It never occurred to me. I live in a big city—the city that never sleeps. There are overnight jobs everywhere. The perfect solution. I could just sleep throughout the day.
#x200B;
I applied to every graveyard job I could find online. Some rejected me, saying my work experience at a grocery store wasn’t enough. A few called me in for interviews, which went bad, I guess, since I never got a reply.
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Only one job was willing to take on an inexperienced employee. It was a warehouse job for a well-known grocery store in my area. The pay wasn’t too bad. Plus, I had to start getting experience somewhere.
#x200B;
I got word from my new boss that two other people were starting on the same night as me. That was somewhat relieving. I wouldn’t be the only new guy. I always got stupidly nervous before starting new things. A Job, College, the Gym, everything. I feared the unknown. My mind would cope by imagining every possible scenario. By the time I pulled into the parking lot of the warehouse, I thought of one hundred and seventy-five scenarios that could go down.
#x200B;
Blue moonlight shone down on the warehouse. It had a gray steel exterior, with a ton of light poles lining the sidewalk. It was as if they wanted to recreate the sun with how many light poles there were. Just thinking of the electricity bill made my head ache—maybe the absurd amount of black coffee I drank played a part in that.
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I glanced at my malfunctioning radio which displayed the time: **11:45**
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The closer it got to twelve, the faster my heart beated. I pulled down my car’s sun visor and looked in the mirror. Only then did I realize how dilated my pupils were. *Shit, shit. I drank too much coffee. They’re gonna think I’m on drugs and then fire me–*
#x200B;
My overthinking got interrupted by a sudden knock at the window. I jumped at the sound—nearly jumped out of my own skin. My head hit the car ceiling with a thud. To my left, I heard some giggling.
I turned to see a woman’s face smiling. Her eyes were caramel colored and hinted at a joyfulness. She had thick eyebrows, like mine, yet hers were well lined. She wore the yellow company polo, also like mine, but hers fit her body perfectly. Mine was baggy since they didn’t have a men’s medium size. Bracelets rattled on her wrist as she waved.
#x200B;
I felt extremely bad. How did someone as beautiful as her end up homeless?
#x200B;
I cranked down the window of my beat-up car and gave her an awkward little smile. “Uh, hey. Sorry I have no money. This is literally my first day—”
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“Huh,” she tilted her head at me and looked around as if I were talking to someone else. She looked back at me and smiled with realization. “Please, just some change would suffice, sweet sir.” She giggled.
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My cheeks burned up, and I stammered, “I’m so sorry.” I smiled and scratched the back of my head. *I even noticed her yellow polo. Jesus, I’m stupid.*
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“I take that as a compliment,” she backed up, giving room to open the door and get out.
#x200B;
“B-Being mistaken for a homeless person is a compliment?” I stuttered like a fool. This was not one of the scenarios I expected on my ride here.
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“Of course,” she balanced herself a concrete planter. I leaned against my car, struggling to find where my hands should go. *In my pocket? Crossed?* “Homeless people are the freest of all.”
#x200B;
“But they don’t really have anywhere to settle down," I said.
#x200B;
“Look around,” she spun her head exaggeratingly, like a pirate ship navigator. “They can settle down anywhere. As long as they don’t get kicked out, of course.”
#x200B;
She hopped down and stared me in the eyes.
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“U-Uh, yeah?” My eyes darted back and forth, averting eye contact.
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“Hmm, are you Rafael or Remi?”
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“I’m—”
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“Wait, let me guess. Hmm,” she stroked her chin, “Rafael?”
#x200B;
“That’s me.”
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“Let’s go!” She celebrated as if she had just won the world cup. “I knew it. You don’t look like a Remi.”
#x200B;
“H-How so?”
#x200B;
“I don’t know, the curly hair suits someone named Rafa.”
#x200B;
As soon as she said Rafa, I wasn’t there anymore. In my mind, I was running through an open flower field, with Vaneet being backlit by the rising sun. “Rafa,” she called out, sounding close yet so far. “Rafa,” her voice was as soothing as a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer. “Rafa!” Her voice sounded like a million screeching insects…
#x200B;
“...Rafa!” said the woman in front of me. She glanced at her watch. “Shall we get going? It’s 11:50.”
#x200B;
“Don’t call me Rafa.” I turned to walk to the warehouse.
#x200B;
She jogged to catch up, bracelets jingling, and walked next to me. “Why?”
#x200B;
“J-Just don’t.” I looked down at our shadows.
#x200B;
We approached the huge metal doors. Two cameras glared down at us, red lights blinking. The woman next to me waved at the camera and yelled out, “Hi! We’re the *new* people. I’m Karen. He’s Rafa!”
#x200B;
The metal doors clicked and unlocked. Karen skipped forward, pushing it open with all her might. She held her back against it and waved me ahead. “Thanks,” I said.
#x200B;
The doors shut behind us.
#x200B;
The warehouse was lit up like a fire. Numerous fluorescent lights hung overhead, buzzing like millions of invisible flies. Looking around, there didn’t seem to be any shadows. Tall and shadowless shelves lined the entire interior, resembling a maze. Two shadowless people walked around this maze, pulling electric jacks with loaded pallets. The beeping of forklifts reverberated through the warehouse, overpowering the lo-fi music playing in the intercoms.
#x200B;
No one paid us attention. Except for a big bald guy marching towards us with a clipboard under his armpit. He wore our yellow company polo, same as everyone, but his was stretched to its last string because of his muscles.
#x200B;
“Go ahead and clock in. Then follow me,” he said as kindly as his deep voice allowed him.
#x200B;
#x200B;
He pointed at the wall where we had just entered from. There was a wall mounted tablet awaiting us. Karen skipped towards it and punched in her employee number from the card they gave us new people. I punched mine in out of memory.
#x200B;
We followed our new boss, navigating through the maze-like aisles. “You two will work in the far corner, helping hand stack pallets since you haven’t taken the test for electric jack usage. Fucking osha,” he grunted.
#x200B;
We arrived at the far right corner where a tall lanky man with bowl-cut hair was already stacking boxes.
#x200B;
“Here you are,” he pointed at the two empty pallets next to the bowl-cut guy’s pallet. “If you have any questions, feel free to call me on that intercom there.” He pointed at the wall behind the pallets and tower of boxes where a land phone was mounted. “If you need to use the restroom, it’s located on the far left. If you do use the restroom. Never, and I mean never, turn off the lights. Got it?”
#x200B;
“Yes sir,” said Karen, standing with her shoulders pinned back like a cadet.
#x200B;
I nodded.
#x200B;
“Very well,” he said. “Off you go.”
#x200B;
We walked to our pallets, Karen took the middle one. I took the one to the right, furthest from the bowl-cut dude.
#x200B;
Stocking boxes left and right got tiring for my back just a few minutes in. I looked at Karen and the bowl cut dude, who I assumed was Remi. They were quick to stack. Karen stacked her pallet neatly, putting the bigger ones to the bottom for support and the smaller ones to the top. Remi valued speed over neatness. He was on his second pallet.
#x200B;
I copied Karen, neat and quick.
#x200B;
When Karen finished her first pallet and it was taken away by someone with an electric jack, she decided to make small talk. “Remi, right?”
#x200B;
“Right,” he replied, not once looking up from his pallet.
#x200B;
“Nice to meet ya. I’m Karen and he’s Rafa,” she pointed at me.
#x200B;
“Nice to meet you, *co-workers*,” said Remi.
#x200B;
Karen took the hint and looked at me with eyes that said, *“He’s a jerk.”* I smiled, reassuring her I knew what she meant.
#x200B;
Time passed slower than a sloth walking under water. When my second pallet was stacked, I got the sudden urge to pee. The absurd amount of coffee wanted out of my bladder. “I’ll be back,” I told Karen. “If the boss stops by, let him know I'm in the bathroom, please.”
#x200B;
“Got it–”
#x200B;
“You won’t turn off the lights,” Remi cut off Karen. “You *won’t*.”
#x200B;
“Of course I won’t,” I looked at him, confused.
#x200B;
“I knew you were a wuss,” he shrugged.
#x200B;
I played along with his little game. “Curiosity killed the cat.”
#x200B;
“Good thing I ain’t no cat,” he said, finally looking up from his pallet. He had a deep scar across his right eye. Straightening up his body, he was even taller than I imagined. At least six feet three inches. He towered over my five feet nine inches self—he sure as hell towered over Karen.
#x200B;
“Whatever you are, curiosity will kill that as well.”
#x200B;
His eyebrows furrowed. Gotcha, I thought. His expression turned straight, and he went back to work on his pallet. I felt a presence behind me, knowing full well it was the boss based on Karen’s smirk.
#x200B;
I turned around. The boss glared down at me. His resting face gave the impression of being mad all the time. *A resting bitch face, literally.* I thought, trying to suppress laughter.
#x200B;
“Off somewhere, I suppose?”
#x200B;
“Bathroom, sir.”
#x200B;
“Restroom,” he corrected.
#x200B;
“Yes, that.”
#x200B;
“Very well,” he said, stepping aside to let me pass. I walked away, feeling his stare dig into the back of my neck. Chills shot up all over my body.
#x200B;
I entered the bright and narrow hallway in the far left corner of the building. There was only one unisex bathroom—odd for a building of this size. I twisted the doorknob, pushing the door open, and stepping in.
#x200B;
It was the cleanest bathroom I've ever seen. The chess board looking floor reflected light as if it had been freshly waxed. The two mirrors reflected a 4k-like image of myself—maybe even an 8k. It was as if there was another me staring back instead of a reflection.
#x200B;
I quickly did my business and washed my hands. The soap dispensers actually worked. It amazed me.
#x200B;
As I was on my way out, I reached for the light switch out of instinct. I stopped myself, remembering this wasn’t my apartment and I didn’t have to worry about the electricity bill. A thought occurred to me at that moment.
#x200B;
*Odd,* I thought, *If they didn’t want anyone turning off the lights, why not remove the light-switch completely?*
#x200B;
It sounded like common sense to me. Maybe they never thought of it. Or maybe they have, but decided against it for some odd reason. I shrugged and continued to the door.
#x200B;
The door swung open. It banged against the wall. The thud reverberated in the small bathroom. The floor rumbled with angry footsteps. I looked up.
#x200B;
It was Remi.
#x200B;
He marched right up to me, grabbing my shirt and twisting it.
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“You think you’re funny, huh? Smartass.”
#x200B;
The door shut behind him.
#x200B;
The stitching of my polo shirt teared slowly. The ripping sound was the only thing I could hear. It infuriated me. My blood boiled.
#x200B;
I grabbed his wrist, digging my fingernails into it. He let go of his grip and let out a grunt. With my other hand, I grabbed his palm and bent it back. He squirmed around.
#x200B;
“Don’t fucking move,” I said. “I’ll break it.”
#x200B;
With his free hand, he swung. It was a haymaker. A sloppy punch. I had plenty of time to duck.
#x200B;
I ducked, letting go of his wrist for a second and countering with a left hook to his liver. He grunted and his body struggled to stay upright.
#x200B;
I grabbed his wrist again, bending it back even further.
#x200B;
“Don’t test me. I’ll *fucking* break it.”
#x200B;
He let out a yelp, looking around for an escape.
#x200B;
There wasn’t any.
#x200B;
I could break his wrist at any—
#x200B;
He reached for the lights.
#x200B;
He managed to flick the switch.
#x200B;
But, the lights stayed on.
#x200B;
The buzzing of the fluorescent light grew loud. As loud as a boiling teapot. Louder than that.
#x200B;
I let go of his wrist and clasped my hands over my ears. It was a poor attempt at blocking out that deafening screech.
#x200B;
The lights flickered, slowly. The rhythm they had resembled laughter. How in the world were lights laughing at us, mocking us.
#x200B;
The screech grew even louder. I felt paralyzed. I wanted to dash for the light-switch. I couldn’t. Somehow I knew if I let go of covering my ears, I would be deaf for the rest of my life. I groaned and yelped. Either me or Remi called out for help. Maybe it was both of us. I couldn’t even hear my own voice over the sound.
#x200B;
My eyes darted left and right. Then I froze my gaze on the mirror.
#x200B;
It was warping, rippling like a portal from the video games. It called out to me. It called out to us. She called out to me…
#x200B;
Vaneet.
#x200B;
I felt her presence in the rippling mirror. Her voice overpowered the screeching, offering me an end to all my pain—present and past.
#x200B;
*Yes,* I thought, *I want it.*
#x200B;
I trudged to the mirror, hands still clasped over my ears. It felt as if I was knee deep in quicksand. My bones were stiff. Only way I could continue forward was if I waddled. So I did.
#x200B;
I stood in front of the mirror.
#x200B;
My reflection and I were the only ones in the world. It, or I, smiled. My reflection rippled and morphed into something else, someone else.
#x200B;
Vaneet.
#x200B;
Her sky blue eyes stared at me, full of life. Her thin eyebrows scrunched together as she smiled. The face she always made. She could never truly be mad at me. She had to smile on the rare occasions she was mad. She wore heavy eyeliner. When she used to cry, the tears left black streaks. I remember that was the cutest thing ever. Vaneet, she was so sensitive. I didn’t deserve her—a stubborn man like me.
#x200B;
Out of instinct, I reached out to touch her cheek.
#x200B;
I stopped.
#x200B;
I heard faint voices calling out to me. But I wasn’t there anymore. I was in an open flower field and Vaneet was close now. Closer than ever.
#x200B;
All logic escaped my grasp at that moment. What was logic worth compared to Vaneet? She was priceless.
#x200B;
My fingers were within an inch from her cheek. She blushed, puckering her lips to the side as she did when I would caress her.
#x200B;
I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder, two heavy hands. They clamped down like a vice grip and yanked me back. I fell down, head banging against the floor. My vision was hazy. I laid against the cold tile floor, staring at the flat ceiling. *Where was I? Not my apartment. Not my popcorn ceiling.*
#x200B;
Blurred faces hovered over me. Faint voices called out my name. A bald-headed man waved frantically. Bracelet covered arms hovered over my eyes. I tracked them back and forth.
#x200B;
“Vaneet?” I murmured.
#x200B;
“Karen,” a faint voice said. “Karen, your new co-worker.” The blurred face smiled.
#x200B;
My body got lifted up and placed on a soft, thin bed. My eyes were fixated on the blurred figure who said her name was Karen. I smiled.
#x200B;
My vision went dark.
#x200B;
\*\*\*
#x200B;
When I awoke, I found myself staring up at some blinding lights. Four steel walls surrounded me. This isn’t a hospital, I thought. Voices spoke in hushed whispers. I heard my name a few times.
#x200B;
“He’s awake,” said Karen. “He survived the test, Can we keep him?”
#x200B;
*Keep me? What?*
#x200B;
“Hmm,” said a deep voice, “Very well. I suppose he did prove himself worthy.”
#x200B;
“Yes!” Karen celebrated. She came into view, looking down at me with caring eyes. “Shit is gonna get real crazy now.” She smirked.
#x200B;
“W-What?” I murmured.
#x200B;
“Can I tell him, Dean? Please?” Karen looked back at the boss for approval. He nodded. “We’re fighting a war against the mirror dimension, and you are a part of it now!” She grinned.
#x200B;
“Ah, shit,” I said. “I need some sleep.”
#x200B;
Dean and Karen laughed, a contagious laugh. I couldn’t help but laugh, myself.
#x200B;
Dean’s smile vanished. “No but seriously. We need your help.”
#x200B;
My eyes rolled back and my vision went dark again.
#x200B;
\*\*\*
#x200B;
That’s my story, Reddit. How I came to fight for our reality against the mirror dimension. Karen was right. Shit got crazy real fast. We’re on a break from fighting now, so I figured I might as well share my story—our story.
#x200B;
I never truly forgot about Vaneet. That’s a fight I don’t think I’ll ever beat. Fighting mirror monsters helps me postpone those emotions. But they're bottled up, ready to burst at any moment. Karen, she helps out a lot. I’m truly grateful for her. Even for our boss, Dean.
#x200B;
I guess you’re wondering what happened to Remi. Well, he got swallowed up by the mirror dimension. Whatever he saw in that mirror managed to lure him in. I don’t blame him. Vaneet almost succeeded in luring me. I dread the day I have to face her again. But with Dean, Karen, and the other *co-workers* at my side, I have a better chance of beating it.
#x200B;
Until next time, Reddit. Make sure to stay away from mirrors in the dark. We may not be there to help. |
Being a cop, you’ll probably have a case that makes you. The kidnapping solved by some beat cop, the robbery outsmarted by an overlooked sergeant. Then there’s the case that breaks you on some fundamental level. A missing child never found, a homicide scene that sends a veteran’s lunch onto his shiny boots, or god forbid something you truly can’t explain. The case that made me was a few years after graduating from the academy. An armored transport truck was hijacked half a mile from my beat in the center of philadelphia. In responding, I had joined the front of the chase and side swept the back wheel of the truck moving through a large empty lot. The truck flipped on its side, taking a few cars with it. In the public eye I was a hero that saved the day, earning a promotion. However, behind the scenes I was on the brink of losing my job, due to the property damage incurred from my pit maneuver. In hindsight, it’s a miracle no one but the suspects were hurt, but I digress. This led to a promotion to detective, with the caveat that I’d be exiled to some backwater southern town deep in the Tennessee woods.
At the time I protested, but I soon realized that fighting it was futile. Resigned to my fate, I packed my things in preparation for my new life as detective of Porterville, Tennessee. My first drive down to the place I would call home was.. Foreboding. That night the pine and oak trees swayed, fighting bitterly against the wind. I was fifteen minutes away from Porterville driving down an open road, with only the moon and my high beams guiding my vehicle. The artificial light was melded with the unmistakable glow of a fire let amuck as it illuminated my brown skinned arms. The sight made my heart sink, as two crosses set alight came into view. Under it were hooded figures that held aloft torches. Panicking, I shut my high beams off and tried to drive as stealthily as I could. The glow of the fire now fully enveloped me in my truck, keeping me petrified as I offered a silent prayer. The glow eventually faded in my rear view mirror, and I sighed in relief, continuing my journey to Porterville.The first week I arrived in town was eventful, learning the lay of the land, how poor of a shape our armory was, meeting the local Cherokee natives, and striking a deal with them. A deal that leads to where I am now, in mayor Jackson's office with a prick named hermann sitting behind Jackson like a kid on christmas. I only caught the end of Jackson's sentence as I exited from my thoughts.
“-Not only did you guarantee them Native officers and limited jurisdiction, it was all for a few pea shooters?! Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
I cleared my throat, relaxing my posture as much as I could as I began
“the deal benefits us much more than you realize. Our armory was piss poor, our officers barely had enough 1911’s and magnums to arm ourselves. Now we have vests, shotguns, an m700 sniper, two colt M4’s, a glock for every man and woman on the force, and ammo and mags to last us till doomsday. But that isn’t the best part, that would be the fact that having tribal cops would cut the area we’d have to patrol by half, and we’d only have to send one or two units to supervise. And besides, having native cops would help the tension around here.”
When I finished, I caught Hermann half snickering before Jackson had shut him up
“I don’t wanna hear a word outta you, the only reason you’re here is because that fat bastard sheriff Coryn is either too busy campaigning for reelection or eating a pie.”
The mayor then took a moment to think, then spoke
"One, I don’t wanna know where they got these guns. Two, you’re responsible for any shit that goes down on their land. Their case is yours, got it?”
I smiled as I looked at the abject horror and disgust plastered on Hermann’s face. But my minor victory was interrupted by the mayor’s phone buzzing. He picked it up and I began to feel queasy as his face turned beet red with anger. He slammed the phone and began to yell at me.
“Congrats Jason, your new cops just found a fucking body. So get your ass down there and paddle them outta shit’s creek!”
Nodding quickly, I turned and ran like hell to my car. Barreling down the road, it took twenty minutes to reach the site of the body. Arriving there, I was beat there by my coworker officer ruiz de la cruz, or just officer cruz to most. Next to her were the two cherokee officers who had first happened upon the body.
“Ruiz, what do we have?” I half spat out, running towards the group.
She shook her head ever so slightly then started. “Nice of you to join. Tdlr, we have a jane doe. Mid twenties maybe, no ID or wallet in her handbag.. But the body is telling me five different things at once.”
she gestures to the women now dead, pointing out various things while continuing.
“For one, it seems almost all identifying markers have been tampered with. The teeth have been removed, the fingerprints burned off, and there are patches of skin surgically removed. The residual ink tells me that those were tattoos that were removed, Jason, someone does not want us to know who that woman was. Then there’s her leg..”
My eyes moved and I caught myself dry heaving at what I saw.
Ruiz begun to tear up slightly, “yeah, some sick fuck took a bite outta her leg, which tells me we’re dealing with at least three killers.”
“Three? This only shows two maybe, and that's partly conjecture.”
“Because all of that was post mortem, at least I'm eighty percent sure. This was ultimately a ritual killing. Look.”
Her fingers fell on where the victim's chest was. There were surgical marks, like from a coroner, implying that someone else took her organs. Ruiz then gestured towards a handbag, handing it to me. With now gloved hands, I looked through her bag, only finding two items of interest.
“I've got something, looks like our vic was an escort. No name still, but there's a receipt from a bar in town. Finnley’s pub, that might be our best chance to get some info.”
She nodded and our group dispersed, Ruiz and I inbound for Finnley’s. The drive remained uneventful as we pulled into the quaint bar. It was late by this hour so my hope was slightly faded, nevertheless I marched in tow with Ruiz. the barkeep welcomed us in and asked for an order.
“Shine for both of us” Ruiz chimed
I followed up, “and some information, have you seen this woman?” I held aloft a photo I had taken of the women, waiting for a response.
The man returned with our drinks and nodded. “Yeah, she came in a couple of nights ago with a couple of guys. Bad vibes from the guys.”
“Did you get any of their names?” Ruiz responded
“Only one of the guys, a big burly lookin guy. Solomon Prescott. He runs a tiny slaughterhouse on his ranch. It's maybe sixteen miles from here northbound. Can't miss it.”
We both looked at each other, downed our drinks, and sped off to our cars.Our bartender did not lie when he said we couldn’t miss the property. A small plot of land, lined with gnarled, dead oak trees. And in the center of it all was a house and barn. I was filled with an ominous feeling as my partner and I raced up the driveway, weapons held tight. There was a light at the barn, and looking at Ruiz, we both crept up to the old building.
“This is the police!” I shouted, as my announcement was met with the blast of a shotgun, kicking open the barn doors.
What followed was an exchange of gunfire, leaving three dead and one man with his arms raised. When we entered the barn, a miasma set upon us. It attacked our lungs and filled our nose with the scent of the dead. Ruiz had damn near doubled over to vomit, and it took every power in my body not to pass out. As I passed the bodies of our assailants, kicking their weapons away from their corpses, I took a notice to strange runes and symbols carved and tattooed on their bodies.
“Ugh… Solomen Prescott I presume?” Ruiz spat out roughly
“Oh yeah, that’s me. And I’m sorry about the smell, if I had known I’d have company I would’ve cleaned up better. Listen, if you guys don’t shoot me I’ll cooperate fully.” Solomen said in a gravelly, matter-of-fact tone.
We both looked at each other in slight bewilderment, then grabbed the man, shoving him into our car before speeding back off to our station. We soon found ourselves in a tiny interrogation room with the man known as Solomen Prescott.
“Officers,” He started, “here’s just about most of the story. I have a.. Taste for human meat. Ethically sourced of course. I don’t know why I’m the way I am but nevertheless, about a month ago I was contacted by an individual who identified herself as “the mother”. She told me that I could have the scraps of her human sacrifices. They ditch the bodies and I get a meal a day. So long as I don't interfere with the will of “the Father”. Any-”
Ruiz butted in, “hold on, who is this father?”
“He’s their god of sorts. At least they think it's their god. But god or no god, that thing is a powerful, old, primordial being.”
“And the people with the tattoos, are those their “children”?” I chimed in
“Right on the money officer, the family of Ead they call themselves. In fact, they’re gonna have another sacrifice tonight. It’ll be at the abandoned hendricks farm” he paused as though he was finished, then interjected one more time. “If you go, bring molotovs, a flamethrower, hell any fire will work.”
We both nodded and thanked him for his cooperation, leaving him in the isolated box.
I took out my cell phone and called Jackson. “Jackson, no time. All officers to hendricks farm. Armed to the teeth and I need a flamethrower, no questions.”
I hung up before he could respond and hopped into the seat of my truck, barrelling down the road to the hendricks farm. Waiting for me in a nearby hedgerow, was the Porterville police.
Armed to the teeth, I gave a quick brief before entering the fields. “Listen people, there are two POI’s wanted alive. “The mother” and “the father” both have unknown appearances but they should stand out. As for the rest, these are the Jamestown type so they won’t go alive. Don’t let the job get you killed, put these animals in the dirt if they aren’t our POI-”
“Are you insane?! Do you know what this means for the dept-” Hermann cut in but was stopped after I stared at him coldly.
“Anyways, we’ll move through the fields. Stay frosty, and stay alive.”
The force of the Porterville police crept through fields, silent and still as death. We neared the end of the fields and gazed with horror. A glow surrounded the ceremony that reminded me of the glow that had shone on me my first day here. A chill went down my spine as I motioned for us to reveal our hand. In an instant, we had all unloaded our weapons into the groupings of armed cultists. A wall of smoke formed on the edge of the field, and walking past it lay most of our dead cultists. There was one woman however untouched, a still beating heart at her feet.
“YOU FOOLS, HOW DARE YOU DESECRATE THE STOMPING GROUNDS OF THE FATHER!” The woman screamed shrilly. Her jett black hair seemed to stand up on command.
Silence followed, but within that silence, the forest remained alive and announced the entrance of.. Something. Torches lined where the ceremony was held, but there was a gap, and through that gap stepped the father. A dreaded silence fell upon us all, some cried, some prayed, and I just stared at the thing. Fear seeping into every fiber of my being. It walked on four legs, it had the body of a mighty elk but taller. Its fur was brown stained with spots of crimson, and a ribcage exposed to the world. Its head was… confusing and indecipherable. There were too many animals on its face. It looked like a toddler had drawn it a little different each time. And atop of its head were two massive antlers, a crown of thorns for a god, real or fake.
The woman turned to the massive figure and presented herself to it, her eyes filled with tears. The thing suddenly gored the woman with its antlers, dropping her to the floor like a used rag. Then that thing turned to us and spoke.
“You have interrupted something you cannot possibly fathom. Your insolence will be rewarded with a fate far worse than her’s.” the creature bellowed, with a hollow yet full voice that seemed to fill the space around it with its presence.
Panicked, I ran to find the party favor Jackson had sent us with. I walked to the thing in trepidation, tears flowing down my cheek. With false bravado, I yelled “then smite me down as a god would, O ye of little faith.” saying this, I hosed the abomination with fire. The scent of char and flesh filled the air as the thing let out a screech that I still can never forget.
It backed off through the path it came from as a few brave officers shot rounds into it.
Then the voice came back to forewarn us with a promise.
“There will come a day when I return from this exile. Your machines offer you a false certainty, for they will fail you eventually. The flesh is stronger than you think, and it will surpass the machine in due time. When I come back to inherit what is mine, hope to your false gods you are dead before my conquest.”
The thing walked off to never be seen, but those words still haunt me. Ever since then, it has been the duty of each officer to patrol the woods to make sure that thing stays in its new domain. But every time I look out to the woods at night, I know that thing stares back at me. Eyes full of hate and contempt. So I write this in case what I fear comes to pass, a record at least, of the murder of Jane Doe and the elk-like being of Porterville. But as I write, I can hear something in the woods call for us all, a headsman growing impatient. |
Part 1
Part 2
#x200B;
While conditions seemed bad right now, with the truck stuck like it was, I gave thanks that at least the engine started without issue. At times, it got so cold in Siberia that the engines would fail to start. The temperature had started to increase, however, and outside the wind had died down. The snow had stopped, and looking at the thermometer I kept on the outside of the truck, I saw that it was “only” -5 degrees Fahrenheit now. I cursed, putting on many layers while I sat in the truck’s driver seat, the little girl sitting between me and Yakov on an empty bucket she had turned upside-down. She didn’t seem affected by the cold at all. She had probably grown up in far worse.
“What are you doing?” the girl said with widening eyes, watching me. I looked at her, shaking my head.
“Obviously, we have to go get your sister,” I said.
“No!” she said. “I’m not going back there! Never! I will never go back to that place!” She started to cry. “The legs… the fence… the ovens… the cages… you have no idea how horrible it is!”
“Calm down,” I said. “You have to lead us back towards the hut. You probably won’t have to go in. We just need to get your sister and come back, then we can leave. What’s your name?”
“Irina,” she said.
“That’s a very pretty name,” Yakov said. “My name is Yakov, and this is Nikolai. We’re the good guys. We can fight off that witch and bring your sister home. If we do nothing, your sister will die. You know that.” Irina nodded, wiping her eyes. Bundled up in her layers of clothing with a fur jacket on the outside, she looked almost like a little eskimo sitting here in my truck. I repressed the crazy urge to laugh at the image, remembering what was happening.
“Let’s do this,” I said, getting out of the truck. I grabbed more ammo from the glovebox, and saw Yakov grabbing some bullets from the satchel of random goods he carried around with him in a leather skin. He left the rest of his possessions in the truck, folding the leather carefully back over them and tying it with a cord.
It felt eerie, like the dawn before a major battle. I had goosebumps all over my body, and not just from the cold. The idea of going up against an infamous witch, an ogress, a child-eating monster- well, it didn’t raise my confidence. Though this happened years ago, I still remember that terrible feeling- as if everything had been leading up to this point, and now everything stood still, watching.
I had heard legends of Baba Yaga growing up, how Satan had taken twelve women who were murderers and criminals, thrown their bodies in a pot together, mixed it up- and out came Baba Yaga. Of course, I scoffed at such myths now that I was older. But seeing her there had made me question many things.
Irina went out first, not minding the cold at all, her breath coming out in steamy plumes. Yakov and I had flashlights from the truck, jumping down behind her. Their light came out dimly, but it gave enough lumination on the white snow to see. The clouds had started to part, and the Moon had come out in the sky, looking down on us like a single blind eye- like the cataract-ridden eye of Baba Yaga I had seen earlier.
As we started walking across the M56 and into the woods, that shrill, gurgling shriek came ringing out again. I knew Baba Yaga was close, likely even watching us. She might attack at any moment.
We walked further down the trail, a winding deer trail only a couple feet wide, with branches that would smack me in the face and rocks to trip over every few steps. Just as I turned to Yakov to say that we may have lost her, she attacked.
I saw a blur, then an intense pain in my side as she tackled me, knocking me quickly to the snowy ground. I kept a death-grip on my gun, smacking my head against a tree trunk- and the world went white. I drifted in and out of consciousness for a few moments, or perhaps it was longer. Time got strange. As if from a great distance, I heard gunshots and more screaming- then my vision started to return, and I focused.
I saw Yakov crouched on the ground, holding his left hand tightly. I saw a fountain of blood running over his gloves, staining the snow in strange droplets and splotches, like a Rorschach inkblot made by a serial killer.
I tried to sit up, but a lightning bolt of pain seared my brain. I groaned, raising my hand to my head. I felt something sticky on my scalp, and pulling my hand back, I saw it covered in blood. It felt warm and wet, running down from the right side of my scalp and showing no signs of slowing. I felt nauseated and weak for a second, seeing all that blood, how it stained my clothes and the snow below me. I took a few deep breaths, in and out, slowly concentrating and steadying myself. My hand still trembled, and my legs felt like jelly as I tried to stand, but I leaned against the tree and let the waves of weakness and nausea pass by.
Yakov wasn’t doing much better. He was hyperventilating, staring in shock at his spurting hand. His left thumb looked like it was mostly or entirely gone.
“We’ve… got to put pressure…” I said slowly, gulping air. “...on the wound. And ice and snow.” I began to tear a strip from one of my shirts, then walked slowly over to Yakov on unsteady legs. I looked into his eyes. They looked dark and tortured, and he quickly looked away, tears forming in his eyes from the shock and pain. Irina sat next to him on a log, and she watched in horror, looking away whenever she noticed the blood.
“Let’s do this,” I said. “Ready?” He nodded weakly. I pulled the strip of cloth around the hole where his thumb used to, running it around his hand in circles, tightening it. He screamed. I gave him a piece of wood to bite down on, and pulled it even tighter. I saw teeth marks forming deep in the wood, a solid branch one inch in diameter I had snapped in half. His breath came in and out so fast, I thought for sure he would pass out. But he kept with me. Soon I had pressure on the wound, and the bleeding had slowed considerably.
I repeated the process with my head, wrapping more strips of cloth around the bloody scalp wound and pulling. I gritted my teeth, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought, except for the crushing migraine. More than anything, I just felt weak, and waves of nausea kept assailing me. Splotches would rise in my vision, black dots that seemed to precede passing out, but I would sit down quickly and, after a few minutes, I had regained most of my strength.
“Let’s keep going,” I said weakly. Irina stood next to Yakov, looking petrified.
“I don’t want to go,” Irina said stubbornly. “Please don’t make me go.”
“Irina,” I sighed. “Your sister might die if we turn around. We have no choice.”
“I’m too scared,” she said. “You have no idea how bad it is there. You can’t imagine.” But after a few minutes of convincing, she continued to lead us- a ragtag group of injured men and a child, limping through the thick snow in the freezing cold.
We walked for an hour in silence, the little girl following her tracks, looking for landmarks she had passed when she had escaped the first time. She had grown up in the woods, most likely, and her family must have taught her much. I was worried about freezing to death, but then I started to notice my body growing warmer. I thought, perhaps, it was simply the first sign of hypothermia.
And yet, as we walked, I noticed changes in the forest. It actually had gotten warmer; it wasn’t just in my mind. Soon the snow had all gone. I looked around and noticed the trees were all dead, their naked arms extending up to the sky. I had to take off a jacket, then a sweater too. I saw the others doing the same, sweating as it warmed up. A fog began to roll in, covering the whole area.
“This is the space between the world of the living and the dead,” Irina said in her sweet child’s voice. It made the statement all the more horrible. “The hut is near here. This is the border of her home.” Through the mist, I swore I could see faces appearing and disappearing, the horror-stricken visages of children and eternally grinning skulls.
Soon, we came to a clearing. All the trees stopped in a large circle, a few hundred feet in diameter. In horror, I looked at what lay beyond.
A fence surrounded the property, made of children’s bones. It extended high up, at least twenty feet, countless arm and leg bones stacked one on another, bound together with twine and braced with more bones attached vertically against the others. I saw no gaps bigger than an inch, and no way to climb it. Looking at the top, I saw pieces of sharpened bones sticking up, like some razor wire from Hell. Irina shook at my side, and she grasped my hand suddenly, her small body exuding a strength that seemed beyond her physical abilities. I smiled down at her, smoothing her long, black hair with my right hand. I felt almost entirely recovered from my earlier concussion, though my head still pounded in time with the beat of my heart. I wished I had brought some aspirin.
“How do we get in?” Irina asked, taking off another sweater and hanging it over her shoulder. I had absolutely no idea.
“Let’s look around,” I said. We began to circle the fence, walking along the circumference of the clearing. I could see a hut beyond through the small gaps.
After a minute, we came to the gate. It stood twenty-feet-tall, like the rest of the fence, and would be almost impossible to scale. Unlike the rest of the fence, the gate had been fashioned entirely from skulls. I saw all the small skulls stacked one on top of another. As I imagined how many children had died to build just this macabre gate, a feeling of sickness and dread washed over me.
Sticking out of the front of it, in the exact center, I saw a larger skull. It looked like that of a man. In its open mouth, I saw a silver keyhole. In anger, I tried shaking the gate- and it came swinging open, totally silent.
“It’s open,” Yakov said, amazed. I looked at him.
“This feels like a trap,” I said. He nodded. Irina hid behind Yakov now, not wanting to look at the eternally grinning skulls stacked in front of her, bound together with some sort of invisible glue.
I looked through the gate at the hut beyond. My breath caught in my throat.
It stood on two massive legs. The feet looked like those of a chicken, but the legs loomed ten feet above the ground, where they somehow attached to the hut, holding it up suspended in the air. They were skeletal, all the flesh and muscle long ago wasted away.
“Are those chicken legs?” Yakov asked, his voice low. I felt eyes on me. I looked back into the forest, but I saw no one.
“Who the hell knows?” I asked. “But where do you get a chicken that’s the size of an elephant? Or bigger?”
“From Hell?” he asked. I laughed.
“You think they have massive chickens in Hell, just going around pecking at the Hell grains?” I said. He smiled.
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. Let’s do this.” We began to walk forwards into the clearing. I could see the circular hut more clearly now. An inner light burned, sending out a fiery, red glow through the windows. Unlike the rest of this horrible place, it looked like the hut was actually built of wood and stone. It had a quaint look, like the hut of an ancient serf. The top of it met in a point, with thatch and twigs carefully aligned to form a rounded dome. The windows were lined with stones. Trunks of dead trees formed the main construction material, pressed one against the next, stacked vertically in a perfect circle. They had their branches cut off, their bark stripped, the wood ground down to a smooth, uniform texture.
“My sister is in there,” Irina whispered. “Please don’t make me go back. Please. You don’t know what they do in there. What she does in there.” I grabbed her hand.
“Irina, we can’t leave you behind,” I said. “I think we’re being watched. I’m sorry, but you have to come with us.” She put her head down, looking like a beaten dog. She trudged alongside us slowly as we examined the property. But we saw no sign of anyone. I sighed deeply.
“Alright, let’s go inside,” I said. “Let’s find out what horrors await us in that hut.”
As we walked forward, I heard the gate click closed behind us. I turned and looked, but I saw no one. It seemed as if it had closed on its own.
I saw, to my horror, that I would need a key to get out as well as in. Another skull, its mouth open and filled with a silver locking mechanism, stuck out on this side as well. The metal in its mouth made it look like it was choking, the eternally gaping mouth like it was screaming.
I turned away, focusing on the task at hand, hoping I would survive the next few minutes.
#x200B;
Part 4
#x200B; |
Quite the strange rule, right? Greetings everyone! You can call me Kol. It is a much shorter version of my real name since it is very long and difficult to pronounce. The story you are reading involves a real company, so to avoid any issues with that institution, I will only refer to it as such.
Around the beginning of 2022 to this very day, the concerning problem of loadshedding ravages the country I live in. Almost every day, for a period of one hour, the power goes out twice or thrice at varying times and locations indicated by an app. Most often, these interruptions in electricity supply happen during the night to avoid disturbing businesses' operations during the day, since solutions such as electric generators and green energy are still neither popular nor affordable. Consequently, crimes such as theft rose during the night and skyrocketed the demand for security, thus creating opportunities for employment.
Therefore, after a long period of search and hardship, on the 7th of September 2023, I have finally found an employment with a very generous salary, to support myself and my family of four. The job? A seemingly normal position of a security officer, tasked to guard an indoor storage facility, all alone and during the night. My workdays and hours are Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday from 7 pm to 7 am. The only concern? One strange and mysterious rule revolving around a particular time and also a particular place, approximately worded like this in my contract:
'From 12:00 am to 12:59 am, be in the black room. Before 01:00 am, do not interact with anyone and do not leave the black room no matter the circumstances. Allowed to sleep in the black room from 12:00 am to 12:59 am.'
Basically, that time frame serves as my pause, but for unknown reasons, I had to spend it in the black room. That depressing place deserves its name since it is a small room with its steel door and entire interior completely painted with the darkest black I have ever seen, so dark that it seemed to absorb and dim any source of light. Equipped with a black chair, a black clock, a metallic bucket painted in black and placed on top of a black cupboard, and even a black couch, the small place is also the control room from which I can monitor the entire facility. For other unknown reasons, I could only get my black uniform on the 13th and I started working the very next day.
During the first night, I followed the rules and did not witness anything uncanny until I caught a glimpse of something strange on the monitors, active during the entire midnight. There was a bizarre phenomenon affecting the cameras turn by turn, translating into a severe distortion affecting the corresponding monitors in the control room one after the other. Something I could not identity due to the anomaly, moved around freely in the whole building, before stopping right in front of the black door at 12:58 am and disappearing at 01:00 am. The camera in front of the black room also returned to normal functioning at exactly 01:00 am. Upon reporting the occurrence to my employer, he completely ignored it and just reminded me to follow the rules. What can I complain about? I desperately need this job, but also when I think about police officers, mortuary assistants, miners and graveyard keepers, and the things they may be confronted to, I end up with the conclusion that a job is a job, with its good and bad sides, therefore, I need to remain a brave man.
Yesterday on the 15th, the second night, consumed by my fear or my curiosity, I clocked in at 7 pm and planned to get a glimpse of the 'thing' with my naked eye, by looking under the black door anytime it will pass by the black room. To my disappointment, at 11 pm, I realized that the steel door does not have any space whatsoever through which I could see anything. Therefore, I settled for just watching the monitors, unprepared for what was about to unfold. Unlike the previous night, this time the distortion was accompanied by sounds coming from outside the room. Noises of the storage unit doors vibrating at the passage of the unseen and unknown entity. At 12:17 am, the thing passed in front of the black room, and its door shook too, prompting me to stand up in fear. My heart beating as I began to sweat, I tried to contact the authorities both on the radio and on my phone. Both had there screens flickering as they malfunctioned. I had to face the situation all alone.
At 12:34 am, the intruder passed again in front of the black room, and that time, the door shook so violently that I believed it was about to come off the frame. Trembling in fear, I stepped backwards until I hit the cupboard behind me, and unfortunately, the metallic bucket fell from it and hit the floor, making the corresponding and appropriate loud sound that gained the attention of the intruder. Did I just interact? By the definition of the word, I did not. That was an involuntary occurrence engineered by my fear, however, the thing stopped moving. I looked at the monitors and saw that the camera in front of the black room was still affected by the entity with its corresponding screen flickering, and the door was still shaking, allowing me to confirm that the entity stood right there on the other side of the entrance. I remained immobile and silent, sweating and breathing rapidly until the vibration of the door and the distortion on the monitors both stopped at the same time. When I looked at the clock, it was 01:00 am.
This time, I avoided complaining to my employer and submitted what I would call a 'clean' report. To safely work, I plan on equipping myself with a few useful things before going back there. Guys, you know my schedule, I work during two consecutive days before a pause. On each day off, I plan on updating you guys on the events of the two previous nights. But for the rest of this beautiful Saturday, and tomorrow Sunday, let me enjoy the company of my wife and kids, the reason why I have to do this job.
On Monday the 18th and Tuesday the 19th, I will be clocking in at 7 pm. According to the app, in the area where my workplace is situated, there will be loadshedding on Wednesday the 20th from 12:00 am to 01:00 am. I will spend that hour in the black room. Wish me luck.
|
(LINK TO PART 1 IN COMMENTS)
#x200B;
*"Be careful what you wish for…"*
That…thing…had entered my home and forced those words shivering into my brain on a wave of putrid breath. It tittered maniacally, and my skin practically crawled off my body as I felt its moist, hot tongue caress my cheek. I whimpered, and prayed to a God I never believed in as I prepared myself for the worst. I waited for its teeth to sink into my neck, for its jagged, ragged, fingernails to rake the eyes from my skull. I waited.
And waited…and waited…
I sat waiting until the nascent vestiges of dawn broke across my tightly-closed eyelids. They fluttered open, and my breath caught as I prepared to once again come face to face with the entity I had named Peekaboo.
And…I was alone; blessedly alone. Even so, I sat there till almost midday, expecting it to spring out from behind the curtain in homage to its namesake with a banshee shriek as it rushed me in a final, horrible prank.
But it didn't. Nothing happened. I sat, and pushed the limits of how long a person could hold their water before wetting themselves. I eventually decided to brave the bathroom, and…nothing happened. The release of relieving myself was nothing compared to the relief I felt from realising I might finally be rid of my demonic voyeur.
I pondered on how I had just….given in; I was at my wit's end, and desperate, and just wanted to cease the endless invasion of my privacy. I thought the only way to end this nightmare was to just give in and give it what it wanted. I began to assume it only manifested itself to impart a lesson I should never forget, like a twisted version of the Ghosts of Christmas' Past.
But, you know what they say about making assumptions, right?
Weak-kneed and stumbling, I eventually made my way to the kitchen to begin embracing what was once my safe, predictable morning routine: semi-sweet coffee and a slice of rye. I almost smiled as I leaned against the counter and followed the motions of familiarity. Lost in thought, eyes unseeing, I reached into the cupboard to grab the canister of earthy brown ground goodness.
Instead, my hand came down on something wet, and hot, and I recoiled with a shriek, remembering the feeling of Peekaboo's tongue sliding across my jawline. I threw the cupboard doors wide and saw… my coffee. Hawaiian medium roast, sitting as I expected.
I'm fucking losing it; the irony wasn't lost on me that that's what I had thought when Peekaboo first began appearing. I desperately clung to the possibility that I was going mad, as that was more preferable to the alternative.
I mechanically prepared my morning repast, all pleasure lost.
\*\*\*
I didn't feel as if I could handle returning to work; I told them that I wasn't in any fit state to return, but I was seeking assistance to ensure I get back on my feet. My boss understood. I have the best boss.
I spent the rest of the day trying to pull the pieces of my routine together; my morning go-to was spoiled by a fear-fueled delusion. I was hell-bent on getting my life back.
I tidied up the collective refuse I let stagnate during my moments of turmoil. I made myself dinner, a lovely roast chicken with garlic and lemon. I showered, and felt every drop cascade down my skin while the tension left my body; I had my life back. I had accepted the consequences of my entitled antics, and FINALLY felt close to my old self. I held my face up to the stream, eyes closed. I relished the tranquillity and reached to turn the tap and DUG THROUGH A MASS OF TANGLED GREASY HAIR!
I started back and lost my footing! I snatched at the towel bar and ripped half of it off the wall, BARELY saving myself from, at the LEAST, a broken coccyx. I didn't see anything. Nothing made its nefarious appearance.
Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence…
I was shaken. I insisted on the possibility of some type of PTSD manifestation. I still tried to cling to the idea of freedom and stability. I was free, dammit! I was rid of that sadistic stalker!
I dried; I dressed; I brushed my teeth; for the first time in an eternity, I collapsed in my bed without fear. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. I felt as if I could hibernate till winter, shower again, then hibernate till spring.
I sighed with pleasure as I settled in. The incident in the shower had unsettled me, true, but at that moment I just didn't care. For the first time in what I felt was forever, I didn't have some perverted demon-creature staring at me as I tried to sleep.
I snuggled in, sighing. I was asleep before I finished exhaling.
\*\*\*
I started awake, checking the alarm clock. 3:03AM.
I felt uncomfortable. I had awoken with such urgency. Why did I do that? I felt that something was wrong. I tried to shrug it off by pattering to the washroom to answer the call of nature. I sat half-asleep in the pale green LED glow of my wall-light. It is NOT a night light. I could barely keep my eyes open. Finishing up, I zombily returned to bed. Settling in, I tossed and turned. I flipped onto my opposite side, smacking my lips. I felt a rustling so soft it barely registered, but it was enough to open my eyes.
And there it was
So close to my face our noses were almost touching, Peekaboo's wild, bloodshot eyes were staring into mine with such nihilistic glee. It was breathing heavily, its breath foul and damp; long, greasy, black hair splayed around its head and face; its tongue fanatically licking its lips in a wet, sloppy, fanaticism, yellow mucus covering and dripping and pooling on my pillow. It giggled, so softly, "tee!...hee!...hee!..."
It reached up, caressed my face, its skin rough and dry like a snake's, and leaned in as if for a kiss. I snapped! I shrieked! I smacked the hand as if it were venomous, frantically scrambling and kicking and scrabbling away but it couldn't! I was cocooned in my blankets, they held fast like a vice, following the will of this creature's twisted desire. It pressed both hands to my cheeks, leaned in close.
"Oh, you are… just…so…beau-uuutiful….." it croaked and crooned into my ear. "We are going to have…so…much…fun!…"
My heart was hammering so hard I felt it in my toes. I was hyperventilating. It wanted me. It wanted to invade more than my privacy. Its eyes wide as saucers, unblinking, tiny pupils quivering with anticipation, it moaned in my ear and I shrieked in response and squeezed my eyes so tight it felt they fused shut.
"LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALO-OOONE!!" I screeched, clenching my whole body.
And it was gone. Like a puff of smoke.
I would have believed it a night terror if not for the pool of yellow mucus on my pillow, and the tiny, intentionally slow, titter I heard come from the vent above my bed.
\*\*\*
I'm guessing Peekaboo followed the same rules as a vampire. It never, ever got so intimate in invading my space before until I let it into my home. I thought the worst thing it could do to me was watching, observing, voyeuring. But I was so, so wrong. That was just the beginning.
I've resigned myself to my fate, even though I have no clue as to why this is happening to me. I realise now that I am just its plaything, its toy, its pet.
I'm writing this as a sort of farewell, for even now, as I type this, I can feel its breath in my ear as it presses itself against me, moaning in rapture. |
It was just there one day. A small wooden ornate box just sitting on the kitchen table. It had strange cravings from the sides to the top, almost like one of those boxes you keep loved one's ashes in.
I recently inherited my grandfather's old house and I am the only one who lives there. I'm not sure how it got there. I felt almost compelled to open it but some part of my mind is screaming at me not too. All my doors and windows are locked so nobody could have snuck in and left it here. Who would do something like that anyway? Plus, I was just in this room 5 minutes ago and I didn't see any boxes. I'm not superstitious but I worry it could be cursed or some kind of trap. Crazy I know.
I decided to leave it alone for now and return back to my living room. Watch some youtube for awhile and maybe it'll just be gone when I come back. I wasn't that lucky, the second I set foot into my living room I saw it. The same wooden box was on my living room table taunting me to open it.
"Are there two boxes?" I thought to myself as I stepped back and peered into the kitchen, it wasn't there. My blood went ice cold, "what the hell?" I murmured. Another thought crossed my mind, I walked back into the kitchen half expecting it to appear back on the kitchen table. It didn't. A teleporting box would be crazy, right? Except, not so crazy as I turned back around I saw it sitting atop of a mini tabletop oven.
I ran back into my bedroom and locked the door as I pulled out my phone. I called my friend, Josh. Half expecting not to get any bars but to my surprise he answered in one ring.
"Josh?!" I nearly screamed into the phone.
"Last I checked" he said
"Somethings not right Josh, I feel like I'm losing my mind. There's this box..." The words poured out of move like water from a broken dam.
"a box?"
"Yeah, a box..." I said as a chill went down my spine pausing before slowly turning around to see the box sitting on my bed.
"You al-" The call went all static before counting out.
"Josh, Josh?!" I checked my phone, it had no bars. "Damn"
I just looked at the box and you know that old saying or maybe it's an expression. "When you stare into the abyss it sometimes stares back into you." That's what this felt like. The more I looked at it the more I started to hear a whisper, a call. The box was beckoning me towards it in a voice I couldn't quite make out but it still sounded familiar.
I took a step forward and then my bedroom door broke open and a short butch man stood in the doorway breaking me outta my trance. He grabbed me by my collar and yanked me back into the living room before throwing me against the wall.
"Where is it?" He commanded.
Coughing and trying to regain my focus "What?"
He threw me against the wall again. This man was shorter than me but unnaturally strong. I cursed myself for not going to the gym more.
His eyes were doglike and bright yellow pierced my soul and had a jagged fang like tooth from his mouth. He had patches of fur on his hands that went to his fingertips that were like white dirty claws.
"Where is it?!" He repeated.
my eyes twitching as my gazed moved from him to an elderly woman standing behind him.
"Look at me!" He roared. I didn’t look. "Can I kill him?" he seemed to ask the woman behind him.
She cackled "If only it was that easy deary. If we kill him, it will just go to the next person and we’ll have to start looking all over again"
I winced and looked at her. Her face was just puddles of loose skin and black beady eyes with a long pointy crooked nose.
I chuckled "Did you jump out of the Snow White?"
A few seconds passed before I realized I said it out loud. I honestly have no idea why I even thought that at a time like that.. I blame the concussion.
The look on her face went from a sly unnerving sneer to absolute rage. If I had grandmother
"Kill him" She said, cold as ice.
"Gladly" The man threw me to the ground a few feet in front of him as I lay next to a small wooden object sitting on the floor. I saw it from the corner of my vision. I put one hand on top of it and a wave of calm washed over me. Almost as time stopped and I heard what it was trying to tell me for the first time.
"I accept". The box popped open and I suddenly sprung alive pulling out its contents. I felt what seemed like a knife in my hands “If you two want this so bad, take it" as I stabbed the butch-looking man into his heart. Blood started dripping from his mouth as I ripped out the knife and looked towards the elderly woman who was gone.
I looked down towards the dead man lying in a pool of his own blood. He suddenly looked more human than before and not as muscular.
Gasping for air as everything started hitting me at once. I pulled out my cellphone to dial 911 but couldn’t make it pass 9 before passing out.
I woke up the next day in the hospital. I learned after my friend Josh came over to check up on me and found my front door open with me laying in a pool of blood next to the corpse of the man I stabbed. The police questioned me and I told them the truth or at least a version I think they'd believe. I know they wouldn't believe me, you don't believe me, and I wouldn't believe me either.
The cops did ask me something weird, they asked me where the knife was. “Maybe the woman took it”, I said, playing dumb. After they left I started typing out my story to... I don't know. Warn you of monsters maybe? or maybe just to ask what's next. I am not sure what to do.
oh, the knife? It never left me. I just look into my hand and it appears there looking back into me.
|
This story is long and detailed, a bit old. I've jotted and recollected the events the best I can.
I suppose, to start, I hadn’t always considered myself a follower.
Deep into the night I would wander as a grown woman, the city lights streaking upon my facial features, for all the eyes in the windows to gaze down upon. I know they see - but I had no understanding of one far beyond a man. Now, a man, I’m well used to one. I’ve known man my whole life, and one is in fact the reason why a pocket knife remains in my handbag. I anticipate the movements in the shadows by the side of the jazz club, yet stroll by in an almost ladylike fashion - traditionally and aimlessly.
I recall walking down the stairs to the subway station, with the intent of heading to my small apartment - it calls me from the city’s bright lights in favour of a cute, small dimness above my kitchen counter, a comfortingly claustrophobic sensation.
I apologise for the verbosity, I’m a poet in my spare time.
I’d noticed no one down here, it was drab, dingy and dimly lit. And it is generally not very comforting in this part of town. I had regretted being in this area, knowing full well my idiocy and manic depression would likely swing me right back around here in a few weeks time. I heard some clatters in the distance that reverberated the length of the tunnels, and clasped my fists to pay no attention, yet doing so by that action alone.
I felt opposed to sitting down on a bench nearby until the flickering light above it settles itself on. I stood there for a minute to ensure it wasn’t playing a trick on me, and I had a seat with roughly five minutes until the train was to arrive.
My breath readied itself, no alcohol in it. Tonight was calm.
BZZT- (click)
With a sound similar to that, the light above me shut off completely. My body was shrouded in darkness as the other fluorescent tubes remained aglow. Things felt quite uncomfortable. The clattering was heard again, and I could not tell if it was louder that time, or my discomfort made it feel that way. That was a sober thought I didn’t have often.
From the distance shuttled the train’s noise, in through the path of the underground station, the doors stopping in front of me. I boarded it, did not look left or right and took a seat directly to the left of the entry.
When I looked to the left, I saw two people. One was closer to me, and quickly switched his glance awkwardly, previously situated at or around me. An older gentleman, with a white beard obscuring part of his neck, wearing a small hat. He seemed traditional - but the other one I saw? Leaning at the back of the compartment, far away from myself, they had appeared as if they were a black mist of darkness, as if every piece of clothing on their body was the harshest shade of black you could find, with no true distinguishable feature about themselves, apart from some hat atop his head which I could barely make out from where I was sitting. I thought a fedora, but it did not stick out very far.
The bearded fellow walked over and sat across from me. I was not sure what to expect, but my heart rate suggested it likely wasn't good. He opened his mouth and spoke.
“It’s lonely down here sometimes, honestly.”He seemed relaxed as he said it, and the tone was as if this subway was his home, and he’s just lounging on an armchair in his living room. “I’ve seen you down here a few times. Last time you didn’t look so good.”
My face flushed crimson with embarrassment. I’d have preferred to forget last Monday, when I was groggily slouching onto a seat on what I believed to be an empty compartment. For some reason, I had trusted it more than a taxi that night. Perhaps impaired judgment, or perhaps a wise decision. The night typically decides that, not me.
“Y’know, I’m around here a lot, and I just want to be sure. Are you doing okay?”
I was a bit taken aback. I had never seen this man before in my life, and here he was trying to check in on my well-being, or so he says, given that he’s noticed me before, perhaps making note of my sobbing last week, like he’d see me again. I didn’t say much, instead, looked at the ground, and as I started to mumble an answer, maybe he began to realise how uncomfortable I felt. He continued to speak.
“I know I’m a funny looking guy, but I know some guys around here that are funny deep down, if you catch my drift. Just take care of yourself late at night. It’s not safe around here sometimes.”
I made note of it. “Thank you,” I responded. “Pardon me, I’ve never noticed you before.” My guard still up, I engaged in conversation with him.
“I’m pretty quiet, I’m not a howler monkey like some teenagers a few blocks over. How the hell their parents let them out that late is beyond me. But I’m just old, so..” A generational thing, he seems to imply.
“I get lonely down here, honestly. I just figured I’d make conversation with you since I don’t do so very often with a lot of people. Nice to meet you, I’m Paul.”
He extends his hand and I shake it, hiding my confusion. As he looks to the side once we’re done shaking hands, I do so as well - directly to that strange shadow person I had seen before. So Paul here says he’s lonely, why didn’t he speak to that person instead? Perhaps he had, already. If he was truly as lonely as he was, would he choose to break off a conversation quickly and easily? He’d cling onto one for dear life. I mean, I know the feeling of full loneliness. It’s a desolate place where you remain with ears covered and eyes closed. The world is spinning past your discretion. You’d look anywhere for some kind of fulfilment. Did Paul here look at the end of the compartment?
Perhaps he does as I do. He keeps his guard up.
We conversed about the city for a time, about dumb construction popping up everywhere out of nowhere, ridiculous drivers, recent downpours of constant rain, mostly in a friendly pessimism that bridles his speech more than mine. Still, I certainly did not trust him. I’ve met those nicer who’ve done as wrong as can be. I got off one stop before my own. I bid him farewell.
“Thanks for speaking,” he told me. “Not often I meet a decent stranger for a change.
”I gave him a small, wry smile. “Thank you too. Have a good night.” As I departed, I looked over to my right. The shadowy figure was still there, with the exact same posture, completely unmoved.. I stepped out into the badly lit station, made an ugly green by the lighting fixtures. The train rolled by, and just before I left, I watched as the compartment passed. Through the window, I could see, the shadow I had seen there was absent. There was nothing and no one there. I looked and could not see a soul around.
I walked up the stairs into the gleam of the night, three blocks from my residence. I walked through the somewhat lit neighbourhood to my somewhat decent apartment on the corner of a somewhat busy intersection, and could see my window from the other sidewalk. I notice the light’s on. Had I left it like that? It wouldn’t have been like me.
Cross the road, head inside, up the stairs, down the hallway, rustle for my keys.. what’s that sound? I hear from the interior of my apartment a very distinct ride cymbal, a very distinct brass section, and even the slightest hints of Charles Mingus’ double bass. Unlocking my door and stepping inside, I come to find the record player is on, and spinning on it is a copy of *The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady*.
I’m moved. I quickly shut and locked the door, then took the needle off of the LP, then turned off the amplifier. I’m shaking. I say in a slightly hushed voice:
“Who the fuck is in here?”
I quickly scampered to the knife holder near the stove, grabbing myself a large old butcher; my palm had quivered at its attempts to keep my grip steady. I sidestepped across the living area and approached the bedroom door, slightly ajar. With a quick exhale, I lightly kicked it open completely. I poked my head in and viewed everything of the room. Nothing is noticeably out of place. I opened the drawers to my bedside table - everything was intact. Atop the table was this month’s romance novel and.. a sticky note attached to it. That was new.
I looked behind me once more, then took the large note off the book. I needed to ensure everything was secure in order for me to read it. The bathroom and the closets were both devoid of anyone else, let alone any sign of previous entry.
The couch was the first thing to welcome me all night.
The note read:
*HELLO I KNOW THIS IS PROBABLY JARRING BUT PLEASE READ*
*I DO NOT MEAN ANY HARM, I AM NOT MALICIOUS*
*I DO NOT HAVE A HOME, YOUR DOOR WAS UNLOCKED (to which I cursed in response)*
*I HAVE TAKEN EXACTLY ONE BANANA AND ONE TANGERINE*
*I THANK YOU FOR YOUR GENEROSITY*
*PLEASE DO NOT BE ALERT*
I somehow feel compelled to believe the story, yet something felt off. Something was fabricated. This didn’t feel right. No name was attached, albeit understandably. One doesn’t snitch their own break-ins.
*PLEASE DO NOT BE ALERT*
I was particularly unsettled by that line. It was an odd demand from someone who had just *trespassed my fucking home*, but it could manifest itself in other methods.. be alert. Alert of something else? Why shouldn’t I be?
My face, tired. My legs, tired. My heart, aching, my eyes, refused to remain awake. I knew I should probably report this to someone. The neighbour, perhaps. I get up from the couch and fall instantly. My world is asleep and the city fades from me.
Morning comes harshly with a cough and a sputter, a strong urge to vomit. Once I finish doing so, I tread back to the living room, my alarm yet to ring off. I turn on the lights, while walking past the record player, I notice the Mingus record is no longer there.
The work day was consumed by relentless thought, none of which was innocent wandering. I struggled to remember the night before at that time, yet one image remained ingrained in me. The person standing on the other end of the subway, a black hole human standing at the tip of the world from me.
One lone thought treads over.. did they fancy themselves a Mingus?
The day came to a close. As does the next. And the next. I soon took the initiative of moving into another apartment, one only farther down the block - apparently online reviews heralded it as better than the one I was currently in. A breeze of monotony led to my eventual lunchtime forgetfulness of the bizarre events during it. But the nights? Far from it. I become thankful of the fact that firearms are an easy deal here, and the landlord permits them on the premises (albeit I am far from proud of my ownership). The box is in the bottom drawer beside the bed. I did not reopen it for those months. The winter passed, spring took its place, the bottle was closed, the sleep was rarely interrupted. The grifter in the old apartment was a remnant of some time ago.
5 P.M. is the time to clock out. The cafe was a warm and welcome smell for the hour or so I remained typing out the pages of word salad. My ideas were clear. My breaths were clear. Still, so was the document by 7 o'clock.
I treaded home. I shut and locked my door, and within seconds I heard a sound. An audible creak of my old, noisy wooden bed - as if it was waiting to do so as soon as I entered. I uttered a “Hello?”, eliciting no response. I became stiff as a statue, and suddenly seemed to recall a few important words:
*PLEASE DO NOT BE ALERT*
No chances were going to be taken. I grabbed the same butcher knife from the large holder on the counter as I did before. I pulled out my phone and punched “911” into the keypad.
I said out loud, “I will call the police.”
No response to my idiotic quip. Stupid game, stupid prize.
I quickly unlocked my apartment door in case I needed to exit, a thought that only then had hit me. As I headed back to the kitchen counter, I heard a doorknob twist and the bedroom door open very slowly, but very slightly. I was unable to see the door from the angle in which I was standing, but could hear its hinge’s prolonged scream abruptly pause, then continue. It paused again. Then continued again. Then paused for a last time.
Tears began to well up in my eyes from the transient anxiety building inside my chest. I was becoming desperate.
“Pleasejusttakewhatyouwant.” It came out like one word.
Nothing for a moment. I prepared to hit the call button, then looked up to see a piece of paper held up by a hand from the corner of the door. On it were three words that shook me completely, scribbled with a black permanent marker:
DO
NOT
SCREAM
The page remained in the grip of the hand for a few seconds as I tried to comprehend what it said. Slowly from the doorway, and by slowly, I mean very slowly, to the point where it felt like a sludgy fever dream, emerged a sight that.. Well, we live in a day and age where it is inappropriate to judge one for their looks, but I cannot state what I felt when I saw this person standing from me. It was a mix of confusion and horror, and brought me incredibly close to blatantly disobeying the words on the paper.
This person seemed taller than me, wearing a deep purple suit. The hair was greasy and thin, and partially covered the side of the face, wielding a golden brown complexion, if not darker. Their right ear didn't seem to be there. Their irises blew out white, with harsh, deep purple bags underneath them. I was so transfixed by this, that it took me some moments to realise the gun in their hand - it was mine.
They crumpled and tucked the paper into their breast pocket, then made a motion with their hand like mine holding the knife, and putting it down. Were they suggesting I do the same? I could not find a better option than to oblige. I set it on the counter and slowly raised my hands. I was too terrified to think of the outcome if I was to hit “call”, but my phone’s screen timeout had likely already activated.
“Take what you want,” is all I say. They walked by very calmly, unblinking, to the side of me, towards the door, but then got closer to me. My heart dropped to the second floor, maybe even the lobby. I backed up, and they reached inside the back pocket of their pants, retrieving and placing on my table a small white card, then the gun. They calmly retreated to the door, and opened in a manner that of which had signified they were aware it was unlocked. They disappeared with the door’s closing.
I stood in awe for a few moments. To the peephole I went, and I silently gazed at the wall outside for a few seconds, with no one else visible. I quietly opened the door, and from side to side, saw no one walking down the sixth floor hallway.
I shut the door behind me and locked it. I looked in every location of my unit and found nothing untouched but the handgun, which reminded me to place it back in the drawer. Just before placing it in, I released the magazine from it. It was empty. I soullessly placed it back and closed the drawer. I then sat on my bed (and cried extremely fucking hard).
After letting my tears flow for around five minutes, I got up and walked back to the kitchen. The card was placed on the counter. With some hesitation, I flipped over the blank side and saw only one thing.
A phone number.
|
I'm so excited to see mom!
My daughter exclaimed
I know you are honey. Come one now, get in the car.
To give you all a little back story, my name is Michael. My wife divorced me 2 years ago due to me having a crippling drug addiction. Over the course of these 2 years, I became a better person, I stopped taking drugs and hanging out with my old pals all in the hopes that my wife will come back to me one day. That day never came. One day, I got a call from my ex saying that my daughter missed me and really wanted to see me. After all, you can't keep a child from seeing their own father.
I drove 4 hours to springfield to pick her up and went back home. She stayed with me for 2 weeks. We went to the arcade, the movies, her favorite restaurant, and I even bought her a few dolls here and there. Anyways, the 2 weeks pass by quickly, and it's time to take her back to her mother.
You sure you got everything you need, sweetie? This'll be a long drive.
Yes, dad. can we go now?
Of course we can!
I started my car and began driving. I lived in Oklahoma city, and my ex lived in Springfield, Missouri. It's a 4 hour long drive that involves going through the Oklahoma ancient forest, which is where we encountered them.
Hey dad, look a-
BUZZ-BUZZ-BUZZ-BUZZ
oh hey, your mother is calling.
I picked up the phone and accepted the call
Hi...
Hello, Michael. So how's Hailey? Did she have fun?
Yeah, she's alright, we went to movies, the arcade, I even bought her some new toys.
can I talk to her?
Hailey, here, your mother wants to talk to you.
Hi sweetie, did you have f-
DAD WATCH OUT!
*Breaks squealing* BANG
HELLO?! HELLO?! HAILEY?! MICHEAL?!
We crashed the car, I passed out. The last thing I heard was my ex's worried voice over the phone. I woke up in my house, I was arguing with Samantha...
PLEASE MICHEAL! PLEASE! Go to rehab Michael! You have to stop, PLEASE! You have to stop for the sake of our little Hailey. PLEASE LISTEN TO ME!
I can't... I- I tried...
Then I can't be with you, Michael, I- I want a divorce
No Samantha, baby, please. I'm trying I-
DAD! DAD! DAD WAKE UP! DAD!!!
Wha- What happened?
We crashed into an elk, dad!
Oh my God! Oh God! Hailey! Hailey, are you hurt, sweetie?!
Only a little.
Is the elk still alive?
Yes, dad. I think it's hurt
I grabbed my pistol out of the glove box and got out of the car, I saw the elk, covered in blood and barely breathing. Poor thing.
Oh you poor, dumb animal! Hailey, close your eyes!
BANG
Dad! Why did you shoot it?!
To put it out of its misery.
I moved the elk out of the road and got back in the car, I pressed the gas pedal, but the car didn't move.
You gotta be kidding me!
I went out of the car and popped the hood open. The engine seemed ok. As I was opening the car door, I heard tree branches rustling and something rapidly approaching me, fearing for the worst I turned around and aimed my pistol in the direction of the sound with my finger on the trigger. Suddenly, the noise stopped, I sighed a sigh of relief. Maybe it was just a wild animal? Amidst all the chaos, I didn't seem to notice that Hailey didn't make a noise as all that happened, I turned around to find a broken windshield, and Hailey nowhere to be found
HAILEY?! HAILEY, WHERE ARE YOU, SWEETIE?! HAILEY?!
I took a flashlight and an extra round of ammunition out of the glove box, I put the magazine in my pocket, turned on the flashlight, and began frantically looking for my daughter. Eventually, I saw the beam from my flashlight hit something
Hailey?
I said in a distraught voice
Hailey, i- is that you?
I got no response, I decided to keep on walking to whatever the thing was until its appearance became more clear as I approached.
It was a girl alright, but not Hailey. She looked much older, maybe 15 or 16. She was wearing a dirty white hospital gown, and her flesh seemed to be... rotting
When I got close enough to clearly see the side of her head, I knew that there was no way in hell that thing was human. I slowly turned around and tried to walk back, but it was too late.
It let out an ear piercing demonic screech that I can not describe. As I heard it rapidly approaching me, I knew that running was no good, I aimed my gun and fired half the mag at it until it finally collapsed.
Thoughts started rushing through my brain. Did these things take Hailey? What if they killed her? She's probably shivering out of fear right now.
As my brain was processing what just happened, I heard a loud scream coming from the forest
AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!
HAILEY! Oh my God, that's Hailey!
I ran as fast as I could in that direction, I ignored the pentagrams and wendigo skulls hung up on the trees and kept on running towards the direction of the noise, pistol in hand.
Suddenly, the fog cleared, the light of the midnight moon shined through the forest. The joy I felt was soon replaced by dread as I saw strange beings around me. There were at least 5 of them.
One seemed to look like a wendigo, the other had the body of a horse and the torso of a human. The only thing I could say about the third one was that he had a tall, slender humanoid body wore a maroon hoodie with a black cape and carried a strange object in his hand. The 4th one was a fat humanoid figure. In his hand was a rotting, half eaten corpse of a cat. The 5th one was an old woman, she was tall. Very tall, she wore a black dress and had black paint under her eyes.
As I stood in the middle of those creatures, I knew I was hopeless. There's no way the 10 bullets I had left would take out those hideous things.
I blinked and saw them all standing not 5 inches away from me, I started shivering, thinking about how gruesome my death will be. They all started chanting something in some sort of language I could not describe. I felt hopeless until the old woman raised her hand, and I saw Hailey
HAILEY!
DAD?! DAD, HELP!
LET US GO! What do you want from us?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US?!
???????????
LET US GO!
???!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The old woman grabbed Hailey and gave her to the fat one, I saw my daughter screaming her lungs out as the thing bit off her limbs one by one.
NOOOOO! LEAVE HER ALONE!! HAILEY!!!!
AAAAAHHHHHHHH
It sounded like the woman was laughing. Eventually, my daughter's corpse was dropped right in front of me
So you killed her... now kill me. KILL ME!
??????????????????
KILL ME TOO!
????
They started to walk away...
This was sent to me by an anonymous reddit user on the 17th of May. I was scrolling through reddit, not a day later when I found a post saying the dead body of a man was found in the Oklahoma ancient forest. His death was determined to be suicide via gunshot to the head |
I get occasional short shivers from my childhood. It feels like, for a split second, I'm struck with a fever and my body combats to raise me from a sudden drop in my body temperature. According to google tho, it's a natural activity of our bodies. Although, maybe it's just me who later found it unnatural.
Totally unrelated, but, I have watched enough horror movies, and the ghastly entities I see on the screens won't cut it since I am aware of the cliches. The only time where they can scare me to death are in my dreams. Seriously, I remember me jumping up awake scared to some demon in one of my childhood nightmares.
However, I'm way more afraid of strange looking lights. Basically, smaller spots of lights. A good example would be the light bleeding out from our living room at night through the small diamond-shaped fanlights up at our walls. Let's say the scary stories woven around UFOs or those footage from Iranavila, Puttalam, Nocchiyagama, Anuradhapura, and Kovilyaya, Mahiyanganaya about a strange floating disk or an orb caught on camera triggered this fear.
Back to the shivers. As far as I knew, I used to get one of them once in a blue moon, I mean, once in a month, to be precise. But about a month ago, it got strangely frequent to the point where I get a chill every fortnight. And I started noticing that it happens only in night time. Isn't that strange?
I have a fascination with electronic and electric stuff. Audio equipment hold my interest. The first (and only) assignment I had with Analog electronics was to make a simple audio amplifier, and I was the only one to make a stereo amplifier rather than a cheaper mono one with 2 out of 10 LM386 chips. That was a bed of roses until we had to etch the circuit using copper boards, ferric chloride, and finalize it with a bridge rectifier, so we can run our amp on mains, i.e. our 230 V 50 Hz AC grid supply, Keeping in mind the risk of electric shocks. Hopefully, that gave me none since I was overly careful with the memories of me getting shocked by faulty power outlets, or in our words "plug points." Those shocks weren't "humble" like those chills I was going through. It feels like me getting a cane strike from an angry teacher combined with a devilish tremor surrounding my heart.
The shivers I got to talk about here, started taking a twist into a territory kinda like that. And man, I could get so descriptive on differentiating different types of chills I got to experience daily. Got a "normal" chill while listening to a news about immense floods in Florida despite having nobody related at there to worry about staying here in Colombo (I beg you pardon if that was rude by any means.) and my mom asked, "Are you alright?" and I responded by shrugging that off as a normal thing, so that I won't disturb my sister rote studying in her room for her upcoming A/L exam.
And that was the worst mistake I made.
I usually sleep facing to the empty wall next to my bed rather than to the window. Because, my messed up mind is too good at bringing up some sort of an unearthly glowing orb out of nowhere. I have asked many folks whether they have seen a thing like that. Based on what they said in response. I have built up some faint confidence on "Nothing's out there." Albeit, I remember many occasions where I mumble some random nonsense alone in the dark to make an escape from a fear rising out of nowhere but my mind.
Again, my body shook. Except, I heard a sting of some sort of hum. From before, I thought it was a figment of my imagination, based off of the fallen angel at X-files. But my ears pulsated. My sleep quality is hella low, and I experience false "falling downs" in my sleep that snap me awake, but that's another story, however, The clock read 11:24 at the bottom of the night. That shiver was sustained, as if my body struck a heatwave of mere five seconds, and I remember my wooden bed crackling like never before, sort of like someone's jumping on it. Only I can remember myself gagging. Miraculously, I saw some blue tint through that god forsaken window I ignored to face at in the night. Hell, I was that nerdy to make up my mind, thinking "no, maybe the blue receptors in my eyes are refreshing since I wear those "blue cut" glasses. A chill is an act of refreshing my body, get over it. Blah blah blah..." But can that explain the whoosh-like transition to the usual pitch black of what I see in the night?
The following day, out of confusion, I asked my mom, dad and even my sister on any trace of sound, a light or eventually, whether they got a sudden chill in that night. Well, guess what, they were asleep. And they had no idea what I was talking about. However, having some idea that I frequently experience sudden shocks, my mom asked me to come meet the doctor. But, I even passed on that, seeing how we went "on roll" with nothing much to spend having paid another installment of a hefty university fee.
I managed to do my medications myself. I started laying a cloth dampened with cologne on my forehead when I sleep, Got overly curious about my posture, moved to drinking filtered or hot water. Avoided cold food and got my tongue burnt yet again. But the chills never left.
I had a habit on reading. Lately, YouTube got the best of it and I kind of moved to watching or listening to documentaries. TechTrack, Raamuwa (Randika Wijesinghe)
Vsauce and Veritasium were my all time favorites. In one of Randika's videos, I listened about near-death experiences where experiencing a dramatic slowdown in time was fairly common when the tragic accident was taking place.
The last day was exhausting and it was too late when I arrived at home after clearing our stall of the annual exhibition held at our campus. However, I had such a peace of mind receiving good comments from those who viewed our project. Anyhow, having no more strength left to do anything else, I hit the sack in a hurry when the clock was just about to read 11:28.
That damned shiver came back. Maybe, it's just me who felt a fake slowdown of time. Pain was rising from the inside and moving towards the back of my whole body. And this time it was obvious that I was levitating. In place of that blue tint I had once seen through that window, there was a violently glowing pale semicircle. A few frames later, I heard a glass pane breaking as if some bomb blasted it to smithereens. The hum in my ears went louder and louder like an amplifier cranked up to saturation. Through the grown semicircle, I saw someone or something gazing at me, My back was lying against some irony cold fabric, inside my head, I felt some sharp but delicate "legs" crawling down into my brain, and I have no clue how was I laying on the porch with no trace of any scar when another morning was dawning. |
The title explains it, for a living I do Accounting and during Covid we had to go online. My company just kinda stayed online ever since and I’ve been home alone while my Husband goes to work. Due to this I’ve developed a weird fascination with birds and the study of them. We have this big front window and I put a bird feeder against said window so I can watch all the birds that come in to eat while studying and observing their behaviour out of curiosity.
This day was like any normal day, I woke up alone in bed since my husband works early hours , made the bed, went downstairs and grabbed breakfast and overall had a very relaxing start to the day. That was until I heard the front door slam shut, this was weird since my husband was at work and we don’t have any kids , I was the only one home so who slammed the door shut? I peered my way into the front hall only to find nothing? “Strange” I whispered to myself before turning the front door lock and looking out the side windows, the fog and haze was very bad today due to all the wildfires happening up north. “Shit” I wanted to go shopping today but I don’t really want to go out in such poor conditions. I walked back upstairs to my room since we have an on suit which is where I get ready for my day. Only something was odd. My husband was still in bed , this was strange since I swear I had woken up alone and it was way past the time he would leave for work. I just assumed that maybe I had read his schedule wrong and today was his day off.
I went and had a shower, brushed my teeth and did all the essential stuff to start my day. I went downstairs into the living room to find Cody asleep on the couch, Cody was our 7 month old Berneadoodle we adopted. He’s such a good boy and keeps me company when my husband isn’t home. I sat down beside him and looked out the window to the bird feeder.
That’s when I saw it.
I squinted my eyes for a second , thinking I was probably just mistaking it for a different breed of bird. I remember I had seen a tik Tok talking about passenger pigeons with a drawing of one. I quickly grabbed my phone from my pocket and open tik Tok. Flying through my watch history and then I saw the video. I compared the two , the bird I was currently looking at to the drawing. They were identical.
“Attention: have you seen this bird? Hopefully you have not, as this is a Passenger Pigeon and it is extinct. If you have infact seeing this bird, you have fallen through some sort of rip in the fabric of time and reality. REMAIN CALM.”
My heart dropped. What? This has to be some sort of joke . Tik Tok is full of lies and misinformation. Gen z has to just be playing a joke. I started searching up articles and it was true. Cases of people seeing this pigeon are becoming rapid . I was shaking and was confused.
I heard a sound from upstairs, it knows I know. It sounded like a limp chunk of meat hitting the ground. Kinda like a dead body hitting the ground after jumping from a tall building. I gulped as I grabbed Cody’s collar and dragged him into the front halls closet. We both sat there in pitch darkness due to the fog trapping the sunlight. If there even is a sun here. Where ever I am.
I heard running from upstairs , just feet hitting the hardwood floor . No purpose just running. I don’t think that thing was my husband, and I’m sure as hell great full I didn’t try to wake it.
It’s been 12 hours. I think at least, all I’m going off of is my phones clock, if it’s even real in this universe. I don’t know where I am or how to get out of it. That thing upstairs fell off the banister an hour ago. The sound of bones breaking and blood slamming against the hardwood floor echos in my head . I think it’s moved but I’m not taking the chance. It’s gross in this closet , my pants are soaked and Cody is whining.
I’m not even sure what’s real at this point, what if Cody is one of them aswell? I don’t know. My phones at 8% , when it dies I will loose all connection to people outside of this house. I’ve tried praying but to no help. I’m scared and I don’t know what to do, I’m thinking of letting Cody out of the closet to see if he’s real or if it kills . I’ll update. |
On a chilly autumn night, my wife, Rose, and I pulled into the gas station down the road from our house. Our tires crunched on the gravel as we parked, and the dim glow of the station's lights cast eerie shadows on the pavement. We had just finished work, exhausted and eager to get home.
As we stepped out of our car, a stranger emerged from the darkness, his features obscured by the dim lighting. He approached us with a request that I immediately declined – he wanted a ride to town. It was late at night, and I wasn't going to give a stranger a 30-minute ride into town. No, thank you.
After browsing the gas station's rather unimpressive selection of snacks, Rose and I eventually decided on the snacks we wanted and checked out.
When we left the gas station, I noticed the stranger was gone. He must have asked one of the many truck drivers for a ride to town, and one of them was actually going that way, so they said yes.
We were about 2 minutes away from the gas station when car headlights appeared in our rearview mirror. The driver, clearly intoxicated, swerved recklessly, flashing their high beams and tailgating us relentlessly. Panic set in, and I made a snap decision not to lead this driver to where I live. So, I made an abrupt right turn onto a back road in a desperate attempt to lose them.
We eventually shook them off our trail and managed to arrive home almost 45 minutes later. Even though it was now almost 2 am, we just felt relieved to have evaded our relentless pursuer.
We locked the doors, feeling a semblance of safety. However, our peace was short-lived. In the dead of night, our ring doorbell began to chime incessantly. I opened my phone to check the live feed, but the screen showed nothing but darkness. Probably an animal or a bug flying by setting off. I locked my phone and laid back down, hoping to put the strange night behind me.
But the next few nights weren't exactly normal. Rose and I started to have a few arguments here and there, with her accusing me of leaving the freezer open and misplacing things. Now, I know what you're thinking – she's probably right, and I do have a history of being forgetful, losing things, and not closing the freezer all the way. But I've been very careful lately. After a heated fight about me leaving the freezer open for the second night in a row, I needed some fresh air, so I took our dog Fido out to go potty.
Fido was a creature of habit, so you can understand my confusion when he froze dead in his tracks as we were walking into the backyard. Puzzled, I turned around and walked Fido back to the front yard, where he reluctantly relieved himself. He always refused to go in the front yard. I'm assuming he caught the scent of a bigger animal or something.
This continued for a few more days, with Fido refusing his routine and only going pee and poop in the front yard.
About a week later, Rose and I found ourselves back at the same gas station, craving late-night snacks once again. That's when I saw it – the same car that had pursued us relentlessly last week was parked in the lot. My blood ran cold as I recognized it.
Anger consumed me as I entered the gas station and approached the only person in there besides the cashier "Do you think tailgating someone and trying to run them off the road is funny?" I exploded at the man.
His confusion was palpable for a split second until he glanced outside the gas station window at my vehicle that Rose was anxiously waiting in, his face turning ghostly pale.
"You've got it all wrong," he stammered. "I was trying to get your attention because there was a man in the back of your car. I was sure I was going to see you on the news the next night if I didn't do anything about it. But obviously, I was wrong because you're still here." |
Trust me, there’s nothing more I'd love to do than completely out my employers. They’re powerful, and from what I can tell, corrupt and dangerous. I don’t know the reach of this organization, and truthfully I’m scared to find out.
What I can share with you all is my journal. The company encouraged us to write in journals to “self-reflect” but I can generously say it's more to preserve our humanity. That, or to document our own destruction of our sanity. It was a bad company in hindsight.
We studied people. Strange people. We got the folks that were essentially deemed beyond repair by the typical and otherwise “good” companies. We paid our subjects, and in turn we got quite a bit of cash from unknown but probably nefarious people. It paid extremely well. I didn’t think much of it at the start. Hell, I had student loans to pay and a place to live on my own.
We had a few “successes” but we also had a morgue with enough capacity to fill a small town. Many of the higher-ups referred to this place as a “healing lab.” What a joke.
I could complain like an experienced trade worker about the job all day, but you should see this for yourself:
#x200B;
***August 20th, 2023:***
*My fourth week in, and I finally got to work alongside the doctors and be witness to some of these trials and experiments. It was better than porting around distraught and unstable patients.*
*I was told to observe a session with two doctors. Dr. Steele, and Dr. Desjardin. Steele would turn his nose up at me every chance he got. He didn’t seem to like the fact I was a “mere student” three months ago. Desjardin was a whole lot nicer, but he seemed numb inside.*
*The part of the lab where this session was, essentially was an interview room like you’d see police and detectives interrogating criminals in. I merely had to be off to the side and watch.*
*The lab brought in the patient- a woman in her late forties that looked well dressed, but a bit disheveled. She had to part her messy bangs a few times before she introduced herself: Miriam Cotton. Though most of the paperwork later on would strip her humanity away and she was dubbed as Patient 12C. That was the next patient number in line, after all.*
*Miriam was different from the others that I’d heard stories about. Most were viscous, drugged out of their trees, or completely insane. In fact, she came here willingly. Miriam wanted us to help her to help others. She had an interesting reason, too.*
*She claimed she has seen God, and that he has spoken to her.*
*After the interview Desjardin was puzzled, and Steele ruled her out as a schizophrenic and hardly worth his time. Selfish prick.*
*Interestingly enough, she was allowed to leave the lab after the first session. Most were put away in one of the dormitories. I’m curious how this case will go.*
***August 22nd, 2023:***
*Miriam came back to the interview room. She even brought me some cupcakes, and asked about my day.*
*Steele and Desjardin asked more questions about “God” and what he wanted from her. She devoutly told us about how he saved her from death, and wanted to seek out those who claimed to help the helpless.*
*Things became a bit bizarre when she described his appearance. According to Miriam, God wasn’t the robe-wearing saint with a beard and a cross.*
*God appeared to her as a giant fetus with seven eyes. He spoke into her mind, as he had no mouth. I could hear Steele chuckle under his self-righteous breath. He probably intends on loading her up with antipsychotics and calling it a success. Desjardin looked much more interested but concerned.*
*She was then assigned a dorm. She had some of our personnel escort her to grab her belongings from wherever she was living and move in. She accepted without hesitation. In fact, she was excited. I felt a bit of joy, too. She seemed weird, but friendly.*
*On her way out, she looked at me and said “He sees the good in you, young man.”*
*It was unsettling. The way her gaze hit me was as if I was being watched from somewhere else.*
***August 23rd, 2023:***
*I was actually the one in charge of checking up on Miriam in the morning. She had settled in nicely for the most part. She was as polite as ever. She was required to get the typical physical and psychological screenings, as well as an MRI. She didn’t seem too enthusiastic about it, but she rationalized it as “part of the journey.”*
*Desjardin told me to inspect her dorm room. He said it was protocol, but I had a bit of reservations about doing it. Steele didn’t like that. He chewed me out! He claimed he could have me kicked out of the company if I didn’t pull my weight. Fuck that guy.*
*My reservations were right, however. A bloody stench hit me in the face as I approached the bed. I found the source fairly quickly, too.*
*Painted on the ceiling were seven eyes. The paintbrush? Unfortunately I found it shoved between the bed and the wall- a freshly used tampon.*
*I don’t want to believe Steele, but he may be right.*
***August 25th, 2023:***
*I was brought into the section of the lab where they review the results of the screenings, as well as showcase photos of X-rays and MRI’s and the like.*
*Most of the doctors looked dumbfounded looking through all of the papers but they all collectively agreed on one thing; Patient 12C was dangerous and needed to be treated with intense care. She would be locked here for a while.*
*Some of the doctors and scientists alike were fascinated with her. Proposals of experimenting with multiple types of drugs and substances were flying left, right, and center. It was almost as if they wanted to do it for fun. She seemed like a confused, middle-aged woman to me. It felt wrong.*
*Eventually I saw the papers and immediately I knew I wanted little to do with this individual.*
*She didn’t have any issues physically, in fact, she was healthier and stronger than pretty much all of us. Good heart, lungs, flexibility etc. I eventually looked at the MRI scans and almost fell out of my chair.*
*Her brain was deformed and broken up. Dead center of the brain were seven lumps shaped like eyeballs. How was she even alive?*
#x200B;
***August 26th, 2023:***
*I was told I’d also be staying in a dorm. The staff dormitories were much more luxurious than the ones we gave our patients. I got myself situated pretty quickly and went about my duties for the day.*
*I was tasked with escorting Miriam to get a full body MRI done. She seemed confused as to why, and I empathized with her. I told her it was redundant but apparently necessary. She took my compassion well and we talked about our days. She kept making comments about how friendly I was compared to the others which I took with stride.*
*I prepped her for the MRI and she went through it without much resistance. We got the results scanned and printed immediately in the same room as her this time. The doctor took one look at them and was visibly stunned. He pointed me to the scans and stormed off. I couldn’t tell if he was mad or angry.*
*The brain scan looked the same. Miriam looked at it and began crying. Not sadness, tears of joy. She excitedly grabbed me with a considerable amount of strength and pointed at me.*
*“He’s here! He’s watching you!” she kept enthusiastically repeating herself.*
*In an unsettling turn her joy turned to ecstasy and she began to…go to town on herself in the room. I decided to let it be for a bit while I looked at the rest of the body’s scans.*
*They differed from the day before. Her insides looked weaker, like she’d aged ten years. Her strength was there, but her internal organs looked like the ones someone in their sixties or even seventies would have.*
*I snapped her out of her own fun session on the ground. She apologized. She remained delirious and muttering things about how “God is on his way” and the like.*
*She thanked me, giving me a hug that almost crushed my rib cage after I escorted her to her dorm.*
***August 28th, 2023:***
*She’s been getting MRIs daily, and having the same reaction. Her organs are giving out, and the thing inside her brain is now growing.*
*She attacked Dr. Steele when he tried to snap her out of her delusions. He’s nursing two broken fingers and a bite wound. Miriam is now locked away in one of the basement dorms. It’s closer to that of solitary confinement. She's in a jacket and tied to a toilet so nobody has a reason to approach her to relieve her.*
*She’s aging on the outside too. She looks like she’s in her sixties on the outside as well. Her hair has begun falling out and her skin is drooping heavily. She looks like she shouldn’t be alive. I’ve been thinking about that for a while now so I took my lunch outside of the lab and grabbed a newspaper from a nearby burger joint.*
*I immediately went to the section that would leave me with more questions than answers.*
*I found her obituary. Miriam Cotton had been pronounced dead after falling off a cliff during a hike. August 14th, 2023 She left behind her husband. They had no children.*
*Flipping the paper over I found a story about a body missing from the morgue. It didn’t reveal which body but it was easy to put together.*
#x200B;
*Patient 12C had been resurrected by “God.”*
#x200B;
*I brought the paper back with me to show Dr. Steele and Desjardin. They were both dumbfounded. Steele deduced that they were going to begin experiments. I’m scared to find out what he means by that. Surely it’s for the worse at this point. What are we doing to these people?*
***August 29th, 2023:***
*It was horrible. HORRIBLE.*
*Dr. Steele should have his license revoked at this point.*
*First, Miriam was electrocuted and her organs were monitored. She didn’t react until the doctors turned it up to a voltage that was fatal. Then she shrieked.*
*“Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt me!” she screamed as she thrashed in the chair. It was brutal. Everyone observing this was stunned as her body began regenerating from the electrocution damage. It took twenty seconds exactly for the damage from the electricity to heal.*
*Dr. Steele put me in a “time-out” like a child when I protested hurting her. I don’t want to piss off whatever “god” is inside her brain.*
*Dr. Desjardin threw his lanyard away and walked out of the lab. A few others followed from what I heard. I wanted to do the same, but I had no other prospects at this point.*
*After my timeout was over, which was three hours, I wanted to be assigned to a different patient. I was denied. We lost staff and this task took “utmost importance” according to Steele.*
*On the same day, I was tasked with delivering epinephrine to the doctors who volunteered to administer it to Miriam. I watched from the cameras as they injected her twice over ten minutes. She began to wail out, the sound nearly inhuman. She sounded like a beast in agony.*
*She cried out “God has left you all!” “God has died for you!” “What have you done!?”*
*I asked Steele how much they dosed her with. He nonchalantly said 18mg total. That’s almost double the lethal amount. When I protested he simply said “she’s dead anyways, isn’t she?”*
*The apathy enraged me, and I stormed off. This wasn’t “healing” this was torture.*
*If I don’t get reassigned, I’m quitting in two days. That should be enough to cover my bills for a few months at least.*
***August 30th, 2023:***
*I woke up to the alarms going off. I immediately hopped out of bed and got dressed, ready to escape this hell. Fuck the extra pay, I needed my soul back!*
*Doctors and other lab workers alike were screaming, some were covered in blood. Some were missing limbs. I went on instinct and ran towards the main exit of the lab. One of the doctors who ran past me yelled that Patient 12C had escaped.*
*She was restrained in the basement with a straightjacket and tons of steel doors down there. Yet she somehow got out.*
*I wanted to leave her be anyways, so I jogged alongside one of the doctors asking for an explanation. Before he could begin an elongated arm emerged from the vent above me and grabbed him. Whatever grabbed him threw back the top half of his head at me. I was too scared to fully look at it. Was it poor Miriam?*
*As I made my way closer to the entrance I realized I was seeing less and less of my peers. Did I get out late or was I the only one who was going to make it out?*
*I heard Dr Steele’s voice ahead. He sounded weak and in pain. Can’t say I had much sympathy at this point.*
*I rounded the corner and he was crawling on his hands towards the exit. He had lost his right leg. He had his lab coat tied around the stump but it was still leaking a blood trail.*
*He demanded someone carry him out of the building, then turned his attention to me. He demanded I pick him up but before I had the chance to flip him off and bail someone emerged from a vent in the ceiling.*
*Miriam. She had changed. She had too long of limbs, skin so thin you could see the muscle and organs inside. Not only that, but seven eyeballs sprouted from her face and sides of her head. She seethed, as now all nine eyes locked on me.*
*“Thank you.” I heard the words in my mind.*
*I’m not sure, but I want to say it was God.*
*All I remember is the thing that was once Miriam slashed open Dr. Steele’s chest and gouged out his eyes before I ran. I screamed and wailed as I ran into the hot barren land.*
I never went back to the lab.
I want to say that God might be real, and that God thanked me for putting that poor woman through hell. In truth, I feel the lab was responsible for the hell they inflicted upon the woman that was one Miriam Cotton.
I intend on turning myself in, and maybe I can take a few of the people from the company down with me. I mean, what’s one more prison, right?
|
Sorry For The Long Wait...You Can't Really Catch A Break In This..."City", Or Whatever You Wanna Call It At This Point. I'm Kyle And If You Don't Know What's Been Going On Recently, Go Here;
#x200B;
As we opened the front door, we were met with a chaotic spectacle; Lamp posts floating several feet in the air, Roads winding up and downward, Cars filled with some tendrils that were similar to the book's tendrils, buildings warped and twisted and nobody was anywhere to be seen.
Cody Took out a notepad and started sketching something and then showed us the map of the city before the incident.
"Do you think this is still accurate"? I asked, turning to Emily.
She scoffs, "Of course not, just look at the roads for gods sake...But I wonder if we could use this old map to traverse some areas that are filled with illusions". Emily concluded.
"Well, we should go look for St. Georges first, that's most likely where George Is". Cody Added.
We walked through a row of cars, peering inside to see if anything was still functional...
Sadly, everything had been twisted or warped in some kind of way.
We Approached An intersection when we heard a guttural growl to our right. I turned just in time to see a humanoid figure running towards us, their limbs were bent and twisted at odd angles, making them look like some kind of puppet. I quickly dodged to the left but Cody wasn't so lucky; He was slammed to the ground and a loud thud was heard as Cody's head was slammed into the sidewalk, blood seeping from his head to form a sickly red puddle on the ground as he went limp.
Emily lunged at the creature and stabbed it repeatedly with the kitchen knife, watching it slowly die as it let out several loud screeches. Emily wiped sweat off her forehead; the air in this city seemed to be much hotter than normal.
Suddenly, we heard several more guttural screeching and to our horror, there were now three more creatures surrounding me and Emily. I took out George's Gun and fired off a shot, hurting my arm and grazing one of the creatures in their neck. It was enough to make them wary as they all took defensive positions to try and close in on us. I motioned for Emily to go get Cody and get out of here. She looked confused but trusted that I could handle this.
The creatures seemed to not care about Emily And Cody as they closed in on me...
I took a deep breath and ran towards them, grabbing one of the creatures and firing a bullet into their skull. My arm screamed in pain as well as the hole in my chest as the other two creatures tackled me to the ground, scratching me with their abnormally long fingernails. I gritted my teeth and shot another two bullets, one of them missing and another latching deep into one of the creatures arm. They kept clawing at me, trying to quickly subdue me. Scratch and scratch, blood trickled from my body as I desperately tried to fire off the gun accurately.
Bang. Miss.
Bang. Miss.
Bang...
A direct hit in the neck of one of the creatures. They collapsed in black, oily, blood, as the other who was shot in the arm, backed away, clearly surprised I was not dead. I wiped some blood off my chin and aimed the gun with my trembling arm. The creature saw this and charged, knowing that running away would not help itself.
The creature was almost on me, leaving me only half a second to react and in that moment I managed to fumble my gun and it dropped the floor, the creature accidentally bumping it out of my hands.
I quickly backed up but the creature knew it had won. It charged and I quickly ducked behind a car, the creature tumbling over me, onto the hard-surfaced road.
I ran desperately, seeing a bar that had its doors wide open. I rushed inside and quickly closed the door, holding it shut as the creature banged against it, letting out another screech in anger.
I knew I didn't have much time so I quickly looked around while making sure I barricaded the door with nearby heavy objects.
As the creature banged on the barricaded door, I looked for any exits and conveniently there was a back door leading outside to some kind of alleyway.
As I entered the alleyway, I heard a human-like scream from above, I looked up to see large, pitch black spiders with human faces that resembled citizens in the city looking down at me with their empty eyes.
"What the hell-" I went to say but was cut off from the creature slamming his hand through the back door. I didn't have much time to get out of here.
I quickly ran through the alleyway, dodging and weaving between trash cans and discarded objects.
I turned back to see the spiders tying the creature in some sickly yellow webs. At first I was relieved but then I realized I was gonna be next if I didn't find some sort of hiding place.
I made my way back to the intersection and called out for Emily and Cody, only to be met with silence.
I heard scuttling behind me and realized that the spiders were almost here. I ran towards the nearby buildings, looking for a way inside but a lot of their doors were twisted beyond recognition. I ran to a door that was almost in the same familiar shape as a normal door and saw a small trail of blood leading inside. I ran in only to see I was in a small room that stretched upward for what seemed like hundreds of feet.
I heard a faint yell and it sounded like Cody but it was high off the ground and sounded like an echo. Determined, I made my way up the building using various objects such as floating staircases and desks that somehow could support my weight.
I climbed for what felt like hours until I made my way to some kind of balcony door on the side of the building. I opened it, only to be met with Emily who was tending to Cody, stopping the bleeding from his head with some medical supplies.
She turned to me and seemed shocked.
"What happened to you"?! She asked hysterically.
"What..."? I asked.
She pointed at the several cuts all over my body.
"Oh that's just from the creatures". I said.
She sighs, and laid an unconscious Cody on some cloth.
"How did you get him up here"? I asked.
"I was able to push him up with those weightless objects you climbed up with". She said bluntly.
"But they didn't move when I used them" I said.
"Did You Try Pushing Them Upwards"? She asked.
I was silent.
"Did you actually climb your way up here"?! She asked, now shocked.
We Both Went Silent as we heard some human screaming below
"Oh my god there's survivors"! Emily was about to go down to help them but I stopped her.
"No, They are spider things with human heads. They are trying to lure us out". I said.
"How do you know they aren't actual people"! She asked frantically.
"Because they followed me". I said grimly.
#x200B;
"you...you led them to us"?! She looked terrified.
"I-I Didn't Mean to- I-" I tried to say but she cut me off.
"No. You should have known". She said, grabbing Cody and hoisting him onto her back.
"There's a fire escape we can use to get out of here". She sighed.
I sighed with relief but that relief was short lived as a sickly yellow web barely missed me. They were here.
#x200B;
We Ran to the fire escape connected to the balcony, desperately rushing to get away from the spiders. I heard a human groan as one of the spiders flung themselves towards Emily and Cody. I yelled for Emily to watch out and she was surprisingly able to stab the spider in the neck, mid-air. I was surprised she managed to do that with Cody weighing her down but brushed it off as we needed to get going.
We started descending the fire escape but halfway down the fire escape starting leaning to the side, sending us sliding towards the edge of the fire escape. I grabbed onto the railing and Grabbed Emily's hand, sending immense strain to my arm as i held us all from falling off the fire escape.
I tried pulling myself up so I could pull Emily Up as well But I heard the skittering of the spiders and realized we needed to jump.
"Emily we have to jump"! I yelled.
"What?! Are you INSANE"?!! She screamed.
"Just Trust ME"! I yelled, preparing to let go.
"Kyle-"! Emily warned but it was too late; One of the remaining spiders slammed into me, sending me flying and Emily And Cody fell down onto the last platform on the fire escape. I desperately grabbed into the sickly yellow webs and they immediately started burning through my flesh. I screamed in agony but held on, swinging myself on the webs to maneuver myself back onto the fire escape.
I desperately grabbed onto the railing as I watched Emily trying to fend off the two spiders but to no avail. She couldn't attack them AND protect Cody and herself from their webs.
My fingers started giving out as the burns were making my hand feel weak and numb, I pushed forward, forcing myself onto the last platform.
Emily Managed to stab one of them in their head, killing them in their weak spot. Though, the other spider did not take too kindly to that and rammed into Emily, Sending her flying in my direction. She slammed into the platform, near where I was standing.
"Are you okay"? I asked.
"Obviously Not". She said, gritting her teeth as the spider was upon us.
"Wheres Your knife"?! I asked frantically.
"Right here". She said, handing me her knife.
I rushed towards the spider, only to narrowly avoid more sickly yellow webs. I couldn't get close because of the many legs and webs and the spider kept getting closer and closer...
I realized there was only one thing I could do to save us.
I cut a cord that was still connected to the fire escape and suddenly, we were thrust to the ground.
To my horror, the spider landed on its feet whilst me and Emily took significant bruises with our fall to the sidewalk we were hanging from.
I quickly got up, stumbling a little bit but holding Emily's Knife.
I turned to see Emily Making sure Cody was ok. If I lose...We will all die.
I rushed towards the spider, being wary of the webs and the legs, I weaved between the spider and managed to stab it in the side of its face before being knocked back by one of its legs.
The spider shrieked and ran towards me but I was ready, I ducked under the spider and stabbed into its underbelly.
It stumbled for a second, then turned back to me to charge but as it took another step, a drop of blood leaked from the cut I inflicted. The spider tried to move but as it took another step, the wound opened up more and suddenly, tons of blood and the spider's insides leaked out onto the floor with a wet splat.
Shortly after, me and Emily, with combined effort, managed to drag Cody and ourselves into a nearby alleyway that seemed safe.
I decided to type this out while I had the chance, I'm exhausted and there's monsters at every twist and turn. Along with Cody being a liability, The wound in my chest is getting worse and worse. It went from barely feeling it to a burning pain in my chest. Me and Emily decided we need to head to the Hospital first and foremost or else we probably wont even make it to St Georges.
I'll leave it at that for now, I'll post again as soon as I can. |
My name is Victoria S., I am a former criminal investigator and what I am about to share here is the transcript of an interview taken during my last case in the force.
The only sound I could make out outside of my blanket was a slight rustling sound that one could have mistaken for the wind if they weren't as privy to the world as I was. It was the middle of a normal and hot Sunday night when all of a sudden I was torn from my slumber. I was not entirely sure of what had woken me up but I sure as hell knew it couldn't be anything good. So doing the only reasonable thing, I buried my body under my light summer blanket, while praying that not even the tiniest part of me was sticking out. Everybody knows that a blanket is the most effective way of defending against the creatures of the night but of course only when used correctly.
After a short, wile realized that it was a treacherous situation found himself in as my body heat was doing a fantastic job of turning this bunker of mine bunker into a sauna. Sweat was running into every crack and fold on my body, making me want nothing more than to feel fresh air brush over my skin after diving back out into the normal world.
No! Don't even think that! That is what they want. That I make a mistake, that I open myself up for an attack. They got the wrong guy. I can make it till sunrise if I have to and everybody knows that a monster can't live past the first rays of the morning sun.
A sudden creak of the floorboards made me jump back into my little hideout. Panicking I readjusted the blanket, trying my very best not to make a sound. There it was again, the creak, unmistakably the sound of the floorboards in the hallway between mine and my family's room. How many times have I heard it in my life, when my parents made their way toward my room but on this terrible night the sound of the footsteps was all wrong? Their rhythm fit neither my father nor my mother. Light and close together but hasty at the same time, as if someone was making an effort not to wake me up while unable to contain their sinister excitement for what they were about to do. At this point, the sweat had formed a patch underneath me, its stench clogging my nose. Was it just sweat at this point? Or had I lost control over my bladder? It was no use. All my focus was bent on following those wretched sounds. With the deep grumbling of the loose old plank right in front of my room they found their end.
I had locked his door, right? I must have. There was no other way. I always lock the damn door. Should I go and check? If I dashed there, I should be able to beat whatever was on the other side trying to open it. YES! Yes, I would do exactly that and be safe right after.
I readied myself and was about to leave the bed, all the hope that had just built up in my chest and made my heart beat fast in triumph vanished alongside these thoughts. A simple and faint but also familiar squeaking sound broke the newly found silence. Tears started streaming down my cheeks, feeling icy cold on my feverishly hot skin. It was the sound of my old, warped door being pushed open. Not only wasn't it locked but the thing knew how to open it.
Never had I cursed the carpet floor as much as now, as it was masking the intruder's steps. A crooked laugh here and a scratch on the wall there were my only ways at an attempt to locate the foe. I had to stay strong. Out of nowhere, something heavy fell on my legs and with that, I heard giggling and hastied footsteps leaving my room and eventually the house. Wetness seeped through the blanket, where the two almost round objects were dropped but I did not dare to look at them. I only came out when the officers arrived and found me.
The interview occurred after a dispatch unit recovered an 11-year-old boy, Nate R., from his family home. A neighbor had previously alerted the police of an unusual quietness in the affected residence. I assume the door ripped off its hinges also contributed but that is just my assumption. When my colleagues got there the place was completely ravaged. Patches of torn-apart flesh and pools of blood led them to what would later turn out to be the parent's remains. Mr. and Mrs. R. were only identified after some samples were compared with DNA taken from their heads. Said heads were found placed on the blanket the child was still hiding under. Their blood had completely stained him at this point.
Our investigations led us nowhere and my conclusion that this was a supernatural threat was promptly ignored. They pinned the murders on a local drifter who happened to be at the wrong location at the wrong time. With that being said, I left and joined a special group of vigilantes, set on informing people about creatures and phenomena akin to these and combat them. I will be sharing more in the future.
Loving,
Victoria. |
My daughter is the absolute love of my life, she is my spitting image a little mini me that likes to follow me around and do all the “guy” stuff a father would do. When I work on the house she is the one that hands me my tools, though she is only 7 years old she already knows what a pair of channel locks look like, she even knows how to properly use a measuring tape; I find it to be the most adorable thing whenever her little finger counts how many 1/16's or 1/8" of an inch something is. I know most parents probably wouldn’t feel safe with their 7 year old handling tools but I’m always there to supervise her and make sure she learns how to respect said tools, me telling her as usual
“These are what?”
“They’re not toys” she would always respond in her cute soft voice bringing a smile to my stoic face.
Whenever we do finish a project together my little helper would gather up all the tools and place them carefully into my tool box, trying her best to pick up the container to hand it to me. Her little arms would just aggressively shake with effort; trying her best to lift the heavy box, so I would usually let her try for several minutes, me watching on with enchantment at her ambition. Finally after giving her several minutes to try and seeing her huffing and puffing from exhaustion I will bend down to her level and kiss her little forehead and then pick up the heavy box taking down into the basement where I house the rest of my equipment. She always wants to go down there, an idea I am not to fond of; knowing I have way too many tools and construction material out in the open where she could easily get hurt. This only made her curiosity grow and for being a small child I could imagine how much her imagination must of built up what was down in the basement, so I decided to use that wonderment to my advantage, I told her there was a monster living in the basement. I figured this would be the perfect deterrent to discourage her from ever wanting to go down there.
I know what your thinking, what kind of father tries to scare their 7 year old kid, well I guess me, and I know what probably bothers you even more why wouldn’t I just put a lock on the door. You see, that’s where I have an issue I don’t like locked doors; for the longest I didn’t even lock our front door something my wife would always scold me about, but for the sake of my daughter when she was born I did comply in locking the front door; to my wife’s delight.
When I was a kid I was captivated with the game hide and seek, I would always badger my mother to play with me, something that I could clearly see annoyed her. So I would a lot of times just hide from her and eventually jump out of my hiding spot to scare her, the times my mother would jump I would feel a sense of victory as if my 'stealthiness' deserved some award. My mother unlike me seem to always lock doors in fact almost every door had a lock on it even our closets. So one day while my mother was cooking I decided to hide in my parents closet and jump scare her whenever she came upstairs to find me for breakfast. I quietly tippy toed into their room not wanting the floor boards to squeak, I then unlocked and slid open the closet door, I walked in and shut it behind me. I crouched down and waited quietly in the darkness giggling to myself already envisioning my mothers reaction and that’s when I heard the growl, it was coming from behind me. It was a horrid sound as if a rabid dog was snarling at me ready to pounce, I turned my head to the noise trying to figure out what it was and to my dismay it was pitch black I couldn’t see a thing.
That’s when I heard my mother enter the room and I guess she had seen that the closet door was unlocked and came over to lock it, me enthralled with the devilish sound that was protruding from the darkness left me unaware at the time that she had locked me in there with whatever was making that sound. I tried to get out but the door wouldn’t budge, I banged on the door and screamed for help, tears falling down my cheek I could hear the sounds of that growl growing closer. I even wet myself from terror as I felt a heavy warm breath permeate on the back of my neck and that’s when my father finally opened the door, I fell to the floor crying hysterically him looking on with befuddlement. Ever since that day I hated the idea of locked doors I guess you can say I was traumatized as far as whatever the hell that thing was I just accept the fact that my imagination got away from me.
So as I told my daughter about the monster in the basement I saw her eyes light up, not with fear but with excitement. I quickly realized my mistake but didn’t feel like crushing my daughters heart after I told about some monster so I continued playing along.
“Really a monster in the basement” she asked.
I nodded.
“But you gotta promise me not to go down there okay” I told her.
She happily nodded her head up and down; she had the hugest smile that I had ever seen.
As the weeks passed I didn’t even give much thought at what I told her I figured she would forget about it, but I would catch her every once awhile just staring at the basement door, I wanted to tell her the truth but seeing how enthralled she was with this imaginary monster made me hesitate from the idea of breaking that dream for her.
As time went on I started to notice a weird smell coming from the basement, it was a foul scent as if perhaps a critter died in the wall; but every time I would go down there to acquire the source of the smell I could never find it. My daughter always at the top of the stairs would tell me its because of Harry,
“Who?” I remember asking.
“He's the monster” she told me back.
I wasn’t too sure if was cute that she gave her imaginary monster a name or was it getting out of hand. The smell grew worse with each passing day and I was determined to find the root cause, I was ready to demolish the walls and find that dead creature that was inundating my house in its horrid stench, but my wife reminded me of our yearly camping trip, I was a bit perturbed knowing the smell would only grow worse but I didn’t want to disappointment my family and we went on our little getaway.
Returning home I had completely forgotten about the smell, that was until I stepped inside the house, the stench had grown worse and I vividly could tell it was coming from the basement. I told my family to wait outside as I headed towards the basement door, I cautiously opened it and the foul smell hit me like a bag of bricks I nearly fainted; it was terrible I felt myself begin to gag. It was as if dozens of animals had died down there and their rotting corpses drenched the air with their stench. I turned on the light to the basement but the bulb didn’t illuminate
“Perfect” I told myself.
I covered my nose the best I could with my hand and proceeded to head down the stairs into the darkness until I heard my daughter walking towards me.
“baby I said to wait outside” I told her.
“Its Harry, its what he eats” she told me.
“What?” I asked back with a perplexed expression.
“I feed it cats” she responded back.
And that’s when I heard it; the sound that terrified me when I was a kid, it was that growl, it was coming from the bottom of the stairs. I slowly turned my head, sweat inundating my body, my heart rate began to accelerate.
“No not possible” I whispered underneath my breath.
I stared down into the dark basement trying to make out anything and that’s when I saw it, 2 ghastly eyes glowing in the dark staring right up at me.
“It’s just Harry, don’t be scared” my daughter said, me barely making out her words since I was too engulfed with the presence of this demon, then what my daughter said next chilled me to the bone and my eyes widened with utter terror,
“I haven’t fed him since we left, he’s…just…hungry”.
I shut the door after that and grabbed my daughter, retreating back to our vehicle. We haven't returned home in a few days, my wife thinks I'm going crazy and my daughter well, she misses Harry. I'm not sure what the plan is but I know one thing for sure and that is I'm not returning back to that home anytime soon. |
Hi, my age isn’t really important, but I still live with my mom. I’m an only child so when I was young my mom got me a golden retriever to keep me company; I named him Buster after the character from Arthur and he was 11 years old at the time of the story. He’s been with me through a lot and honestly retelling this story hurts me and just brings back horrific memories.
So it was the summer and everything was pretty normal. My mom recommended that we go camping, which I was pretty excited about. I've always dreamed of going out to the forest and telling stories around the campfire. So we packed our things, bought a new tent and headed out to the nearest campsite that allowed pets; yeah, Buster came with us which I’d soon learn was a massive mistake.
When we got there we set everything up pretty quickly, and the campground was basically full as tents lined the lots. Me and my mom had separate tents and Buster stayed with me. If I remember correctly it was the third day when things started to get weird. That day a girl from another camp who was around my age asked if I wanted to go up the trail with her and a few of her friends which after some consideration I decided to go with them. Buster joined us, he was old but still active and his tail wagged the whole way through the trail. Every now and then we’d stop and I’d throw a stick for him to fetch. We walked a few miles until we finally turned around and by that time the sun was starting to go down. A few of the people in our group were worried about not getting back before dark but I reassured them that everything would be alright, after all we had Buster to protect us. On the way back I continued to throw sticks off the path for Buster to fetch, and that was a mistake. We were almost back to camp when I threw another stick, this time farther than usual. Buster bounded after it, his tongue lolling out of him mouth before he dove into the undergrowth and I lost sight of him. A minute passed and I called out for him and the others noticed.
They looked back and at each other with worried looks, then a few minutes later the brush started to shake violently, followed by the sounds of whimpering and pained yelps. Everyone bolted except for me, I just stood there in fear hoping that he was okay. He hobbled out of the brush, the stick wasn’t with him and he seemed to be alright, but it was like something was off. It was dark so I couldn’t exactly get the best look but even once we got back to the camp I still couldn’t see anything off about him. That was until we got home.
Once we got home he became really clingy, always sleeping in my bed whereas usually he’d sleep on the floor. His sleeping position was less curled and was more similar to how a person would sleep. After a few nights being back from the camp I began to notice a sickening but also sweet smell coming from Buster, and flies seemed to be attracted to him but he was still alive and perfectly okay. It was less than a week before I noticed that something was wrong with him beyond his behavior and smell.
I was grooming him, his fur shedding more than usual and as I looked at his eyes I noticed something; they weren’t his. The black orbs that every dog has seemed to be replaced with something more akin to that of a person. They were brown, like that of a straight black coffee. I think I looked too long because the eyes stared at mine and his mouth flopped open and his tongue rolled out, by this time it was dry and no longer produced spit, but he panted all the same.
That night as I rolled onto my side of the bed I asked something out loud; “What are you?” and I didn’t expect an answer but one came anyway.
“I’m Buster, your loyal dog.” It said while my face was away from its muzzle. I was frozen in fear. I felt a human hand grab my side. “And I won’t leave you anytime soon.”
My breathing got fast and my heart raced, I finally unfroze after a few minutes of its hand on me. I rolled out of bed and faced whoever was inside the corpse of my dog, and I was met with a slim shadowy figure. It looked uncanny but still somewhat human. Its torso protruded from my dog's stomach, Buster's rotten corpse was made more apparent as I saw his ribs pushed apart to make way for whoever this was. It smiled at me, just like any person would. It tried reaching its hand out to me, its brown eyes staring at me as if it wanted to live inside of me next.
“Get out of my house!!!” I screamed at it. “You’re not my dog!”
It looked taken aback, and in that moment I ran for my bedroom light, flicking it on and when I looked back all I saw was the rotten corpse of Buster, maggots emerging from its ripped open stomach. I still don’t know what that was, and I don’t think I ever will. |
There comes a moment in every young man’s life when he has to stare from the knife in his hand to the boner in his pants and question whether free will can truly exist in a world where an honors student can find himself in this situation and not run away screaming.
She wrapped her arms tightly around her ribs and pushed away the first tears. “You *think*?” she demanded, her voice shaking. “He’s nineteen, and thirteen months ago, it felt like-” She rubbed her palms against her eyes. “Do you doubt, even for a second, that I wake up *every single day* wondering what the hell I was thinking when I decided to date him?” Her tears flowed faster than she could wipe them away. “I’m so *stupid!*”
I couldn’t figure out where to put my hands, feet, eyes, or self, so I just sort of shuffled awkwardly in place. I tried to hand the knife back to her, but felt a white-hot pain in my arm when I lifted it, so I pulled it back in shock, figuring the weapon would curse me if I released it early. I tried to mask the sudden hurt.
“No, I understand. It makes perfect sense.”
She wiped her nose and stared at me. “Dating Brent makes perfect sense?”
I nodded. “No. Well – see, that’s what I mean. Sometimes a person can, just – I don’t know - *affect* you so deeply that even if you know what you’re doing is wrong, or stupid, or dangerous, it just makes sense. Because if you give up the thing that makes the concept of reason seem unimportant, what are you really saving? The only certainty is that we’re going to die one day, so there’s no sense in letting go of something that makes living worthwhile.”
Penny allowed half a grin, but didn’t stop crying. “Is that a monologue from some stupid 80s teen movie?”
“Huh?” I grunted. “No – I just kind of said what I was thinking. See, that’s exactly my point. We can be reasonable people who knowingly say and do stupid shit when staring at that one person who can make us forget how the words go.”
Penny looked down and nodded sadly, her raven hair shimmering in the afternoon light. “James, I am so sorry.” Her shoulders slumped. “I know I’m that person for you.”
That was probably the most awkward moment of my life. I remember Jimmy Fischer pissing his pants in the fourth grade and turning redder than I had thought physiologically possible. By the way my face was burning, though, I was pretty sure that I’d surpassed Fischer-red. “I was so careful. How did you find out?”
Penny shrugged. “I have my ways. To clarify, you remember that you’ve stabbed Brent twice with a supernatural blade, right?”
“Oh, right,” I answered. “So, like – witch stuff?”
She rubbed her arms. “Something like that. I needed someone to would do whatever I said without question, so…”
So that was what made me special to her. Penny had looked me up in a crystal ball or some equivalent fuckery and found a person whom she could use however she needed. I felt like shit.
To her credit, though, she was exactly right about my willingness. “So – how does this thing work? I can stab Brent by putting it in you?” My stomach lurched at my own unexpected phrasing.
She allowed a deep sigh. “That knife will transfer most of the damage to the other party when a strong romantic connection exists. Stabbing me will hurt Brent far worse.” She flashed a fake smile. “So there you have it: I can’t separate feelings of intense attraction and complete terror from the ex-boyfriend whose next beating might be my last.” She threw her arms up into the air. “I guess that’s it, James, isn’t it? You idolize someone until finding out she’s completely fucking insane.”
“Um.” I shuffled some more. “No, you just sound completely fucking human. Brent’s an idiot. I don’t like you any less.”
My breath stopped.
Slowly, I looked down at my arm, heart racing. I poked it, and the white-hot pain immediately returned.
“OW!” Penny screeched from three feet away.
“Oh, shit,” I breathed. “Okay, Penny, I think I know what we’re going to do about Brent, but you’re not gonna like it.”
*
I was crouching in the bushes outside a house I’d never seen before, clutching a deadly weapon while peeking through the windows, when I again reflected on the ridiculous things we do when the right person makes us think it’s a good idea at the time.
Pausing made me reflect on my decisions, which was a terrible idea, so I pushed open the window and crawled inside. Most people don’t lock their first-floor windows, and they never stop to consider that fact or double check unless something terrible happens.
I told myself that I wasn’t going to do this, that I couldn’t intimidate a guy twice my size who had already dragged my name into a serious felony. Denial was the only way I was able to convince myself to walk through his living room and into the kitchen with no idea of what I would find.
Of course I found Brent there, because it was his house and I was looking for him. Solid fear hit me all at once, igniting every nerve in my body as I finally accepted the reality of what I was doing.
He stared at me with all the fascination of a newborn discovering his fingers for the very first time.
“The fuck, you shit?”
“Um,” I stammered, “is that a question?”
“Who are you, and why did you brink a fucking knife to my house?”
“Oh,” I looked down at the blade. “Um, stay away from Penny. Forever.”
“No.”
I balked. “Okay, then. Stop hitting her.”
“No. She’s my girl and I can do whatever I want to her.”
I wrinkled my brow. “She stops being your girl if she wants to break up with you.”
He looked very confused. “No she doesn’t.”
I, too, felt confused. I’d never had an argument like this before. “Well – never mind, it’s too complicated – you’re not allowed to hit someone if they don’t want you to hit them, okay?”
“Yes I am. I’ve done it before.”
My jaw hung slack. I gaze him up and down, noticing bandages on his arm and thigh. “Okay,” I explained slowly, “you can’t do it because I have a knife.”
He looked at me like I’d pulled Excalibur from my own rectum as dawning realization came over his face. “James?” Comprehension gave way to fury. He screamed and took an intimidating step toward me.
I instinctively held up the knife. He paused, looked over at the kitchen counter, then grabbed a chef’s knife from a chopping block.
Then Brent charged at me.
I really, really hoped I was right about the next part of my plan, because I liked not being dead.
“Sorry, Penny,” I whispered, driving the blade into my thigh.
WOWZA did that hurt.
Brent screamed and grabbed the same part of his own thigh. Then he collapsed to the floor and was quiet.
I pulled my blade out, yelping in agony as I did so. Hopping back once, I examined my injury.
There was almost no blood.
Then I looked back at Brent, now holding my knife aloft, ready for the next attack.
But it didn’t come. In fact, Brent wasn’t moving at all.
Hands shaking, I moved around his body, keeping as much space between him and me that the kitchen would allow.
He still didn’t move.
Then, as I drew even with his side, I saw it. He had landed on the chef’s knife, which had slid between his ribs. The entire blade had disappeared into his chest, which was now pooling blood beneath him.
That solid fear now cranked past what I thought a human could experience. My mind spun.
I reached for my cell phone to call 911.
Then I realized what was about to happen. If he survived, he would just keep coming after Penny. I’d seen in his face that he would never, ever stop. If he died, and I called it in as the sole survivor and witness, claiming that I’d only broken into his house to intimidate (but not kill) with my knife, it’s possible that the jury would think I was full of shit. The fact that he had already led the cops to my house didn’t make things any better.
And if he was going to die anyway, what point was there in calling an ambulance?
“Sorry, Brent,” I whispered. “If you’re going to dig your own grave, make sure you’re not standing over a septic tank.”
*
“The police did interview me, but I just repeated the fact that I didn’t know Brent. They had no proof against me, so his death got filed away as an accident. Everyone in town pretended that he was this amazing guy instead of a complete turd, which is what you’re supposed to do when a turd dies, and we all moved on with our lives.”
“That’s it?” Connor asked.
“And you expect us to believe your story about magical knives?” Julia added.
I leaned back in the chair and looked back and forth between my two children. “You’ll both be starting high school next year, and your friends are going to start dating. The whole point of my story is that the romantic aspect is far more intense than the magical part of it.”
“Dad,” Julia sighed, “half of our class has already started dating. We know how dramatic it is. And are you really going to just brush past the part where you killed someone?”
“He didn’t kill Brent. Don’t you remember learning about natural selection?” Connor turned from his sister to face me. “So what you’re telling us is that we shouldn’t date anyone at all, because they’re not going to like us back and it’s going to suck?”
“Well,” I shrugged, “the sucking part is just something you’re going to have to go through.”
“Even though we’re going to be rejected,” he clarified.
“Yes.”
Connor stared pensively at the ceiling. “Is it really worth it?”
I shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. You’re going to chase the feeling, no matter how much it hurts. I’m just trying to get you ready for it.”
“This was a really weird talk, Dad,” Julia explained.
“I knew it would be. But I did it anyway.”
They stared at me in exasperation.
“And I’d do it all again,” I explained as Penny walked into the room, her raven hair falling perfectly around her face. She moved behind me and draped her arms around my neck.
“Sofie says her parents are weird, but she’s wrong,” Julia explained to her brother. “Her parents are hippies. Ours are just *weird*.”
Connor looked from her to Penny and me. “So is that it? Can we go now?”
|
The end of the world has always and will always be a controversial topic. Some people say it will happen when the sun explodes, some when humans destroy it and some belive in judgment day.
My story begins on a dark and quiet night. It was very calm. I was outside in the woods playing my guitar. It was very relaxing, sitting on the forest ground, playing guitar surrounded by nature.
I was getting ready to pack up and go back home when I heard a noise. It was a crack of a branch. It wasn't abnormal to hear this but usually it meant a predator so I prepared myself. I grabbed my guitar and held the neck, holding it as a sort of bat.
Admittedly I must've looked stupid but either way I knew first hand a guitar to the face hurts. There was another crack of a branch. I felt my ankles and feet all of a sudden become very cold. I looked down and saw that the ground had been covered in a thick mist so thick that I couldn't see my ankles.
I looked back up. I couldn't see anything so I turned around. I dropped my guitar in shock. Stood infront of me was a dark creature that stood about a head taller than me. It had dark antlers that stood up multiple feet above the thing, it had 6 pale grey eyes that stared deep unto me.
It's face looked like one of those skulls that you see on western films in the desert just without the horns. It was clothed with a black cloak that reached the ground.
It took a step over towards me. It looked down at me and nodded it's head. Inside my head I heard a voice.
"Hello, human. I have come to your plain of existence to warn your race of its eventual demise and the end of your existence. I am what is known as an estrian and I roam earth but in another plain of existence. My race has advanced way beyond yours but because of your races actions during your existence the shayk race will destroy yours soon. However, due to how your race has been built up and developed, your race could fend of the skayk if warned previously. That is my job."
I stood there in shock. Who was this thing? Why did it want to warn me? What is the estrians? What is the shayk?
I was then transported. I felt myself floating through the air as I saw visions. I saw bodies of humans who's faces had been ripped off lined in huge rows that spanned miles. I saw buildings being destroyed. I saw airplanes fall down back to earth. I saw a man have his throat ripped out. I saw a woman have their legs torn off. I saw a person have their eyeballs torn out.
I felt myself start to cry. I saw a boat sink whilst people scremed for help aboard. I saw houses on fire, people running through streets screaming.
Just as quick as it started, it stopped. I felt myself fall back to the ground as I fell to my knees. I started to break down, what had I seen? Was that what awaited humans?
I stayed there and sobbed for a while. I looked back up at the thing that had told me. It looked back at me with those pale black eyes. I heard another voice in my head.
"Spread the word, before it is too late. I must leave now. Good luck." |
My name is Zoe. Have you ever had a dream that felt so real that it was unnerving? If so, have you ever had it come true? I hadn't until one fateful night. This started when I was still a sophomore. I lived in a very small town so it wasn't uncommon for a random person to stop you on the street for some reason. I had woken up for school rather early from a nightmare I had that night. Now, normally, the nightmares I have are random and make no sense, but this one was different. This one was down right terrifying.
It started when me and my friends, Kai and Sage, stopped at our local coffee shop before we headed to school. It was a brisk autumn morning when, as we were leaving with our coffee in hand, this creepy old man stopped us and asked us for directions to the "cabin in the woods." We said we didn't know of any cabin in the woods, he then smiled and said "You will soon" then I woke up. Sweat pouring down my face, borderline hyperventilating. Checking the time; it was 3:00 am, I should have gone back to sleep but I couldn't. Not after a dream like that. At school that day, I couldn't even look my friends in the eyes without almost cowering in fear.
A couple of weeks went by and I had forgotten about the dream completely, that is, until my friends and I were at that coffee shop. As we walk in, we notice that we are the only ones there. We think nothing of it as it is six in the morning. We go up, order as normal, and as we are about to leave, Sage says "I feel funny." before collapsing on the floor. I scream for somebody to help but the realization comes that we are no longer in the coffee shop. I hear a loud bang, then Kai falls to his knees, screaming out in pain.
I look down at him and see blood trickling down the side of his face, his normally bright blue eyes have gone navy with pain. As I am watching him, I feel a sharp poke in my arm, then stinging, burning. It felt like my skin was on fire. I knew I was going to pass out, but just before I did, I heard a sinister cackle from in front of me. As I look up, I see the old man from my nightmare staring right back down at me. Then the world fades away... I wake up to the sound of screaming, looking around me all I see is darkness.
There is a very faint light coming from a window on the other side of the room. I try to get up and run, but as I come to find out, I am tied to a wall. I yell my friends names before breaking down crying, screaming in pure agony. The old man comes up to me saying that there is no use in screaming because no one will hear me. My breath hitches and I can feel the lump in the back of my throat as I ask him "What do you want with us..?" he says in return "To be a family" I nod as my mind starts racing trying to think of a way out of this. I ask where my friends are and his face drops down to mine, and he whispers. "Those weak little fools couldn't handle being in my family." I swallow hard so I don't cry again.
He unties me from the wall, warning me not to try to run. We walk to the dining room where he sits me down in a chair, tying me to it. He then goes behind me putting an old tee shirt over the chest area of my dress, then puts a bottle of what I thought was milk up to my lips before saying, "Drink up Anya It's dinner time." I do as I am told, gagging slightly as I swallow the rotten tasting, jelly feeling liquid. When the bottle is empty my stomach feels like it is being eaten from the inside out. He turned around to grab something as as he did, I threw up the contents of my stomach all down his back and onto the floor behind him.
For years, I dealt with him tying me up and feeding me these horrible things. Even though, I wanted to give up, I still had hope that I would get away from this sick bastard. After what felt like decades he finally trusted me enough to drive him to the nearby store for his medicine. My mind is racing, my knees are weak, my palms clammy with sweat as I death grip the steering wheel. As we are driving, I see a police officer - a state trooper and without thinking I speed up and crash into a nearby phone pole. The old man gets flung out of the windshield as our truck flips a few times.
I must have hit my head really hard because I woke up in the hospital with cops and nurses all around me. As I tell them what has been my life for the past few years, I feel myself start to cry. I must have cried for hours because it was dark by the time I stopped. They called my parents and after two months in the hospital I finally got released.
This was 3 years ago on this very day. I found out soon after going home that the old man had been pronounced dead.. I wish that he would have lived the rest of his life behind bars but, I'll never have to see his face again and that alone satisfies me enough. I still think back on it and how lucky I was and still am to be alive. Folks, always be cautious with who tries to engage you. You never know who or what that person will take from you. |
**I woke up this morning to several texts from my older sister. We argued a couple months ago, and hadn’t spoken since. Here’s the transcript of the messages :**
I’m not sure if this message will go through, but I need to try. Even if you never read this I have to keep busy, I have to stare at something that isn’t the woods or the road or the fields, I need to keep my eyes down until They come. Maybe They won’t see me you know, maybe They’re like the t-rex in Jurassic Park and They won’t see me if I don’t move. I have to try, I have to hope, even if it seems pointless.
*sent at 23:35*
I’m sorry I said the divorce was your fault Becky. I see now that it wasn’t. You had no choice did you? Just like I don’t have a choice now. I’m sorry Becky. I wish our childhood was better. I wish I was better, a better sister, a better daughter, a better friend. I wish I’d fucking believed you when you told me about Them. When you came up to me all scared and distraught and said you’d seen something in the garden. When you woke up crying at night and refused to go back to sleep until the whole family was accounted for. I’m sorry I dismissed you, made fun of you, snapped at you. I never told you, did I? How I used to tell my friends about your “night terrors” and laugh. How frustrated I was that you were hogging all of our parents’ attention while I was sneaking out smoking and drinking and they never gave a fuck. I’m sorry Becky. I was never the big sister you deserved. I sbdhvjdvfdl;
*sent at 23:45*
Fuck
*sent at 23:46*
Sorry about that. I heard some rustling in the woods behind me and got spooked. Bit too late for that but apparently I still can’t help it. Guess it was just the wind, but we both know it may well not be. There’s no way to know. In case They get me Becky and in case these messages go through I should tell you, I’m sitting by the side of the road, you know the one. Facing towards the fields, my back to the woods. It’s funny, isn’t it? I was always more scared of the woods than the fields. You were the opposite. I didn’t change much I guess. Returned to our old house and still more afraid to look between the trees than towards the hills. So much for confronting old childhood trauma. But yeah, when They get me, if you ever want to find my body, that’s a starting point.
I’m too tired to keep running Becky. I’m sorry. Not just for being a shitty big sister, but for being so fucking dumb as to come back here. I don’t even know what I wanted to prove. That your nightmares were in fact just that? That I was right all these years and you had an active imagination? I don’t think so, honestly. I think, I really think I knew exactly what I’d find when I’d come back. I wanted to see Them. I wanted to find Them. And I wanted to die.
*sent at 23:56*
Yeah that was fucking dramatic, and it would have been some great timing if They’d caught me just as I sent that, but They still haven’t, and I’m still too scared to look up from the phone so I’ll keep rambling here. Some part of me wishes for you to get those texts, but I do hope you never do. I can pour my heart out and clear my conscience or whatever, and you can still live your life peacefully without knowing for sure that They were real. It was selfish of me to come back Becky. I acknowledge that. But as I’ve already established the worst track record possible for being a good older sister, I don’t think you’ll be surprised.
Just so you know, I was never jealous of you. I’ve always been happy for you, your successes, your great relationship with Mark. But the bitterness built up over the years. You were the crazy one as a child, but now you’ve accomplished way more with your life than I have, and I’m seven years older. If a stranger was to guess who spent time in a psychiatric facility as a child just looking at our adult selves, they would not hesitate to pick me.
So yeah, Becky. I’m happy for you, I’m fucking proud of you, I truly am, but I am also resentful. Mostly against myself you know. For fucking up. For being as fine as I could be given the circumstances as a child and waiting until now to have my life fall apart. I didn’t even tell you Steph left me. I didn’t even tell you I lost our child. I was too ashamed to do so, but that doesn’t fucking matter now does it? Because you were right, all those years you were right, and I had to wait until I was 35 to finally make sure you weren’t crazy. I failed you just like I failed everyone else, and I’m sorry. I am trying to make it right though. I don’t know if guns can hurt them, but I will try. I’ve got holy water with me as well, which is ironic I know, and stones and herbs a witchy friend prepared for me. I won’t go down without a fight, without making those bastards pay for taking away your childhood and destroying our family.
*sent at 00:10*
Well, I pressed send as I heard footsteps behind me, but of course there was no one there when I found the courage to turn around. It’s like I’m waiting at the bus stop, and the bus is running late, and I end up waiting for so long I figure I could have walked home in the meantime, but at the same time the bus is bound to arrive any second now and why risk walking? I’m rambling, I know. I told you, just need to keep busy until They come. I think my ankle is broken anyway, so I can’t walk, even if the bus never comes. Ha.
*sent at 00:14*
I’ve spent all night reliving our childhood. My childhood rather, since we’ve had radically different experiences. I keep trying to recall every single mention you made of Them. That time you were insisting our cat was gone and something evil replaced it? And I gave you shit for it, because of course all cats are evil so that was no big deal, Mr Fluffington had just run away and you were still processing the emotional rollercoaster of losing your cat and finding him again? Do you remember that, Becky? When I woke up covered in scratches even though the cat was not allowed in our room, and you freaked out, and I shrugged it off?
I saw Mr Fluffington at the house Becky. You were right. Cats don’t live that long, but that wasn’t a cat.
I almost didn’t recognise our pet, he was bigger than I was, just massive darkness enveloping the garden, two white dots serving as eyes but no light reflected in them, teeth - massive, long, sharp, too many of them, dragging into the dirt, seemingly going in all directions, he was nothing but darkness and teeth and those fucking eyes - but when I started backing out towards the gate, you know what the fucker did? It meowed, Becky, it fucking meowed, and I knew in that moment that you were right two decades ago, that wasn’t our cat, that was something dark, evil, ancient, and it was feeling playful. It meowed, and it grinned, and I thought I was going to die right there and then, but I found the gate and that’s when I started running towards the road, until I tripped - you’d laugh if you’d seen me, I slipped on my own puke, from when I first saw the house again, I’d forgotten about it by the time I fled the garden, and I slipped, and fell, and I heard the bone snap, so I hopped towards the side of the road to sit on the stone where we used to watch the sunset, because that made me feel like you were with me and I couldn’t bear to be alone.
That’s why I’m typing on my phone right now, typing those rambling messages. I miss you Becky, and I love you. I’m so sorry.
*sent at 00:25*
They found me. I’m going home. I love you.
*sent at 00:28*
**To say my blood ran cold is an understatement. Years of repressed memories flooded back, memories of that cursed house I vowed never to set foot in again, memories of my parents' exhausted faces as they left me with the doctors, memories of my sister's tears when I returned to a broken family, memories of Them.**
**I did my best to get dressed and immediately go to the station. I am now on the train to our childhood town, fighting back tears, trying to get my thoughts in order. I am severely unprepared for what’s to come, for what I will find back at the old house, but it doesn’t matter.**
**My sister went home, and I need to get her back if I still can.** |
Flipping through the pages, I felt a chill creep up my spine. The notebook contained a detailed account of a horrific experiment conducted in 1978. It spoke of trapping individuals in isolated rooms, exposing them to hallucinogenic gas, and paying them $100 for every hour they endured. The experiment was known as 'The Halluse Syndrome', and the experimenters were Leo, Mark, Alex and Jonathan - all scientists with a dark fascination."
and i will now explain in detail excatly whats written in the notebook”
:log 1:
"Before we started the experiment, Alex got over his nerves. He wanted me to rethink. He thought it was a ”harmfull” experience. But i just told him: "You're just weak. Go do something useful. Or I'll put you in there with them!"
:log 2:
"And then it began."
The experiment unfolded as Leo described in excruciating detail. The rooms were quiet, pitch black and without sound. Scientists delivered food and water without a word and maintained an eerie silence. Participants had the option to quit, but as the text in the notebook explained: "NONE has made it through 5 days..."
:log 3:
HOUR 1:
The first hour in the dark, isolated chambers was a disorienting descent into sensory deprivation. The participants groped in the pitch-black gloom, hands trembling as they searched for some semblance of familiarity. The absence of light played tricks on their minds, and some began to report subtle, disturbing distortions in their perception. A few saw fleeting shadows lurking at the edge of their vision, and strange, ethereal whispers seemed to flicker through the air like distant radio transmissions. They had entered the realm of the unknown, a place where reality and hallucination blur into a confusing haze.
:log 4:
HOUR 5:
The fifth hour marked a turning point, where the boundaries between reality and hallucination became increasingly porous. Whispers, faint but persistent, insinuated themselves into the minds of the participants. These disembodied voices were like echoes of forgotten memories, beckoning, persuading and sometimes begging them to abandon their torment. It was as if the very air around them was permeated with a spectral chorus of voices, each pleading for release. Still, despite the growing anxiety, 47 individuals remained steadfast in their resolve, determined to endure whatever this experiment had in store.
:log 5:
DAY 2:
As the second day dawned, the situation took a nightmarish turn. At precisely 10 o'clock in the morning, the chambers rang with agonizing screams that pierced the oppressive silence. The participants described the source of their torment as an ominous voice, one that seemed to emanate from the very walls of their enclosure. It pleaded for flight, its tone shifting from desperation to menace as it warned of impending terror. This voice was relentless, unrelenting in its torment, leaving the participants breathless. Only 30 individuals persevered through this harrowing day, their minds frayed at the edges.
:log 6:
DAY 3:
Gray, grotesque creatures materialized in the inky darkness of the chambers on the third day. These twisted apparitions taunted and tormented the participants, their ominous laughter echoing like an ominous symphony. The voice that had tormented them since the beginning grew more terrifying, its utterances filled with dire threats that made them shudder. Shadows danced on the periphery of their vision, and some swore they could feel icy, sticky fingers brushing against their skin. Participants were locked in a macabre dance with their own fears, with only 15 souls enduring this day of relentless psychological onslaught.
:log 7:
DAY 4:
On the fourth day, physical torment joined the psychological horrors. Deep cuts appeared on the participants' bodies, mysterious wounds that defied explanation. These injuries required surgery upon release, a grim testament to the disturbing nature of their ordeal. The gray monsters, once mere apparitions, now manifested with terrifying clarity. They seemed to derive sadistic pleasure from feasting in the arms of the hapless victims. The Voice's promises of impending doom hung in the air like a malevolent mist, and only 5 participants endured the relentless torment, their minds teetering on the brink of madness.
:log 8:
DAY 5:
The fifth and final day was a descent into a nightmarish abyss. Hundreds of gray monsters, grotesque and insatiable, swarmed the remaining three participants. These creatures pulled them towards a yawning abyss that defied comprehension, their eyes glittering with malice. The voice, now more deafening and tormenting than ever, filled every corner of their minds and drowned out rational thought. The participants were thrown into a living nightmare, a maelstrom of terror, pain and hallucinations from which there seemed no escape. The abyss beckoned, and the participants teetered on the precipice of their own sanity, their fates hanging by the thinnest of threads.
:log 9:
Only 2 of the 3 last people survived. The 2 WHO survived threw themself out. Whitout eyes, arms and lost mutch skin. The last survivor died just a minute later. And exactly no one knows why he even stayed there for this long. But i guess that no one will ever know. I killed Alex, mark and Jonathan after that. I know that the grey creature or whatever it was, Are proud over me. I will put on the gas and get in the chaimber myself. NOTE THIS! Me leo. Im not crazy. Im just really willingly doing what humanity wants! And the humanity wants progression! ”end off log”
thats in detail everything thats been written in the notebook. I continued to read this harrowing account, my heart sank and my mind struggled to comprehend the depth of human suffering described in the notebook. The last pages of the notebook were blank, leaving the ultimate fate of the unfortunate participants shrouded in darkness. I couldn't help but wonder if anyone had survived this horrible experiment or if it had consumed them completely.
With a heavy sigh I closed the notebook, its cover creaking softly as if echoing the silent screams of those who had endured 'The Halluse Syndrome'. The laboratory around me remained desolate, a haunting reminder of the horrors that had unfolded within its walls.
I knew this ominous tale would stay with me, a terrifying reminder of the darkness that could inhabit the human mind and the depths to which individuals could be pushed in the name of scientific curiosity. As I left the abandoned lab, I couldn't shake the feeling that some secrets were better buried, hidden in the shadows of history, never to be unearthed again |
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