teddit

“SHIT!”

I wrenched the steering wheel over to the right, causing the tires to scream in protest. A deep horn blared loudly, almost rupturing my eardrums, and the interior was momentarily illuminated by harsh white headlights. For a split second, my life flashed in front of my eyes, and then I felt the bumpiness of the grassy edge of the road jostle me around. The eighteen wheeler which had veered into my lane missed me by less than a foot, blasting by in a blur at what had to be seventy miles an hour or more. After a split second of catching my breath, I jabbed the driver’s window switch down and stuck my head out into the pouring rain.

“Asshole!” I screamed at the retreating logging truck, though I knew the driver wouldn’t be able to hear me. A moment later, an outraged woman’s voice tumbled from the speakers of my rented Chrysler 300. “I beg your damn pardon?!” Regaining my senses and remembering I’d been in the middle of a phone call, I sat back down in the seat. “Not you, Erin” I said apologetically, “If you didn’t hear the commotion on my end of the line, I almost got splattered all over the front end of some moron’s Peterbilt who wandered over to my side of the road” There was a moment of silence from the speakers, and then my agent let out a small snort. “Well, isn’t that just grand? You’ve gotta love idiots on the roads these days” It took a softer tone. “I’m glad you didn’t get into an accident, Al. I don’t feel like losing my best client and close friend in one go” I laughed. “Helps me relax to know you care” I admitted, then, after a moment getting the tension out of my muscles, I pulled the car back on the road and continued on.

It was the winter of 2022, and I was on my way to a book signing in Seattle from where I lived in Gold Beach, Oregon. I was a writer who’d just broken the New York Times Bestseller list with my debut novel, and as such, I was on the start of my book signing tour which would take me around the country. Obviously, as many people would quickly realize who I am if I used my real name, I have changed it, along with others. Erin, my literary agent, had suggested I fly to Seattle from the airport in North Bend, but I’m someone who’s had a major anxiety over flying ever since the September 11th attacks in 2001. So, instead, knowing I hadn’t purchased a new car to replace my rather shabby and broken down one yet, she’d arranged me a rental, and I’d begun the almost seven and a half hour drive north.

“I wouldn’t have had to deal with those dingbats if Interstate 5 hadn’t jammed up with that accident” I muttered. “Well, you were the one who wanted to drive, Al” Erin’s chiding voice came through the speakers. “Do you have any idea where you are?” I glanced at the GPS map for what had to be the hundredth time. The screen almost seemed to glitch, jumping as the antenna on top of the car attempted to communicate with an orbiting satellite above. Piece of shit. “No, this stupid navigation system is apparently on the fritz” I snorted. “So much for Enterprise being a good car rental company” I looked back up just in time to see a sign with the gas symbol flash past. Thank you, God, for small favors, I thought. “Hey, there’s a gas station coming up soon. I’m a bit low anyways; I’ll stop there, get directions and then call you when I’m on my way, okay?” There was a sigh on the speakers. “Okay, just, please, try not to be too long. The publishing house won’t like it if you show up to your very first book signing late tomorrow” she said.

“I’ll be as quick as I can” I said reassuringly, then pressed the red disconnect button on the steering wheel, ending the call. I let out a sigh of relief; Erin was my saving grace and had been the one to orchestrate my contract, including a very nice advance, but after a while, it became exhausting to deal with her. I stared out the windshield at the two lane road in front of me, relishing the silence, save for the rain pelting the car’s windshield, the windshield wipers flicking it off, and the tires on the wet pavement. For a few more minutes, all I saw was nothing but endless trees pushing in close to the road, almost seeming as if they were jostling to see who drove up and down past them. Then, almost as if my thoughts had summoned it, I saw the bright lights appear ahead on the right like a lighthouse beacon.

It was clearly one which had been here a very long time; the overall appearance gave the impression it had been around since at least the 1950s, if not earlier. I grunted with surprise as I saw the lit up station logo swinging around in a lazy circle on its pole. The faded green outline of a Brontosaurus and similarly weathered red letters spelling out Sinclair were ones I thought I would never see in person, seeing as how the company had gone defunct back in March. Guess nobody told the owner of this one that. I pulled into the station, my tires driving over a small black wire which caused a classic bell to ding loudly twice, somewhere out of sight. Pulling up next to the green pump, I shut the engine off and relaxed back into the comfortable leather, listening to the tick of the engine cooling down. As I closed my eyes, I could only hear the loud buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead, and the rain pelting the metal awning over the pumps.

I opened my eyes as I heard the rain peter out and looked around, glancing at the analog clock on the dash, illuminated by the overhead lights. 7:30PM. Ten minutes had passed. I sighed. “Come on, man” I muttered, then quickly tapped the horn. The blaring sound of it almost seemed to shatter the stillness like a baseball through a plate glass window. Still nobody. “Damn it” I whispered, then unbuckled my seatbelt and pulled on the handle, using my foot to kick open the door. A bitingly cold wind smashed into my face as I stepped out onto the cracked concrete, causing me to flip up the collar of my coat in response. I glanced around, only hearing the sounds of the wind whipping through the trees, crickets chirping, and what had to be the hoots of an owl somewhere off in the forest beyond. The garage bays were open, and in the faded yellowed light of what had to be old incandescent bulbs, I could see what looked like a 50s Cadillac and a 70s International Scout up on the lifts, but no mechanic in sight. Leaning back into the car, I leaned on the horn, longer this time. Again, the sound reverberated off the trees and station. For some reason, I shivered at the noise. It almost feels sacrilegious to disturb the silence out here. I shook my head. Where the hell had that thought come from.

I shook it away and waited another minute or so. There was still no sign of life. Maybe the station IS actually closed. The thought was worrying; I hadn’t seen another sign of civilization, aside from the dumbass logging truck, in two and a half hours. I didn’t know how far it was until the next town or gas station, and as good as the Chrysler had been on gas, I didn’t want to try driving further on only a quarter tank. I decided to find out for myself, slamming the driver’s door closed with a loud thunk. Stepping around the front of the car, I walked across to the open bays, the sound of my footfalls echoing back at me. I glanced around, noticing the spilled oil on the ground, and mismatched tools, bottles and hoses heaved unceremoniously on the bench in the back. But still saw no one. Great, I thought, looking up to see the bright moon begin to appear from behind the clouds.

I had begun to turn and stride towards what had to be an office or convenience store when the figure burst out of the door, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. “Gah!” I involuntarily let out, receiving a good natured laugh in return. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to startle you, let alone make you wait so long!” I caught my breath, then let out a strained chuckle and looked up at the man. He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, dressed in a green Sinclair jumpsuit adorned with the same green dinosaur on the front patch; the patch on the other side proclaimed the man’s name to be Harold. The remaining hair on his head was slicked back, and he flashed me a smile with, surprisingly, bright white teeth. I held up my hand, giving it a little wobble and gave a laugh of relief. “Don’t worry about it, man. For a second, I thought this place was permanently closed or something” I said, the steadiness returning to my voice. “No sir, just the fact it’s only little old me working the night shifts!” he declared, jokingly wiping his brow. I snorted and smiled. The man clearly had a decent sense of humor.

“I’m guessing you need gas?” he asked, changing the subject to business and gesturing to my car. I nodded. “Yes, please, if you could fill her up with regular” He nodded, then began towards it as I jogged back around, opening the driver’s door and pressing the button to pop the gas cap. Harold let out a low whistle as he pulled the pump from its cradle. “Very nice car, sir!” he exclaimed, looking it over. “It looks expensive” I shrugged my shoulders. “It is a nice car, a Chrysler 300S, but, unfortunately, it’s not mine” He looked up at me and cocked an eyebrow as he slid the nozzle in and pulled on the handle. “It’s a rental” I added quickly, realizing it sounded like I’d jacked it or something. He seemed to relax. “Ah, that makes sense” he said jovially, “It’s nicer and newer than anything we normally see out here usually” I jerked my thumb at the open bays. “I’d say you have people with good taste around here, seeing as how that’s a 55 Coupe Deville back there” I said. He laughed, nodding approvingly. “I see you know your cars” he said with an impressed tone, glancing at the readout on the pump. “I do, love ‘em” I replied.

He looked back up at me. “So, are you some kind of auto collector or race car driver, then?” he asked. I shook my head. “No, afraid not. I’m a writer” He jerked his head up, his green eyes seeming to twinkle in the fluorescent lights. “A writer? Well, blow me down, I never thought I’d get a God-to-honest writer in my station!” he exclaimed, smiling. I nodded, feeling a slight sense of uncomfortableness wash over me. I still hadn’t gotten used to the reaction people had when they learned of my profession. He pressed forward. “What kind of books do you write?” he asked excitedly. “I write in the horror genre, honestly” I admitted, causing him to smile widely at the news. “Horror is my favorite style of books to read!” he said. “I love everything from the old classics, to Stephen King!” He looked at me quizzically. “How many have you written so far?” I held up a single finger. “Just one published; I’m actually on the way up to a publicity signing right now” He nodded approvingly, then looked back at the pump before speaking again.

“So, have you ever seen anything truly scary?” I raised an eyebrow at his question. That came completely out of left field. “What’dya mean by that?” I asked in return. He still watched the pumps, but replied. “So many horror writers I’ve heard about talk about how they’ve had their own frightening experience, whether it’s a plain old scare, or even a supernatural experience. It’s what helps them write truly horrifying tales” Now, he looked back at me. His face held a smile which caused me to inwardly shudder a little bit. It almost seemed far too wide for a moment. Then, blinking, I realized it was just a regular grin, if not just a bit of an odd one. The lights must’ve caused you to see things. He finished. “So, I was just asking if you’d ever had a scary experience which got you into writing horror” For a moment, there was silence between us as I pondered his question, only broken by an owl’s screech somewhere in the gathering darkness. Then I shrugged.

“Honestly, I hate to disappoint you, but, no” I admitted. He gave me a slightly surprised expression. “Really?” I nodded, deciding to be honest with him. “Really. To be completely truthful with you, Harold, as much as I love horror, both writing it, and reading and watching it, I’ve stopped being scared of it a while ago” The surprised expression seemed to grow on his face. “Really?” he repeated, then looked down at the pump again. “That’s a shame” he said, his voice almost holding a trace of sadness in it. I nodded, having to agree with him. “It is. I used to love getting scared by a good horror film or book, but, as I got older, it just seemed to, you know, drift away. Now, I just write what I know others are afraid of, like I did with my first book here, but, honestly? When I write, I don’t feel that fear in me at all” I hated admitting it; even when I’d given my first online interview with a magazine about my novel, I’d lied about it, saying that my own work could scare the hell out of me. But, in a way, it felt good to finally admit the truth to someone, even just a stranger I’d likely never see again.

I looked up to find him giving me a rather intense, and honestly, extremely creepy stare. His green eyes almost seemed to glow in the lights, and his smile had completely disappeared. I took a step back at the abrupt change in his demeanor, but just as quickly, it too, was wiped away, replaced by the smile I’d known since he appeared. “Well, I’m sure if you search hard enough, you’ll find that feeling again” he said, his voice filled with what sounded like genuine empathy. I nodded, looking out at the woods. “I hope” I truthfully admitted, then heard the sound of the pump finally clicking off. “Ah, all done!” Harold said happily, pulling the pump out of the car and replacing it back in its cradle. He looked at the readout. “That’ll be $23.17!” I started slightly. Under 24 bucks for three quarters of a tank? I hadn’t heard of gas this cheap since I was at least a teenager, but, at the same time, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I reached into my back pocket, pulling out my wallet, and from it, my credit card. “Do, you happen to accept credit?” I asked, half afraid he’d tell me he didn’t.

But he plucked the card, happily, out of my hand. “Of course we do, Mr.-“ he looked down the name on my card, “Mr. DeMascus! The credit card reader, however, is back inside the main building” He gestured back towards the door he’d exited from. “Would you mind if I took it back there and ran it?” I shook my head. “No, by all means, go right ahead” I said, and he turned away and strode back across towards the building. “I’ll be back out with your receipt quicker than you can say, Bob’s your uncle!” he called. I let out another laugh at the phrase I hadn’t heard in years when I noticed something. I hadn’t seen the man’s back since he’d appeared, and this was my first time. The back of his jumpsuit was the same stained green as the front, with a red oil rag peeking out of the back pocket, but my eyes were drawn to one thing. What looked like a large tear in it, just below the large logo patch adorning the back, almost as if he’d been slashed. I could see an equally stained white shirt underneath it.

“Uh, hey!” I called out to him. He stopped and turned back to me, still smiling. “Yes?” he asked. I pointed to my own back. “Your, uh, your jumpsuit has a huge tear in the back of it. Just wanted to tell you, in case you didn’t know!” For a moment, the same funny look came over his face, and then he waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, I know; I haven’t had a chance to mend it yet!” he said, then, holding up a finger, pulled open the door, causing a bell hung from the inside handle to jingle, and stepped inside. I was left alone again, with only the buzzing sound of the lights almost causing my ears to ring in the sudden silence. Not wanting to seem rude by waiting back in the car, I instead walked to the front and leaned against the hood, staring out into the night. My eyes absentmindedly drifted off into the gloom as I waited for Harold to return.

That’s when my eyes finally glanced over at the large sign directly ahead of me. It was the one which advertised the price for gas by the gallon, and as I’d pulled in from the other way, not to mention getting too caught up talking, I hadn’t even looked at it. You could easily tell it had fallen into a bit of disrepair, as the light inside which allowed you to see the prices at night flickered on and off, precariously seeming as though it would burn out at any second. You could even hear it flickering loudly in the silence. That wasn’t what drew my eye, though. No, what drew my eye was the prices displayed on that flickering sign. “There’s absolutely no freakin’ way” I whispered to myself. I scanned down, but kept looking at the top two figures. Eighty-eight cents a gallon for regular? I felt a small wave of confusion fall over me. No matter how out in the middle of nowhere this station was, there was no way that it would charge that little for gas. Not to mention, it showed prices for both unleaded and leaded gasoline, something that had been banned since at least the mid 90s.

As my mind attempted to process this, something else finally sunk in. The entire forest around the station had fallen silent. And I’m not talking a normal silence, either. The crickets, the owl, the rustling of what I’d thought were deer or elk in the trees, had vanished. Even the wind had seemed to stop. It was an almost unearthly stillness, as if the entire forest were holding its breath. It was beyond unnerving and eerie, to say the least, and it caused a shiver to shoot up my spine. The only sound I could hear was the almost maddeningly loud buzz of the overhead lights, which seemed to drone like that of a growling creature. I realized every muscle in my body had tensed up, though I couldn’t understand why. Sure, the silence is eerie, but, it’s nothing to be truly afraid of, I thought. As much as I repeated that thought to myself, I couldn’t help but feel increasingly on edge in the stillness. “Okay, fuck this” I said finally, the sound of even my own echoing voice sounding just…off to me, pushing myself off my hood and beginning for the door Harold had gone through. As I walked, I looked at the watch on my wrist, seeing another fifteen minutes had passed since he’d left. Where the hell is he? Letting out a sigh, both of frustration, and to try and relieve some of the odd sensation forming in my gut, I finally reached the door and reached out, gripping the handle.

It felt almost shockingly cold in my hand, and I quickly twisted it, opening the door and causing the bell to jingle, sounding too loud in the quiet. I stepped inside and allowed it to swing shut behind me, the bell giving another jingle, this time muted in the building’s interior. I looked around. Aside from an old Coca-Cola machine in one corner of the room, there were no food or drinks in here. Instead, the two or three aisles taking up most of the space were filled with what looked like older style cans of motor oil and other assorted automotive bits and bobs, all adorned with the dinosaur logo. I drew in a breath, then coughed a little. It felt more than a little musty in here, as if it hadn’t been aired out in a long time. Looking directly ahead, I saw the counter that Harold must usually be stationed at. An older style cash register sat atop it, and behind it lay an open door marked Employees only. Beyond was a long, tiled hallway which stretched out for a while before disappearing around a corner.

I stared at the cash register. Haven’t seen one of these old jobs since I was a kid in the 90s, I thought, a few nostalgic emotions breaking through my other emotions and tugging at my heartstrings. But it was just as quickly shooed away by the uneasy feeling that was settling over me like a cloud of dust. This whole thing, this whole place just seemed…wrong. I couldn’t tell why, but it was making my arms and legs feel as though insects were inching along under my skin. After a moment’s hesitation, I opened my mouth. “Uh, hey, Harold?” I called, my voice seeming muted just like the bell had. I waited. No answer. “Hey, Harold, are you back there?” I called again. Still nothing. Feeling increasingly on edge as the fluorescent lights in here sounded like they were also buzzing too loud, I craned my neck to look down the corridor. Just barely at the corner, I saw the bright blue sign indicating a restroom. I made my decision, calling out again.

“Look, if you can hear me, Harold, I’m coming over the counter to use the restroom, okay? I can’t hold it until I get to the next town!” It was a lie; I hadn’t eaten or drank anything in the last two hours to make me have to go, but, just in case he came around the corner, I didn’t want to get into trouble, as odd as I felt. I still didn’t want to piss the man off. Taking a deep breath, I hopped the counter and stepped into the corridor. Unlike the main room, this was lit by three or four incandescent light bulbs, dangling down from the ceiling. It gave the hall a slightly dimmer look than behind me, and I hesitated for a moment before starting down it, taking care not to have my footsteps echo too much. The hall seemed to go on forever, but eventually, I reached the corner. Wanting to keep up appearances, I turned the knob for the bathroom and opened it. After looking into it for a split second, I shut it quickly, suppressing a cough and a gag. It had looked disgusting, as though it hadn’t been cleaned in years, if not decades. Turning back, I noticed a brighter light down at the end of the next stretch of hallway. I debated for a moment, then began down it. All I wanted was to be out of here.

I passed another open door; glancing through it, I saw the two garage bays and the view outside. The blast of cold, fresh air relieved me somewhat, and I continued on. As I reached the doorway, I looked around, seeing that it was an office. Two desks stood inside, each with nameplates on the edge of them. I spied Harold’s name on the far one. I also saw my credit card sitting in the middle of the table; the bright blue stood out among the dark wood and white papers. Letting out a relieved sigh, I crossed to it quickly and picked it up. I decided I’d just leave a twenty and a ten in cash on the desk instead and get the hell out of here. I didn’t know where the man had gone to, and every fiber of my being was telling me to leave. As I reached for my wallet, my eyes caught a plaque on the wall behind the desk, the faux gold glinting in the low light. I stared at it. The photograph was clearly Harold’s, looking almost the same as I’d seen him, just a lot cleaner. Below that was a declaration etched into the fake gold. Employee of the Month, Harold Jankowski. I couldn’t help but smile a little at how hard he must’ve worked for it. Less than a second later, though, the smile dropped from my face as I read the inscription underneath it.

August, 1976. I shook my head, hoping that I was just seeing things in the low light, hoping that it would change to 2006, or hell, even 1996. But, no. It remained the same.”What the fuck?” I breathed out, feeling another shiver go down my spine. There was absolutely no way that, if he’d looked to be in his forties or fifties in the mid-seventies, that he would still look the same forty-six years later. He’d at least be in his eighties or nineties now, and would very much not still be working here. “What the hell is going on…” I whispered again. Feeling like tendrils of dread were reaching out of the gloom and jamming themselves in me, I turned to book it out of the room, and out of the station entirely. But I froze, as I saw Harold.

He sat in an old style black swivel chair, his back to me in the next room. I couldn’t tell what the room was, as it was lit only by a single, very dim bulb directly over him, but the room was giving me off truly creepy vibes. For the first time in years, I felt the first inklings of fear. Before I had a chance to move or say anything, he spoke. “Well, Mr. DeMascus” he said, his voice almost inflectionless. I began to speak. “Look, I’m sorry I barged back in here, it’s just-“ I was cut off as he continued. “Well, Mr. DeMascus, how do you feel?” My shoulders slumped as I felt a wave of confusion envelop me. “Ex-excuse me?” I managed out. “How do you feel?” he repeated, then continued, his voice finally seeming to gain some cadence to it. “Do you feel…afraid? Do you feel…fear?” He let out a low chuckle, one that almost seemed different from the happy one I’d heard outside. I didn’t know how to respond. Finally, he spoke again. “It’s okay; you don’t have to tell me. I know, I can feel it” He let out another chuckle, and I felt multiple shivers shoot up my spine.

“And, frankly, Mr. DeMascus, I’m happy about that” he said, standing up, but still keeping his back to me. “Because, you all taste so much better when you’re afraid” This time I did manage to say something. “…The fuck…” It wasn’t the most eloquent response, but apparently Harold found it funny, as he let out another low, creepy chuckle. He finally turned towards me, and I jumped backwards, slamming into his desk and causing his nameplate to fall to the ground. The man still smiled at me, his smile now holding a very definite wideness to it, holding an almost pants pissing wickedness in it. But, he didn’t seem…alive. His previously sparkling green eyes now seemed glassy and unseeing. To put it bluntly, he almost more resembled a ventriloquist’s dummy, a puppet, than anything. He almost seemed to lean towards me. And finally, he spoke. “I’ll make it sporting, though. You have twenty seconds to run” he said. Swallowing hard, I looked around and saw a tire iron on his desk. I snatched it up, ready to club the man over the head if he made a move towards me.

That’s when he simply dropped forward onto his face. He fell halfway forward into the room and didn’t move. I looked down at him, and gasped as I realized what I was seeing. The man looked nothing more than like a deflated beach ball, as though all the organs and blood in him had been sucked out. I saw the tear in the back of his jumpsuit again, this time much more pronounced. Behind it, his dirty white shirt had been torn as well, and it revealed…oh, fuck me sideways…a hole in his actual back. I could see the white of his spine clearly visible in the yellow light. As I stared down at him, I heard a voice. This one, though, was not Harold’s. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, much lower than I’d ever heard a human voice speak, and. It alone almost caused me to piss myself, because it held a truly evil, sadistic tone to it. Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen. I looked up and into the darkened room Harold had fallen out of. And finally, for the first time in years, I screamed.

Hovering just in the darkness beyond the edge of the dim light’s gaze, were two enormous, glowing green eyes. They were larger than a human’s eyes ever could be, and in a very inhuman shape, looking like crescent moons. They held the most evil, sadistic glee I had ever seen in my life. At my scream, the voice stopped counting down, and…it fucking laughed. A great, booming laugh that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. And then it began counting down again, the malicious excitement in it audible. Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen. I didn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to see what those eyes belonged to. I turned and I sprinted out of the office, running down the corridor, my footfalls and panicked breathing echoing back to me like a gunshot. The corridor seemed to go on forever, and I couldn’t understand why it was taking so long to reach the corner. Finally, though, I reached it. And froze.

I was back at the entrance to the office. What the fuck?! Behind me, I heard the voice reach ten, and I began sprinting again down the hallway. It seemed to take even longer to reach the corner, and this time, I reached out to grab the corner edge with me hand-only to grab the wooden edge of the office door. My eyes widened and I felt tears begin to fall from my eyes as I ran again. The voice continued as I dashed for down the ever increasing corridor. Seven. Six. Five. I let out a strangled sob as I grabbed for the tiled corner, pushing off the edge of the corridor to snatch at it. Instead, I smashed into the wall…next to the office door. I fell in a heap, trying to force myself up when I heard it finish.

Three. Two. One. Ready or not, Mr. DeMascus. Here. I. Come. As it finished uttering the last word, the voice dropped even lower, as if I were hearing the voice of the devil himself speak to me. I realized if I looked behind me now, I’d see it. Standing in the middle of the office, over its human puppet. I refused to look back; I knew it wanted me to. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, mixing with the blood from my head where I’d slammed into the wall. Every horror movie death in movies and books flashed through my mind. And I knew all of them weren’t even remotely as horrible as what that…thing had planned for me. That’s when a thought, just a tiny glimmer of hope, flashed through my mind. Something I’d seen as I’d walked down the hall to the office. I felt adrenaline course through me. I might die trying to do this, but I have to try, I thought.

I heard the floor behind me rattle, and felt hot, stinking breath fall across the back of my neck. For a microsecond, I felt paralyzed with fear, and then I let out a strangled cry, exploding into motion. I heard a bellow of frustration behind me, followed by a laugh. It knew once I reached the end of the corridor, it’d use whatever power it had to bring me right back to it. It had power over this corridor. But it doesn’t realize it left a weak spot open. The thought still echoing in my mind, I ran, unable to keep myself from screaming this time as I dashed down the corridor. It seemed even longer than before, but as I reached the halfway point, I saw what I’d been hoping to spy. The door into the garages stood open, almost hidden out of sight behind a shelf of oil. I let out another cry; this one of determination. Behind me, I heard the creature stop laughing. Now, it let out a bellowing cry of rage, realizing what I intended to do. I felt it begin to thunder up the corridor after me, to snatch me up. The feeling of something sharp sliced across my back.

And then I was leaping for the doorway. And through it. I landed in a puddle of still sticky oil underneath the Cadillac, what I saw now was rusting away with decades of disrepair. Not wasting a second, I jumped to my feet and ran for the open bay doors. Behind me, I heard a louder bellow, but I didn’t look back. I burst out from inside the doors into the night, now laden with the sounds of the forest again. I dashed for my car, almost flying over the hood and ripped open the driver’s door. Crashing into the seat, I stabbed at the start button, for a moment terrified that, like the typical horror cliché, it wouldn’t start. But, to my surprise- and gratitude, it did, the roar of the V6 thundering out. As I grabbed the knob to jam into drive, I risked one glance up. And I couldn’t help but scream out again.

The entire gas station had gone dark. The inside, the overhead lights, everything. I could see the outline of the building, but that was it. And the eyes. The eyes glowered at me from inside the bays with absolute rage and hatred. Still screaming and staring at them, I slammed my foot down onto the accelerator. The tires screamed, and the car shot forward like a rocket, tearing out from under the awning and out onto the road. I refused to look in the rear view mirror. I knew I’d see those eyes one final time in them, and I didn’t want to. I just kept my eyes on the road in front of me, as far as my headlights reached, my knuckles white as I gripped the wheel and roared away from the hell behind me.

I just about never let up my foot from that gas pedal, taking the corners far too fast. Not until the warm lights of the next town finally came into view, one I can’t recall the name of. I felt myself beginning to cry, this time tears of happiness and relief. I drove straight through to the police station. I knew I could never tell them what had actually happened to me; they’d think I was utterly insane, or on something. But, I could tell them I’d been attacked by a crazed lunatic at an old gas station. And that’s exactly what I did. I burst in, begging to speak to someone. The officers at the desk calmed me down and took my statement, taking it all very seriously when I showed them my back, which, as it turned out, had three deep slashes in it. But when I told them where it happened, confused looks came over both their faces. As a paramedic rushed in from outside to check my wounds, one of the officers walked into the back, returning with the sergeant on duty, an older gentleman in his sixties. “Please tell me again, what happened to you” he asked gently. I did, and when I finished, he shook his head. “Son, it couldn’t possibly have happened at the Sinclair station ten or twelve miles back” he said softly. I stammered. “W-why not?” I demanded, struggling for my words. “Because” he began, “It closed in 1979, after a huge fire gutted it, killing everyone inside”

It’s been almost half a year since that incident now. I never made my book signing, which earned me a furious phone call from Erin. Her fury disappeared when she heard I’d been attacked. I told her it had been from someone I’d pulled over attempting to help on the side of the road. I didn’t want to repeat the same conversation I had with the police. They said they’d try and find whoever attacked me, but I know they never will. Not after they showed me a newspaper article, yellowed with age, showing the burned out hulk of the gas station I’d been to. Along with a very familiar photograph of a smiling man next to it. I still am a horror writer. The horror I saw that night didn’t stop me from writing. My second novel is due out this year. But now, whenever I sit down at my computer and begin to write a truly scary scene, I feel the chills of fear from my own creation jolt up my spine. Because I know true horrors lie in this world. And I hope I never come across them again.

I’m posting this here, not only to tell the truth finally about what I experienced, but also as a warning. To anyone who will listen. If you’re ever in the Pacific Northwest, on a lonely two lane road in the middle of nowhere, and you happen to come across an old looking gas station, lit up with a faded green Brontosaurus logo spinning in the night? Just keep your foot hard down and keep going. Because you may not be as lucky as I was.

I have only been driving for a year.

I have never had to replace a broken part in my car, I have never even had my car break down. I've only ever changed my wiper fluid and filled my car up with gas.

I mean, tonight was like any other night, was doing my regular routine of going to the gym, stopping at a gas station to grab a protein shake, and heading home to play video games.

I take this dark, rural road to get home from the gym. Aside from one intersection with a flashing red light and the odd house, the road is bleak and empty.

I was on my way home listening to music when my car died. It was instant. Everything went dark.

I was confused, I thought that my engine would at least start to sputter before my car died. I ended up calling my brother to let him know that I needed a jump, and that he'd be here in 10 minutes.

I decided, out of fear of animals, that I would lock myself in my car and distract myself on my phone until my brother arrived.

I looked around at the darkness surrounding me, it was creepy. It was like I was in a tub of black paint, not a speck of light in sight...

Not long after starting to watch a video on my phone, I heard a light tapping sound coming from my roof.

Tap...Tap...Tap

Now, I thought it could be some sort of tree branch tapping my car, as I was right beside the entrance to a forest with overhanging trees, but that is when I realized the tapping was more methodical.

Tap...Tap...Tap \pause* Tap...Tap...Tap *pause**

I wondered if maybe an animal had gotten onto my roof, and decided to turn on my phones flashlight and open my door to check my roof, and sure enough it was empty. What made me feel uneasy, though, was that none of the trees near my car could reach the roof of it.

I sat back into my car when I decided to call my brother to see where he was.

"I'm five minutes away man, stop calling me"

I hung up and opened Instagram and started scrolling.

As time went on I realized it had been thirty minutes since I had called him. I decided to call him again, and I got the same answer.

"I'm five minutes away man, stop calling me"

Before I could even ask anything else, he had hung up. This couldn't be possible. It was 10 minutes from my house to this location and he'd been driving for nearly 45 minutes. My brother is normally lazy but he wouldn't lie about having left the house when I'm in a situation like this...

That's when I heard it again...

Tap...Tap...Tap

This time it sounded like it was on the window, and so I scanned the windows and saw nothing, that was until I checked the rearview mirror. A dark figure filled the glass, and shining my phones flashlight on it revealed its horrible features.

Pale skin, milky white eyes devoid of any colour, boasting an ear to ear smile.

I let out a scream and that's when it disappeared from my back windshield.

I called my brother a third time and yelled:

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

"I'm five minutes away man, stop calling me"

And the phone hung up. I realized that the expression was the same each time. I decided to call back again but this time look at my phone, and to my surprise when I clicked call under my brothers contact name and that's when I realized what my phone said:

Call Failed.

And I heard it

"I'm five minutes away man, stop calling me"

I realized though, it wasn't coming from my phone, but I was actually hearing it in my ear. I slowly turned around and that's when I saw it, this... this thing behind me, staring me in the eyes with a blood curdling smile. He then repeated it in my brothers voice:

"I'm here."

I gripped the door handle and shoved it open, falling into the road. It was just then when the darkness disappeared and was taken over by light. I looked towards the light source and saw my brothers car pulling up behind mine.

I could hear my heart beat thumping in my ears as my vision came in and out, a vignette surrounding what I could see.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He said, getting out of his car laughing.

"WHA- what?" I screamed, looking into my backseat, it was empty.

"Whats wrong?" My brother asked, more serious now.

"The- there was someone in my back seat" I said, panicking.

My brother retreated to his car and grabbed his gun from his glovebox.

I checked my phone and to my dismay, it was only 10 minutes after I called him, and there was only one call in my call history.

Just at that time, my brothers car turned off, the darkness coming back.

"What the fuck?" I heard him say.

He flashed his phone flashlight on my back windshield.

A smiling face drawn crudely in a thick red substance, I could assume was blood, and small writing underneath reading:

'Behind you.'

It’s something that they say “solves any problem” if you complete it. That if you beat it, well, that’s all you need for a while. You’ll be happy for years to come unless something catastrophic happens.

Regardless, I’m sure most people find that thought appealing. Being able to solve all your problems, even ones you might not know you have.

I can’t remember where I first heard of it, to be honest. I think it was when I was a teenager. Back when my only problems were whether or not I was going to pass the calculus text next week, or if my cute lab partner thought I smelled bad. But I guess even back then, I had some foresight.

Of course someone would want to play this game, even if they weren’t horribly struggling. But I have a specific motivation.

My daughter is missing. My Stacy. She’s only eight. I wait for her at her bus stop when she gets out of school every day, since it’s a little bit of a walk. But she never got off that day.

It was two months ago. And it’s still the only thing I can think about. I can’t work. I can barely eat or sleep. It’s a miracle I’m even alive from all this grief. I’m her damn father and I’m still learning next to nothing about her case.

I already lost her mother - my wife - in childbirth years ago. I only got past that because I had an infant daughter to take care of, and I had my own mother helping me. But she’s old now, and I can’t expect her to come and take care of me like some manchild just because I’m incapable of moving on or just being patient.

I want my daughter back. I don’t know if Stacy is dead or alive right now, but I want her happy, healthy, and safe in my arms. It’s just not fair. Without her I have nothing left.

And that’s when I found it again.

Since my mother was getting too old, she wanted me to clean out the attic. So I was doing it every day, almost all day. It was strenuous enough to get my mind off of things for the most part.

I found an old hard drive one morning and decided to spend some time going through it. That quickly turned into the whole day. Just as it was getting late, around dinner time, I came across some old screenshots and other images I had saved in a folder. I figured it’d be the last thing I went through before I put it up for the night.

Then I found it. It was just one screenshot, detailing the parameters of this… game.

Maybe it was completely stupid to believe in it. I mean, it was a screenshot of a shady forum from the early 2000s, locked away in a half broken hard drive in my parents’ attic, and I’m a grown man.

But I was desperate.

I’ve never been more desperate about anything in my life.

Besides, the game seemed straightforward enough. Maybe not easy or by any means safe, judging by what I found when I managed to uncover a little more information about it online.

I was shocked enough that I had found anything. Sure enough, though, I found more than a few accounts of people’s experience in the game. Most of them said it was worse than expected, but worth it. At least, worth it enough. But not that they recommended it.

Maybe I should’ve heeded those warnings.

But that’s enough rambling about the why, and the how. I played the game. I still don’t know if it was the worst mistake of my life or if it was the best decision I’ve ever made. I guess that doesn’t matter, right?

I told my mother that I was taking a break from cleaning for a while to focus on getting back to work. She just took my word for it while I shut my phone completely off for the time being. The first and most important rule of the Hermit’s Game: No contact. No communication. You have to be completely alone.

I had been feeling guilty about it, but I guess it was a good thing I hadn’t yet given in to Stacy’s begging to get a cat. I don’t know if that would count as me “not being alone” if there was one in the house. Better safe than sorry.

I put my phone in my upstairs safe so that I wouldn’t be too tempted to turn it on and answer anyone. I had so many nagging feelings picking at my skin from every direction, but I continued on with the instructions I had printed out. The next step was weirder, and harder. Line an entire building with sea salt on the inside. The perimeter you lay out is your residence for the next four weeks.

One month. That’s how long the game lasts, right down to the second. As soon as you light a single candle in front of a door, the game begins. That candle represents an invitation. It is for the Hermit to come inside.

I got everything I needed to survive alone in my house for a month a few days in advance. Another rule is being unable to leave the premises you lined out, and I wasn’t about to find out what would happen if I left for a grocery run. I would definitely be down to junk food and scraps by the end, but at least I could be healthy for the first half or so. It would do.

Once everything was as I needed it to be, I took the wax candle and lit it, placing it behind my front door. I turned my back to it and walked back down the hall with my eyes shut tightly. I knew the candle was going to burn the whole month. That’s the point of having it. The Hermit can’t get through if the candle isn’t burning, so He keeps it alive, against the laws of nature.

The first several days were nothing but my own meaningless anxiety. I wandered around the house, dusting every single crevice that wasn’t filled with salt, ignoring the constantly swelling fear in my chest. Every heartbeat was a new fear.

By the end of that first week, I was starting to mellow out a little in that regard. Nothing had happened yet. Every once in a while, I caught myself looking over my shoulder, or checking under a door for shadows before I opened it. But I was getting better at convincing myself I was just worried that I was doing something wrong, and I knew I wasn’t.

That’s probably the most confusing thing about the game. As long as you’re alone, don’t contact anyone, and don’t leave the perimeter - that’s all you have to do. The rest of the game is just a matter of staying sane.

I kept thinking about those personal accounts I read. They all said it got worse as time progressed - that the paranoia crept up on them every day. Every waking moment became a struggle. It was already horrible. Reminding myself of those people’s experiences made me more and more anxious.

I told myself over and over that I would get through it for Stacy. I had to. It wouldn’t be worth living if I didn’t. I would probably die if I lost the game anyway. Ever since she went missing, my whole life was a matter of getting her back or dying.

It was the end of that first week that I really started to notice things. Doors were closed that I was sure I had left open. The whole house felt cold no matter what I tried to do to fix it. Sometimes it smelled like an old lantern was burning, but there was seemingly no source of it. I felt like I was being watched.

I spent most of the time in my bedroom and its connecting bathroom, only leaving to go downstairs for food or to get a different book. Reading was about the only thing I was doing now that the whole house was nigh spotless. At least it was productive enough.

I think It was the third day of the second week. So, about nine days in. I woke up around 10am. I didn’t feel good about going to bed early and then forcing myself to stay in bed so I could avoid my reality, but it made the isolated days feel a little shorter. Either way, I got up and stepped into the bathroom, flicking the light on.

Something moved.

I blinked, staring at my shower curtain. I probably just imagined it. To be safe, though, I pulled it aside to check. Nothing. But I could’ve sworn there were some ashes at the bottom of the tub.

I pushed the thought out of my mind and went on with my day. It was easy to ignore at first, when they were sparse. When it was only once or twice a day, as it was for a little while. I didn’t have to acknowledge the flecks of shadow out of the corner of my eye, or the door seeming to push itself a little further open for no reason. It was just my imagination - maybe a little cabin fever.

It got worse. By the time fourteen days had passed in total, I already felt like I might lose it. Everytime I looked up, or moved more than just to turn a page or take a bite, something else was moving. I wasn’t checking most of the time. But on the occasion that I did, there were ashes. Soot. Like the only thing I saw moving was the black dust settled sparsely on my floor. Maybe I was already losing my mind. It was only the halfway point. Things were only just starting.

I started keeping my curtains drawn all the time. I had been leaving them open because I needed natural light, but I thought maybe it would help. That whatever had its eyes on me wouldn’t be able to see my face anymore.

I was wrong. I didn’t notice it at the time, but keeping those curtains closed definitely made it worse.

He had nowhere else to look.

Sixteen days. I started cleaning my house again, expecting to find every room other than my own covered in that ash. But there was none. Maybe it had already been swept away by the draft of the heater. Or maybe I was delusional.

I sat there in my kitchen, waiting for something to move. If it did, and I checked on it, there would be ash.

I was sitting there for four hours in silence, in empty thought. Maybe I thought I would catch something, that I could make myself safer. Not that I ever told myself that. It would’ve been a lie. But I feel like that’s what I believed at the time.

Finally something ran behind a cabinet, making me jump up and push it aside to check. There were the ashes. Almost eagerly, I tried to sweep them up - only for them to disintegrate under the dust rag.

I blinked. I looked down at the floor, and the rag again. Nothing. No trace that there was ever anything there.

So I tried again. I sat there on the kitchen floor for a little longer, but this time I quickly got sick of waiting. It was playing with me. He was playing with me. I got up, going back upstairs and not bothering to check any movements. I think I learned my lesson.

Nineteen days. Five into the third week.

Just like I had expected, I was running low on decent food to eat. So, I ate less, and fewer times in a day. I didn’t feel much like it mattered anymore. Maybe nothing did. But I wouldn’t let myself grow fully nihilistic. Not that it didn’t plague my already horrible thoughts.

Of course, that was when my sleep started getting worse. It was like my body suddenly remembered that this wasn’t my normal schedule. I was falling asleep later, then so restless in the mornings I couldn’t stay in bed as long as I had been. I felt myself growing fidgety yet tired with each passing day.

I started hearing His footsteps. They kept me awake even later at night, and never let me focus during the day as He walked past my door. He did not pace. He would walk by once, and then disappear for a little while.

The Hermit moved like He was dragging something. His steps were slow and deliberate, and something pulled along the floor with each of His movements - like a cloak, or maybe something He was bringing with him. I wouldn’t know.

Twenty-one days.

Only a week left.

It often felt like something was breathing down my neck. I didn’t dare to look. That hot breath was the only warm thing I had felt in days.

The house had become so permanently cold. Even my very insides were frozen, like my heart was stuck in ice and could stop beating at any second. It felt shallow. Like I was running out of life left to live just by playing the game. I probably was.

Twenty-two days.

The footsteps are more frequent, as is the breathing. Things dart around right in front of me but I still can’t make out what they are. No matter what I do, no matter where I hide in the house or hole myself up in, there are eyes on me. I can’t get out of His endless, stone cold gaze.

Twenty-three days.

I saw Him.

I was washing my face. Something I started doing a lot now that I was alone all the time. It wasn’t doing much for my mediocre skin quality, but it killed some extra time in my routines.

It was a late evening that time. I splashed water on my face, rubbing it in a little before looking up at myself in the mirror. But it wasn’t just me. Something was behind me.

I didn’t get a good look at it that time. I whirled around too fast, my frantic gaze being met with nothing. No one stood behind me. No one was in the mirror anymore but my own terrified face.

I dried my face, stepping out of the bathroom and getting into bed. I just wasn’t getting enough sleep. It was fine.

Twenty-four days.

But I started seeing Him more.

He was never there for long. Behind me in the mirror like that first day, so toweringly tall that all I could see was His deep green cloak and lantern in one skeletal hand.

I didn’t see more than that. He was only in the mirror. I haven’t seen His face, even His shoulders or his head. He remains nothing.

Twenty-five days.

I covered the mirrors. The one in my bathroom was the only one I looked at most days, but I covered all of them in old blankets from the closet. I didn’t need to see myself. It wouldn’t matter as long as I couldn’t see Him.

I only had three days left.

I kept reminding myself of that, over and over again. Even when the smell of a burning lantern was overwhelming me. When all I could hear were those footsteps and breathing - and my own heartbeat, my own blood vessels pumping oxygen through me. When I was so painfully aware of my entire cold body that it felt like torture.

I had to keep going.

Twenty-six days.

I didn’t do anything anymore. I just sat there at the foot of my bed staring at the wall, my knees pulled up to my chest to give myself any semblance of warmth. I didn’t even want to blink. It felt as if my eyes were closed for too long, He would come get me.

Turned out that staying awake had nothing to do with His whims.

A hand reached for my back, those grotesque fingers touching my spine and sending a chill shooting through my every bone. It made me almost gag, scrambling to get away from the touch and falling off my bed in the process. That chill was replaced with pain as I landed horribly. I don’t know if that was any better.

I left my room and just started pacing up and down the hallways, staring down at the salt and sometimes catching glimpses of whatever was moving in the shadows. It was too small to be Him. Maybe it was an extension of His will. Or that was just a stupid thing I was making up.

What was real?

Twenty-seven days.

Tomorrow at 7am, it’ll be over.

I repeated that to myself every minute. For every cruel contact to my skin. For every glimpse I caught of that cloak gliding across the floor just outside the room. For every sniff of the burning lantern. For every movement in the corner of my eye. For every vanishing ash. For every footstep. For every breath down my neck. For every heartbeat. For every stray thought. For every mere half a second that I felt those horrible eyes bearing into me.

I hadn’t been sleeping as it was, but I was particularly awake that night. It was the worst I’d ever felt. Not even just in that month - maybe in my whole life. Every single problem and fear was weighing onto me, slowly building up onto my shoulders with each passing minute.

The clock ticked.

Night continued on.

It was quiet, making every footstep or breath so deafeningly loud. I was unsafe.

It was almost seven in the morning. I hadn’t moved all night. But it was almost over.

I took a deep breath and stood up, trying my damn hardest to push off all the fears as I went downstairs. I hadn’t looked at the candle since I lit it. There were no rules for that, I just hadn’t wanted to.

I rounded the corner to the foyer and stopped.

There was no candle.

But there was the Hermit.

He was facing the door. Ever so slowly, He began to turn around. His whole form was covered in that deep green cloak, one extended hand holding His lantern. My candle had been placed inside of it.

Maybe that was the moment it hit me, before He had even fully faced me. This wasn’t a game I was playing. It was His life, and all I could ever be was expendable. What I did didn’t matter at all.

The Hermit looked down at me. The hood covered His entire head, shadows seeming to creep out from underneath as He took a long, deep breath. I just stared at Him. Entirely unable to move.

His free hand lifted, raising itself to the hood and beginning to lower it as the clock ticked by. I wasn’t looking at the time, but I knew only seconds remained before 7am set in.

Those thin fingers slipped the hood down from His head. It was still dark. But He leaned down ever so slightly, allowing His face to be lit by the lantern in His other hand.

I don’t know what it was I expected. But it was my own face.

Emaciated, pale, bony. This version of me looked like he had been dead for a long time, and someone was just rousing him awake. His mouth cracked open, shadows crawling out of my own lips, making me shiver.

No words were spoken. Maybe He ran out of time. Or maybe He just decided to be kind.

7am came. The candle in the lantern glowed bright, and He backed out through the front door - disappearing entirely. I slowly unlocked it and opened it up, expecting to see… ashes, maybe.

But instead, there were three officers. And my daughter Stacy - alive, and safe.

It’s been another few days now. I think the officers want me to be psychologically evaluated, but I don’t really care. My daughter is safe. My only reason to live is okay. I feel so much better already.

It’s not what I wanted, though. I say I don’t know whether or not I should’ve played that game because something is gone.

I don’t feel warm anymore.

I’m happy. I couldn’t be happier. Maybe it was worth it, because now my daughter will grow up with me and be safe.

But I’m cold on the inside.

Don’t play the Hermit’s Game.

I was eight years old during the summer break of 2005, and enrolled on the Junior Ranger program at Crater Lake National Park. We drove up from the suburbs of Redding, CA for a long weekend camping trip. I was in the back of our car listening to Gwen Stefani on the iPod Mini I got for my birthday. I was kinda obsessed with her that year, and my parents had introduced me to No Doubt as a result. They’d told me I was in the crowd of a No Doubt show in 90s L.A.

“In here,” mom had said, patting her belly. I thought that was so cool and definitely explained why I loved Gwen so much.

We parked up at the campsite and my parents got straight to work on pitching our family-sized tent. I’d already spotted some other kids that looked around my age.

“Can I go say hi?” I asked.

“Sure,” said dad. “But stay where we can see you, okay?”

“I will!” I said loudly, running off to introduce myself. There was a group of four kids sitting at a picnic table, two boys and two girls.

“Hi, I’m Becky,” I said as I approached them. I miss that fearless childhood ability to just dive straight in with a group of strangers. They all said hi apart from one boy, who I noticed was decorated with a few Junior Ranger badges.

“I’m Lou,” said one girl with a smile. The others introduced themselves too, but the boy who didn’t say hi just stared at me.

“How many badges do you have?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t have any yet, but I’ve been studying at home.”

He scoffed at that. “I have seven already!” He tugged on his khaki vest to show them off.

“So what, Chase?” said Lou. “You’re older than us!”

It turned out they were brother and sister. Chase was ten and Lou was eight like me. I instantly gravitated towards Lou, and within an hour or so we were choreographing our own routine to Hollaback Girl. I took the lead for the chorus, singing the words as I did the moves. There was foot stomping, sky punching, lassoing, hip shaking. Lou stood in front of me copying the moves as she mouthed the words.

“I think I’ve got it,” she said.

“Okay!” I said excitedly. “Let’s go together from the top. One-Two-Three-Four… Uh-huh, this my shit, all the…”

“Rebecca!” my mum yelled from behind. I quickly turned, my face warming up. “Language young lady!” She actually looked like she was trying to stop herself from laughing, and Lou did start laughing.

“Sorry mom,” I said with a grin. “But those are the words.”

“I don’t care, we don’t say words like that. Especially in front of strangers.”

Lou stepped in. “I’m not a stranger, Becky’s mom. I’m Lou from Portland, Oregon, and we’re friends now.” She took my hand and we giggled together.

My mom continued to look like she wanted to laugh. “Well okay, Lou from Portland. But seriously Rebecca, no more language like that.”

Lou and I continued doing our routine and I shushed the bad word in my mom’s presence. Before long Lou’s mom had come over to introduce herself, then our dads got chatting too. Chase was sitting at the table looking through his Junior Ranger activity book, occasionally glancing over to shake his head. Lou and I stuck out our tongues and giggled.

Later that afternoon a ranger truck pulled into the car park. A clean shaven 30-something man stepped out in full ranger uniform, shiny badge and all.

“Good day everyone!” he yelled cheerfully, shaking hands with some of the adults. “Where are my Junior Rangers at?”

Chase didn’t hesitate, running towards the ranger in a flash. Lou and I joined the other kids. The parents gathered behind us as the ranger introduced himself.

“Welcome to Crater Lake, one of the oldest National Parks in the United States. I’m Ranger Zachary, but you can call me Zach, Zee, or just plain old Ranger! Who are my Junior Rangers?”

We took it in turns introducing ourselves. There were around ten kids altogether and Zach repeated our names as we said them.

“I’ll try my best to remember your names but boy there are a lot of you today! We’ll be leaving for a little hike in say…” He looked at his watch. “15 minutes. Don’t forget to bring your activity books and a pencil. Put on your sunscreen, grab your hats and your water bottles ‘cause it’s a scorcher today!”

Mom practically dragged me to the tent and smothered me in sunscreen. “We don’t want a repeat of your cousin's pool party,” referring to the previous year when my arms and legs got sunburned.

“No mom,” I sighed, standing like a scarecrow. I put on my green baseball cap and pulled my ponytail through the back. “I’m gonna go meet Lou.”

“Okay sweetie, have fun. And be good for Ranger Zachary!”

When we went to meet Zach a bunch of dads were taking it in turns to sit behind the wheel of the ranger truck, mine included. They looked like excited schoolboys, posing for photographs with huge grins.

“Okay!” yelled Zach, clapping his hands together. “Are you ready Rangers?”

We collectively yelled in agreement.

“Excellent! Parents, we should be no longer than around two hours. Oh, and dads, don’t even think about taking her for a spin while we’re gone!”

He motioned to his truck as the parents burst into laughter, and we followed Zach across the campsite to a forest opening to begin our hike. He spoke about the history of the park as we made our way through the trees, and told us to keep an eye out for wildlife and plants.

“You’ve got a checklist in the back of your books, remember to check off anything you see!”

“I’ve already found four things, Ranger Zachary,” boasted Chase, who was at the front of the group. “A yellow wildflower, a dragonfly, a chipmunk, and an American flag. Oh, five things! A park ranger too!” He started laughing to himself.

“Well done… Chase, isn’t it?”

“Yes Ranger!” he said, turning around with a smirk on his face. Lou and I rolled our eyes at each other. It wasn’t too long before I saw a bird I recognized from the book; a gray jay. It perched on a tree branch and appeared to observe us curiously as we walked past. I checked off the box and waved to the bird as we continued on our hike.

We eventually came to a sunny clearing where we got our first view of the shimmering lake below. It was an awesome sight. There was a large solitary tree that offered some shade.

“This looks like a good spot to rest up, Rangers,” said Zach. “Let’s sit for a moment and have a drink of water. Feel free to start any of the activities in your books.”

I was pretty thirsty and downed at least half my water bottle in one go! Then I opened my book to an activity where you had to observe your surroundings.

List four things you can see from this spot:

For the first thing I wrote Lou, giggling to myself. I also wrote Crater Lake and Big rocks. As I was looking around for another thing I noticed something colorful by a hedge. It was a red fox, quite young looking. I smiled as it caught my eye and started to roll around playfully. I finished the activity by writing Fox.

“Show of hands,” said Zach. “Who can tell me something special about Crater Lake?”

Chase put up his hand as well as a couple of other kids. Zach pointed at them one by one to give their answers.

“It’s the deepest lake in the United States!” said Chase.

“Well done! And who can tell me the name of this big island right here?”

I put up my hand because I knew that one, but Chase had shouted ”Wizard Island” before Zach had even picked someone.

“That’s right Chase, but let’s raise our hands if we know the answer.”

Lou and I snickered as Zach continued.

“And what about that smaller island all the way over there?”

He pointed to a spot on the other side of the lake and I raised my hand, as well as Chase. Zach pointed at me.

“Yes… I want to say something beginning with B?”

I giggled. “Becky!”

“That’s it! What’s your answer Becky?”

“That’s the Phantom Ship, because it looks like a ghost ship!”

“Well done!” said Zach. “It’s especially spooky on a dark, foggy evening!”

Chase turned to give me daggers and I gave him a sarcastic grin. As we were getting ready to continue our hike the water had gone right through me! I approached Zach and told him I really needed the bathroom.

“Oh boy,” he said. “Err, well there’s no bathroom around here. How about you go behind that hedge right there, unless you can wait until we get back to camp?”

I shook my head and embarrassingly ran to the hedge, squatting to do my business. Just as I was pulling up my shorts I heard a voice from behind.

“What are you doing?”

I almost fell back. It was the little red fox I’d seen earlier, sitting before me as its tail swished from side to side. It sounded like a young boy.

“I… You… Did you just talk?”

The fox nodded. “I sure did!”

My jaw dropped. “I must be dreaming.”

He started to giggle. “You’re not dreaming, silly! What’s your name?”

I slowly stood up straight. “B… Becky.”

“Becky, that’s a funny name! I’m gonna call you ‘Beckster’! Look out everyone, here comes the Beckster!” He started running around in a circle, then rolled onto his back. I started to laugh.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Mom calls me Kit-Three,” he said. “But you can call me whatever you want!”

I thought about it for a second. “How about Fox?”

“Whoa, Beckster. You're like, totally original and stuff!”

I laughed. “How about Red then?”

He fell on his back. “You’re killing me here!”

Just then a bird landed between me and the fox.

“Is he bothering you?” it said. It sounded a little older and wiser, with a soft feminine voice.

I started laughing as I shook my head in disbelief. “Can all of the animals here talk?”

“I think the real question is can every human talk to us?” said the bird. “I believe the answer is no.”

By this point the fox was crouched in a predatory position behind the bird.

“Look out!” I said as it pounced, but the bird was quick like it knew it was coming.

“Nice try!” it said, pecking the fox’s head.

“Quit it!” said the fox, tapping at the bird with its paws.

“He always tries and always fails, bless him,” laughed the bird.

“You’re a gray jay aren’t you?” I asked.

It nodded. “I suppose I am. And by all means call me Gray. I don’t mind the lack of originality, unlike this one here.”

The fox sat next to the bird. “Fine! Just call me Red.”

Zach shouted from the clearing, making me jump.

“Becky, is everything alright back there?”

Red recoiled and ran to another hedge with Gray flying close behind. I sighed and made my way back to the group who were all waiting for me. Chase looked especially impatient, folding his arms and tapping his foot.

“Okay gang,” said Zach. “Let’s go!”

⬙

I woke up late needing to pee. Mom and dad were sound asleep, dad snoring loudly as usual. I crawled to the tent opening and slowly unzipped, tip-toeing barefoot across the campsite to the restrooms. When I returned I could see the outline of two people by the car park, one adult and one child. As I got closer I could hear a hushed voice. It was Ranger Zach dressed in civvies, and he was talking to Chase.

“What’s going on?” I asked. Zach looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Shit, Becky!” he said.

I started to giggle. “You said a bad word!”

“What do you want?” said Chase, glaring at me.

“Nothing dorkus!”

“Okay kids,” said Zach quietly. “Keep it down, yeah? We don’t want to wake up the whole camp.”

“Why are you here Ranger Zach?” I asked.

He was momentarily stunned by the question. “Well I… I’m just… The truth is I…”

“We’re going to Wizard island,” said Chase. “For a special badge. But it’s only for me because I’m the best Junior Ranger.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “I’m a good ranger too! I’ve nearly finished my activity book.”

“You’ll never be a good ranger because you only care about stupid dancing and girl stuff!”

“Shut up Chase, or I’ll kick you right in the…”

“That’s enough!” said Zach. “Becky, you’re a great ranger too. How about you come with us, yeah?”

“But Ranger Zach,” whined Chase. “She doesn’t deserve the badge. I already have seven, she doesn’t…”

“I have two special badges!” snapped Zach before composing himself. “And if we leave right now you can both have one. Okay?”

“Yay, I’ll grab my stuff!” I said, running to the tent.

“Wait, Becky!” said Zach impatiently, but I’d already crept into the tent where my parents were still sleeping. I put on my shoes and grabbed my activity book. I also put on a hoodie as it was on the cooler side. Then I went running back to them.

“Right, let’s get going!” said Zach, opening the door to his truck.

“We’re going in the truck?” asked Chase excitedly. “Cool!”

“Yes, it’s cool. Now come on, get in!”

We drove for a while, Chase and I bickering like siblings. Zach told us to settle down a few times, at one point sounding quite angry which made us stop. Eventually we pulled off down a beaten track which took us to the lakeshore. I could see a boat in the headlights.

“Come on kids,” said Zach, getting out of the truck and grabbing a bag from the back. Chase and I hopped out.

“It’s pretty dark,” I said.

Zach opened the bag and pulled out a torch, shining it in my face for a few seconds.

“Is that better princess?” he hissed. I stepped back in shock, nodding my head. His reaction made my tummy flutter. He smiled and touched my shoulder. “Sorry Becky, I’m just very eager to get to the island so you can both be special rangers. Are you ready to earn that badge?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes Ranger Zach!”

“I bet I’ll get mine before you!” said Chase.

“Something tells me you will,” said Zach under his breath, and I was determined to prove him wrong.

It took us around 10 minutes to get to Wizard Island in the small motorized boat. When we pulled up to the dock Zach helped us out, then slung the bag over his shoulder. He shone the torch up the dock.

“Right kids, we’ve got a short hike to the spot. Then it’s badge time!”

As we walked, Chase started to identify various plants and trees that we passed. Zach didn’t seem particularly impressed, not really paying attention. We must have walked for at least half an hour, most of it uphill. My legs were starting to get tired but I didn’t want to say anything, Chase would love making fun of me. I was relieved when Zach told us we’d arrived.

“First things first,” he said, putting down his bag. He pulled out a camera, one of those retro instant ones. “We need to get pictures for mom and dad as they’re not here to witness your achievement.”

He positioned Chase by a tree and knelt in front of him. “Perfect, now smile!”

There was a bright flash and Zach took the photo that ejected from the camera. He then guided me to the same tree.

“You know, there’s something extra special about this moment,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“You’re the first girl I ever brought here.”

With that I was momentarily blinded by the flash. As I rubbed my eyes to refocus, I had just enough time to see the torch come down on my head.

⬙

I woke up disoriented in a cage in a man-made den. There was a gas lamp offering limited light. I quickly sat up and started rattling the cage.

“Help me!” I screamed, a sudden pain shooting through my head. I touched a spot covered by my cap and felt a painful bump underneath. I cried for a little while until I could hear Chase somewhere nearby crying hysterically as Zach taunted him. It made me freeze in silence.

“What’s the matter Chase? I thought you really wanted a new badge to add to your collection?”

Chase screamed.

“No? Let me guess, you really want your mommy and daddy?”

I shook on the cage door and tried to reach the lock through the bars, but my hands weren't quite small enough. My activity book was crumpled up inside my hoodie. There was an activity where you had to write a poem with each sentence beginning with the letters that spelled the word CRATER. I started to fill it in as Chase’s screams filled me with dread.

C hase is in trouble

R anger Zach is hurting him

A nd I think he’s going to hurt me too

T here’s no one to help us out here

E veryone else is at camp

R ebecca aged 8

I closed the book and curled up, singing to myself as I snivelled.

“‘Cause I’m just a girl, oh little old me, well don’t let me out of your sight… ‘Cause I’m just a girl…”

“Yo Beckster!”

I jumped as Red appeared at the cage door. “Red! How did you get here?”

“I have my ways,” he said. “I’m getting you out!”

He got his teeth around the bolt lock and shook at it. The bolt shifted and the cage door swung open. I crawled out and he gently licked my cheek as I hugged him.

“Thanks Red. We need to help Chase too!”

“Gray’s already on it. Let’s go!”

As I approached the lamp I noticed a small decorative box on the den floor. There were several Junior Ranger badges inside as well as some photographs. Two of them were me and Chase, and there were three more boys who I didn’t recognize. They all had big smiles on their faces as they posed by the tree. On the back of the photos were names and dates written in black marker;

Tommy 1994, Jacob 1997, AJ 2001, Chase 2005, Becky 2005

“Come on Beckster!” said Red. I put the photos in my pocket and made my way out of the den. I could hear Chase whimpering and saw him tied to that tree. There was blood running down his right arm and a bloody knife by his feet.

“Becky!” he cried. “Please help me!”

“Let’s untie him, Beckster,” said Red. I picked up the knife and worked on the rope around Chase’s chest as Red chewed on the one around his legs.

“Where did Zach go Chase?” I asked.

“He ran off into the trees,” he said. “Someone was calling his name!”

When the ropes came free Chase dropped to his knees, his body trembling. I put my arm around him.

“It’s okay, we’re getting off this island.”

His arm was cut badly. I took off my hoodie and used the knife to remove one of the sleeves, then wrapped it around the wound. He groaned as I pulled it tight.

“Sorry,” I said.

“It’s fine,” he said, attempting a smile. “Thank you Becky.”

I gave him a nod and helped him up.

“Come on,” said Red. “Follow me!”

Chase gave me a confused look. “Is… Is that a talking fox or…”

“It is,” I said. “Just don’t think about it right now.”

We followed Red down the path. After a few minutes my heart jumped when I heard Zach shouting in the distance.

“Where are you?”

It was shortly followed by another voice.

“Over here Zachary!”

It was Gray! She was luring him away from us.

“Who said that?” asked Chase.

“A bird,” I said. “For real.”

“Well, a talking bird is a lot easier to believe than a talking fox.”

“And yet here I am!” said Red.

We continued down the path for several minutes. Chase couldn’t run very fast, he was shaken up. I tried my best to keep him supported but it was mostly downhill, and at times quite steep. He inevitably fell down a few times.

“Come on guys!” said Red, running around us.

“I can’t,” cried Chase. “My legs feel like jello.”

I grabbed his shoulders. “You’re the greatest Junior Ranger. You have seven badges, Chase. Seven! You got this!”

His eyes glazed over and he nodded. Before long we were back on our descent, and several uninterrupted minutes passed. Then I could hear the rustling of foliage and loud grunting.

“Zachary!” I heard Gray shout from nearby, but the rustling and grunting kept getting closer.

“Run kids!” she yelled as she flew from the trees. It was shortly followed by a loud noise as Zach burst onto the trail behind us and took a tumble. Chase and I screamed.

“You’re not leaving this island!” roared Zach as he got to his feet and pursued us.

“Come get me Zachary!” yelled Gray as she darted into the trees on the other side, but Zach kept following us down the trail.

“I’m not fooling for your fucking witchcraft again!”

“Keep running,” said Red. “I’ll try and hold him off!”

Red made a U-turn. I looked over my shoulder to see him darting around Zach’s feet.

“Fuck off!” screamed Zach, but it worked. He took another tumble.

“The boat’s just up ahead,” said Gray as she flew around us. Our surroundings were becoming more clear as night slowly became morning. I could see the lake surface shimmering in the distance.

“Look out Beckster!” yelled Red, and the wind was knocked out of me as Zach pulled on my ponytail. Chase fell down into the foliage.

“You little bitch!” snarled Zach, his arm tight around my neck. I punched and scratched at it but he brought his other arm around my upper body and squeezed tight. “Note to self; don’t ever bring another girl to Wizard Island.”

“Let her go!” Red growled, followed by a yowl as Zach kicked out.

“Pick on someone your own size!” Gray yelled as she started dive bombing. Zach cried out and released one arm to swat the air.

“What is this, a fucking Disney movie?”

“And we all know how they end for the villain,” said Gray, but she cried out as Zach knocked her aside.

“Not this time, Tweety Pie!” he laughed, and I started seeing stars as Zach’s grip on my neck tightened.

“That’s not even Disney!” I heard Chase scream, followed by a whack!

I fell to my knees and clutched my neck. Chase was standing nearby holding a large fallen branch, and Zach was laying on the ground groaning. Chase threw the branch aside and helped me up. I couldn’t see Red and Gray as we continued down the trail, but a weight lifted when I saw the boat gently bobbing on the lake, and two familiar outlines sitting on the dock.

“You’re okay!” I said as we approached them.

“He might be the runt of the litter,” said Gray. “And he occasionally tries to eat me, but together we’re pretty unstoppable!”

“Ah, you know I’m just playin’ Gray!” said Red, tapping her with a paw. “You look kinda gristly anyway.”

Chase and I climbed into the boat.

“Are you coming with us?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about us, Becky,” said Gray. “I can fly home and this one always finds a way back.”

“It’s a secret,” said Red.

Gray hopped onto the engine. “You need to pull that cord really hard to start the motor.”

Red bit the rope that looped over a dock post and lifted it off, detaching the boat. “Use that lever to steer.”

Just then Zach came running from the trees screaming bloody murder.

“Start the engine Becky!” yelled Gray.

My hands shook as I pulled the cord, I couldn’t get enough momentum. “I can’t do it!”

“Let me help,” said Chase, putting his left hand over my right. “Three-Two-One pull!”

“Nobody leaves Wizard Island alive!” Zach screamed.

The boat slowly moved away from the dock on its own. We were around 30 feet away from it when Zach ran into the lake and started swimming in our direction. We frantically kept trying to start the engine.

“Yo!” yelled Red from the dock. “What’s something special about Crater Lake?”

Chase and I looked at each other and shouted in unison. “It’s the deepest lake in the United States!”

“Exactly!” said Gray, who had flown to the boat. “I think it’s time we called on an old friend from the deep.”

⬙

By the time the sun was shining and the temperature had risen, we were reunited with our parents. We’d eventually got back to shore and used the radio in Zach’s truck to call for help. The campsite was filled with rangers, police, and paramedics.

Chase was patched up professionally before he was taken to hospital. We waved to each other before the ambulance doors closed. Chase’s mom rode with him. Lou gave me a hug and then left with her dad, following the ambulance in their car.

I had a small wound on my head and some bruising around my neck. Before I was taken to hospital myself a police officer came to talk to me as I sipped hot chocolate. I was sandwiched between my parents. It was then that I remembered the photographs in my pocket and handed them to the officer. I felt my mom shiver as she kissed my forehead.

I hope those boys’ families found closure and were able to heal over time. Thankfully Zach would never lay a hand on another child again.

“What happened to Ranger Zachary?” the police officer asked.

“He drowned,” I said. “He tried to swim after us and drowned.”

I didn’t mention our heroes, Red and Gray. Chase and I had decided to keep it to ourselves because it sounded crazy. We escaped on our own was the correct answer. Drowning was the correct answer. The alternative was too fantastical for an adult to believe.

Crater Lake is deep, and home to at least one creature straight from the pages of fiction. I can still hear Zach’s screams.

dd

DB

I’m David and I have been a call handler for Cambridgeshire police for 5 years, mostly working on emergency 999 calls. In that time I must have taken hundreds of silent 9’s calls.

A ‘silent call’ isn’t always silent, it’s just how we refer to a call where the caller isn’t responsive and no request for the police has been made. They are mostly people accidentally pocket dialing, but you always have to go through the routine of trying to get a response, checking the phone number against previous calls to see if there is any history to suggest someone may be in danger, listening for any background noise to suggest any distress or disturbance. If there is a reason for concern we will dispatch someone to check. Usually there isn’t any concern and the incident log is closed off without any further action.

This call wasn’t that unusual. An operator transfers the call though and states the basic facts; No request made for police. Possible breathing was heard down the line, but that wasn’t very clear due to the background noise which was, quite irritatingly, the theme tune to Peppa pig. So many silent calls are from children playing with phones while sitting in front of the TV, so again, this wasn’t too unusual. The line was still open so I tried to engage with the caller.

“You’re through to the police, is anyone there…?”

No response.

“If you can hear me, can you press a button on the keypad, or make a noise?”

Still no response.

I did some system checks. There was a history of calls from this number from seven years ago, but these were all marked 'RESTRICTED' so I couldn’t see any details. After a while, satisfied there was no apparent emergency, I stopped trying and announced that I would be ending the call. Just as I pressed the button on my phone to hang up I heard a voice.

“Hello-” it said just as I cut it off.

I instantly called back, the line answered, but again there was no response. Peppa pig still played in the background, but not a full episode, just the theme tune on repeat. Once again it got to the point of ending the call and just as I pressed the button to hang up… “Hel-”

For fucks sake…

Before calling back again I slid off my headset and walked over to the supervisor, advising him I had a silent call with restricted history, to see if he could check the details for any reason for ongoing concern. I sat back at my desk ready to call back and the supervisor came over to me, quicker than I expected.

“Don’t worry about that history.” he said nonchalantly, “They're old incidents and… it won’t be the same caller. Might not even be the right number, could just be a glitch on the line. If there’s nothing new on the call, get rid of it.”

I know it sounds harsh but it wasn’t unusual for us to be that blunt about a 999 call, we deal with so many. If there is no sign of distress or disturbance we can’t waste any more time on it. A real emergency call could be waiting. It wasn’t unusual for call logs to be restricted either, usually because they contained information on other staff members or their families. Sometimes because the incident related to some ongoing operation only high ranking officers should see.

I decided to give the line one last call back. It rang and picked up as before. The Peppa pig theme played on a loop.

“Hello!?” she sounded weak and confused, “Can you hear me? I’ve been trying for so long to get through! Why won’t anyone help me?”

“Why have you called us? What is the problem?” I asked..

She went silent for a while, then, “Nobody will help me. I keep calling. Can you help me?"

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Nicole." She paused. "I think… please help me. David, help me." Then the line went dead.

I hadn’t told her my name. Maybe someone else called David was there. I called her back.

“Stop calling me, just come and help me, please! My daughter is here! We need help!”

“Where are you?” I ask, trying to get the key information to send someone out.

“37 Butterfield road.” She sounded panicked, breathing heavily, “Please help.”

While she was talking I was already updating my incident, entering the address and sending it for dispatch, “I’m going to get someone right out to you. What’s happening?”

The line cleared.

I transferred the incident to the dispatchers on an Immediate grade, the highest priority grade for attendance. I didn’t understand what was going on, but someone was in distress, with presumably a young child present. We needed to attend.

While I was updating the notes on the incident log the system kicked me out. The incident became restricted and the details on the incident list replaced with ‘RESTRICTED’. It wasn’t unusual for this to happen so only the dispatcher and the control room inspector - known as Oscar 1 - could see the incident, while still sending someone out to the address. I couldn’t understand why this was restricted, but that is above my pay grade.

Nicole kept calling throughout my shift. She was getting increasingly agitated and afraid. I assured her someone was coming out. But after an hour I started to doubt this was the case. I spoke to my supervisor, they said they would ask Oscar 1. Oscar 1 said this was even above them, they have been told not to attend, it was being dealt with by another department as part of an existing operation.

My shift came to an end at 2am. Before then Nicole had called a few more times, I kept telling her someone was dealing with it but I don’t think she believed me. She started to get angrier with me. She kept shouting her address at me, 37 Butterfield road, desperate for someone to come and help her. She was screaming my name at me. The name I had never told her. I noticed on my mapping system that I knew the road, it was near my route home. I was glad to take off my headset when 2am came.

I got in my car and drove home. Guided by compulsion I drove down Butterfield road. I wondered if someone may be there to help by now. I looked out for number 37, but I couldn’t find it. It was a normal residential road but in the middle there was a gap between houses 35 and 39 which was filled with small trees, well maintained bushes and a flower bed. I drove up and down the road a couple of times to check I had the right place, then stopped at a 24 hour off-licence further down the road.

I went into the shop to buy a can of coke for an excuse to ask the lady at the till where number 37 was. She seemed unimpressed, rolling her eyes at me. “Nicole’s house?” she asked, “You’re a few years too late to see it. They knocked it down to stop all you ‘True crime’ nuts coming to gawp at it.” Once I had paid she shoved my drink back across the counter at me. “It’s been almost a decade now. You’d think people would let that poor family rest.”

I left, clearly the lady wasn’t going to entertain any more questions from me. I got in the car and immediately went on my phone to search the internet for references to what happened at Nicole’s house. I found an old local news story headline from seven years ago referencing the murder of her and her children, and another more recent article suggesting the murder remained unsolved. But my search was interrupted by a phone call from an unknown number. I had to answer.

“David!” Nicole shouted, “David, where are they? You promised me help was coming!”

I didn’t know what to say, largely because I didn’t know what was happening. What was I really talking to? “I… I can’t help you!”

The line cleared.

Then straight away, another call, Nicole screaming. A child cried out in fear in the background.

The line cleared again.

The phone rang. I didn’t answer. It rang again. And again. And again. I couldn’t answer again. Would these calls continue? I couldn’t take it. I got out of the car and walked to the memorial garden where 37 Butterfield road once stood. The flowerbed occasionally glittered with gold in the streetlight. I went over and knelt down for a closer look and the ground littered with other sim cards, even whole phones had been discarded there. Some were old and partially submerged in the dirt, but others were fresh. Some were clean enough they could have been scattered here within days. I looked at my phone and considered adding my sim card to the garden.

“You too?” a man said from behind me with a drunken slur. The surprise made my heart stop. I turned to see a haggard man looking at the memorial garden. He stunk of vodka and smiled at me sadly. “It won’t stop her. It never does.”

He was right. Nicole still calls me, on any phone, at any time. No amount of call blocking efforts can stop her. Sometimes I accidentally answer. She still screams for help, facing a danger that has long since passed.

I was pulled aside at the start of my first shift back at work to talk about the calls with an officer who had come up from London. I assume she was from the Home office - she was very official and very guarded. I told her I had got calls on my personal phone and she didn’t seem surprised. She told me it was officially a hoax caller, but we both knew that wasn’t true. I was instructed to keep a log of the calls and email them to her weekly. I have been off work for two weeks now. The woman who visited told me to take as much time off as I needed, on full pay. Her department would authorise it as long as I kept them updated. After all, I wouldn’t be much use going to work just to talk to a woman who doesn’t know she is dead.

Back in my twenties I was what you might call an ‘adventure girl’. About ten years ago, give or take, something happened that changed that. I moved to the city, got a boring job and a boring apartment, and became decidedly averse to the outdoors. I haven’t really told anyone about it in all that time, save my now-wife, because, well… for one, they’d think I’m crazy, and for two, I don’t want to think about it. I’m finally putting it here, though, because you all deserve to hear it. After all, you probably saved my life.

At the time, I had just graduated college and moved from Texas to Alaska, out of a desire for - you guessed it - adventure. I had a job doing stuff I liked. It paid well and gave me enough vacation days to get out and do something really adventurous every once in a while. One thing I’d had on my bucket list since moving north was driving the Dalton Highway. For the unfamiliar, that’s a (generously) highway that goes from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay on the Arctic Ocean. It’s a 500 mile, 11 hour drive in the Summer, but thanks to work realities I wasn’t able to get out there until early autumn.

By early autumn, the snow had started, but the plows were still able to keep the highway pretty clear, and I was driving a ‘95 Toyota Land Cruiser kitted out for expeditions (I fucking loved that thing). Besides that, I was an adventure girl. I was prepared. I had camping gear, emergency gear, a satellite phone, plenty of food and water, enough jerry cans for the trip there and back, and Sam Colt’s greatest invention in the center console - just in case. For the unfamiliar, that’s the 1911 (I fucking loved that gun).

I was planning to make the trip in two days, sleeping in the back of the Land Cruiser halfway. I had enough blankets to keep warm, and I had a nice comfy space back there that I could fit in. I’d have to drive slower because of the snow, I wanted to enjoy the scenery, and the sun was setting pretty early by that time of year.

I had a good start that day and the driving was fine. By the time shit went down it had been dark for about an hour and I was getting into the foothills of the Brooks Range. That’s good scenery and also terrain I didn’t want to be going through in the dark, so I was just about ready to pull over for the night when I saw caution flashers up ahead.

For the unfamiliar, a hard rule for any Alaskan is that you always, always pull over when you see someone in distress on the side of a remote road like that, especially after the snow starts. If they aren’t prepared for an emergency, there is a very good chance that you could save their life. So, that’s exactly what I did. I pulled over next to a Nissan SUV - not as nicely kitted out as mine, but not bad, either. I figured they were doing the same thing I was. Small world. By the jack under one axle and the wheel sitting next to the car, they’d blown a tire. What I didn’t see, though, were the people.

I got out of my Land Cruiser, crunching down into the snow and looked around. There aren’t a ton of trees that far north, but there are quite a few patches of evergreens that, while not quite forests, can be pretty dark and thick on a snowy night. “Hey!” I called, my voice going dead a few yards away as sound does in snowy woods. “Y’all need help?!”

No answer. Dead silence, save the faint clicking over the flasher from inside their Nissan. I shouted again. “Anybody there?! I’ve got tools!” No answer. Dead silence.

I considered myself a pretty brave bitch back then, but I’ll admit that I was creeped out at this point. This vehicle definitely hadn’t been here for all that long, but there was no one to be seen. Besides that, the dead quiet and the darkness of the night were unnerving. It wasn’t that weird for it to be silent on a snowy night like this, that far north, but still - creepy. Creepy enough that I hopped back in the car and grabbed my .45, storing it in one of the big pockets in the front of my jacket. Just in case. There were bears up there.

I approached the Nissan and saw footprints in the snow (okay, not a ghost car). One pair had been crouched down at the removed tire, and the other had been standing a couple feet away, by the rear of the SUV. The latter pair had then, at some point, headed off toward the treeline. It stopped a few yards down, paced around a bit, then continued into the woods. The pair near the tire had then - presumably later - gotten up and ran after the first. I was no tracker, but it’s not hard to tell when someone was running in snow.

Now I was really creeped out. I was tempted to hop back in the car and keep driving for a good long while, but - like I said - this could easily have been life or death up there. Besides, I had my .45. It could handle a grizzly. Probably. That was the worst I’d find up here. Probably. So, off I went, following those two sets of footprints into the woods.

It was fucking dark, but don’t worry y’all, I had a really nice flashlight. SureFire, baby. Adventure girl, remember? The dead quiet seemed to get even deader and quieter as soon as I passed the treeline - as sound does in snowy woods. Probably. The only thing comforting me that I hadn’t gone deaf was the sound of my breath and my boots crunching in the snow.

“Hey!” I called again, maybe twenty yards into the woods. “Is everyone okay?!”

This time, I got a response. It was a woman’s voice, and it sounded afraid. “Over here!” it called. “Help!”

I got a spring in my step at that, jogging toward the sound of the voice, shining my light through the trees to try and catch a glimpse.

“Over here!” it called again, much closer. “Help!”

Remember when I said y’all probably saved my life? This is when that happened. I stopped. The hair on the back of my neck had stood on end and a chill had run down my spine. Something was off about that voice. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was just slightly wrong. I pointed my light toward where I had heard it.

“Are you hurt?” I said - voice raised, but not quite shouting anymore.

“Help!” the voice called again - only it was even closer this time. I hadn’t heard the crunch of any footsteps. “Over here!”

My grip on my flashlight tightened and my heart started to hammer in my chest. This was not right. I’d read a lot of nosleep back then, and had watched and listened to my fair share of spooky stories. At the time, I didn't think any of this stuff was real, but what was happening to me felt way too familiar, and it was setting off alarm bells. Something about this exact situation was tugging at the back of my mind as something I should be terrified of.

I tried one more time. “What’s your name?” I asked cautiously.

“Help!” the voice called, and it couldn’t have been more than a few yards off.

That was enough for me to swap my light to my left hand and bring out the Colt with my right. I pointed both in the direction of that voice, and finally caught a glimpse of something besides trees. Off in the distance, barely visible, I could see a bundle of something laying in the snow. It was human-sized, and the snow all around it was stained dark. My head was in the middle of processing what it was seeing when I saw movement between me and the body. Oh shit, that was a body! I pointed my flashlight and gun at the source of the movement.

It was humanoid, with two arms and two legs, but it was all wrong. The limbs were too long and it was too tall. Its hair was thin and wiry, it had antlers - fucking antlers - and its face, which was also, I assure you, really fucking wrong, was stained dark with what I can only assume was blood. I fired two shots and hauled ass.

I don’t know if the bullets slowed it down. I don’t even know if I hit it. I ran faster than I’d ever run before, and by the cracking branches and crunching snow behind me, it was giving chase. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest and my lungs burned from sucking in the frosty air. Once or twice I saw death flash before me as I nearly lost my footing in the snow, but I managed to stay upright. As I ran, I heard more snapping, more crunching - not just behind me now, but all around. There were more.

I got really fucking lucky that night. I was lucky to have spotted the body, lucky to have run just fast enough and not fallen on my face, lucky none of the whatever-they-were (I have a guess, but I’d rather not hazard it) were just a bit closer or faster. I was lucky that I had dabbled in enough spooky stories that my alarm bells had gone off, and I was lucky that the poor couple (maybe) in that Nissan had gotten stranded there and suffered the grisly fate they suffered. After all, I was planning to stop just as I saw those caution flashers. I’d have been right there, in those same woods, asleep. I don’t want to think about what would have happened to me if that had been the case.

I made it to my car, which I was again lucky to have left running, thinking I wouldn’t go far. I leapt in, slammed and locked the door, and threw it in reverse as I saw dark, lanky shapes coming out of the trees. As I got moving, the headlights revealed what had been chasing me. I can’t say exactly how many it was - at least half a dozen. All of them were similarly stretched, pale to the point of being almost white, with various forms of antlers and primitive-looking clothing. I reversed down the road as fast as I dared (without risking going off and dooming myself to certain death) for a good half-mile before I finally got the nerve to turn around, then I flew down the highway all the way back to Fairbanks, only stopping once I found a nice, well-lit hotel in the middle of the city.

The next day, I was back in Anchorage. I thought about calling the State Troopers. Someone was going to find the Nissan, probably find the bodies. They’d find my casings, my tire tracks. I could end up a murder suspect. I decided against it, though. If I ratted myself out, I’d be a murder suspect anyway, and then they’d know it was me. Better to bet that no one could tie me to that scene, especially being as far from local as I was. Over the next week I packed my shit, bailed on my job and my lease, and moved back to Texas.

I never ended up with police banging on my door, so I guess I made the right choice. I still have nightmares about those wrong, elongated things chasing me. I probably have PTSD, but it’s not like I can talk to a therapist about it without ending up in a looney bin. I’m not an adventure girl anymore. I never go anywhere at night, and I stay in the city as much as possible. I didn’t get out of there unscathed, but I got out of there alive, which is better than can be said for the folks in the Nissan. I was lucky.

Part 1

After the visit from Mr. Sinclair and his associates, you would think that that would have been one of the most horrible things that ever happened to me. Well, it was, up until a few weeks after their visit. I had just gotten acquainted with my new manager, Harold when he showed up one day unannounced.

Now after what had happened to the golf course and most of the lobby, Antonio Garibaldi had been banned from St. Mihel. To the point that there was even a sign on the door of the lobby that explicitly said that he was not allowed on the premises. And I was more than happy to abide by that rule after all the carnage that he had caused me. Though honestly, I was at least thankful that he had gotten rid of my last manager. Harold was a much nicer person overall. Though I would be lying if I said that I didn’t mix their names up several times over.

But to get back on track, it was only a few days ago that he showed up at St. Mihel again. It was just becoming fall and the leaves were piling up to near unmanageable levels. So of course I was designated to rake them off of the parking lot. I was sweeping the leaves out of Sinclair’s personal spot when a sudden feeling of dread came over me. It was like an overwhelming crushing feeling that caused me to drop my rake.

“Teddy!” Came the slightly accented voice of Garibaldi as he quickly threw his arm around me and pulled me away from my fallen rake. “Just the man that I was looking for! Say, you wouldn’t mind if I treated you to a nice day out, would ya?” He wrapped his arm around my neck and gave it a hard squeeze, enough to almost cause me to choke out and pound on his arm.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” I said through choking and increasingly shallow breaths. “Y-you’re not allowed on the premises anymore!” I was starting to full-blown panic when finally he released me and allowed me to breathe fully. As I coughed and did my best to catch my breath, I looked over at Garibaldi and was taken aback by just how different he looked out of the tail-suit that I had seen him in originally. His long flowing white and black hair was still prominently on display, but he now wore the outfit of a ringleader of a circus. This was really the first time I could lay close eyes on him and I noticed just how colorful and otherworldly his eyes were. It was like every color of the rainbow was located in his eyes.

“Oh? Is that so? Is Constantine still mad at me for throwing just one measly hissy fit? It’s his fault you know. Instead of that stupid lame golf game, he should have had a mini golf course instead.” He sighed, looking at me for a moment before smiling at me. “Oh come on now, Teddy. Just one measly visit from me won’t be the end of the world. Besides, I won’t tell him if you don’t.” He smiled at me and I stared at him, my eyes drifting over to the scar across his face. Remembering what lay beneath it I weighed my options. Either I was fired or I was eaten. I’m sure you can figure out which path I chose.

“What would you like to do, sir?” I asked him, resigning myself to whatever insane thing he would most likely command me to do. He clapped happily and came over, throwing his arm around me and dragging me towards the entrance of St. Mihel.

“We have so many options! Not that silly golf of course. Wouldn’t want a repeat of that situation again!” He laughed aloud as he pulled me along toward the entrance. I noticed that Harold was at the entrance to St. Mihel and we locked eyes with each other for a moment. It looked like he was about to tell me not to let Garibaldi in, but all it took was a brief glance at me to prove that it wasn’t worth trying to stop him. The colorful ringleader burst into the lobby of St. Mihel with me still wrapped around his arm.

“W-well sir, you expressed interest in the kitchen during your last visit.” I didn’t know much about Antonio Garibaldi. Then again I didn’t know much about any of Sinclair’s associates, but I at least knew that Garibaldi enjoyed eating people. So maybe he just enjoyed eating? Look I was thinking on my feet here and I’m not exactly the best critical thinker.

“That’s a great idea!” He enthusiastically shouted and began dragging me towards the dining room. It took a few tries to get him to let go of me, but at long last, he finally released me and allowed me to lead him to the dining room. We entered the sparsely populated dining room and I led him to the VIP section. Setting the table and also getting him a menu, I realized that I had just been demoted to a waiter.

“Oh knock that shit off, Teddy. Go ahead and sit down. I know you’re not a fucking waiter.” Garibaldi told me. I stared at him for a moment before sitting across from him. I awkwardly placed a napkin across my lap and stared at him for a moment before avoiding eye contact with him. After what felt like an eternity, one of the waitresses finally came over to take our orders.

“Would you gentlemen like to start with an appetizer? Perhaps some wine?” she asked us, looking over at me with an aura of jealousy and anger. Makes sense since I was basically an errand boy eating at a five-star restaurant.

“Where’s the special menu?” Antonio asked as he swiped the bottle of wine from her and began to chug it straight from the bottle. I watched him as he guzzled down an extremely expensive bottle of wine like it was juice. Which I guess it kinda is.

“This is the special menu, sir.” Our waitress told him, getting a laugh from Antonio once he finally finished the wine bottle.

“No, it isn’t, sweetie. Maybe this will remind you.” He reached into his ringleader jacket and pulled out a card. I couldn’t quite make out what it said, but when the waitress took the card out and examined it, her face turned pale. She looked back at Antonio before she nodded and quickly scrambled away back toward the kitchen. That got a huge cackle out of him as he pounded the table and laughed like a damn lunatic. “That’s always fucking funny!” He laughed, so hard that his scar opened up just a little bit to show his row of teeth hidden in there.

I awkwardly sat across from him as he lost his mind with how funny he had found it. When he, at last, calmed down he looked over at me and smiled at me. I avoided his eyes again and that was enough to giggle at me some more. Soon one of the chefs came out to us and handed us menus that I had never seen before. Our menus are pretty fancy since they are bound in leather and written in gold lettering. But these ones were something out of a rich person’s dream. Bound in velvet and written in gold and silver.

“W-we weren’t expecting you to come here, sir.” The chef told Garibaldi as the ringleader thumbed through the menu. I looked through it and found that a lot of these items were simply one-worded and offered no description as to what the item on the menu was.

“I just felt like stopping by,” he said with a smile on his face. Flipping through his menu before coming to a page that caught his eye. A much bigger smile spread across his face and he began to stare at the menu. “This, I want this one.” He pointed at the menu and tapped at it rapidly. Just like a child wanting to order but pointing at the menu like it had a picture on it.

The chef looked down at the menu and now even his face went pale. “S-sir. A-are you sure? T-that dish is, incredibly hard on our staff.” The chef clearly didn’t want to cook this for him. But Garibaldi grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down to his level.

“Serve me, the orphan!” he shouted at him. I dropped my menu upon hearing that. I looked down at the menu when it fell and grabbed it again, flipping through it until finding the page that did indeed contain the phrase, ‘Orphan’. A part of me was hoping that it was just a strange name for a dish, but by the chef’s reaction, I had my doubts.

“R-right away, sir.” The chef told Garibaldi, who let go of his collar and gave him a hard pat on the back. The chef looked over at me with a mixture of fear and disgust. Almost as if he thought that I was going to order an orphan. I most certainly did not want that.

“J-just a burger, please,” I told the chef, to which he nodded and walked away quickly. Garibaldi tsked at me like he was disappointed in my selection. “S-so. Uhm, sir, are you in the circus?” I asked him, trying to make small talk and try to put the idea of what he ordered as far away from my mind as possible.

“Indeed I am! Been in the business for a very long time,” he said with a smile as if remembering back on his glory days. “You should visit sometime, Teddy! I’ll give you the best seats in the house, and your own personal show! I’m sure my troop would love to have you,” he said like an excited and giddy child. It was a tempting offer, my never having been to the circus was certainly a big motivator.

“I might have to take you up on that,” I said with a laugh and he giddily nodded along. The same waitress came back over with a pitcher of water and another bottle of wine, which Garibaldi this time didn’t guzzle straight down like he had last time. I wasn’t much of a wine drinker so I was fine with just the water.

“So Teddy, how’s the old man been treating you?” Garibaldi asked as he devoured the bread rolls that were brought to us by the waitress after our drinks. At first, I was thinking he was talking about my dad until I figured he must be talking about Sinclair.

“Mr. Sinclair hasn’t been back since you were all here together,” I told him, picking at the solitary bread roll I had managed to take from the basket before the ringleader had eaten them all.

“Can’t blame him. His father built this place, and those two did not have the best relationship. Or so I’ve been told. Never met his father, so I can’t really judge,” he said, going back for the bread only to find nothing left for him. I offered him mine and it looked like he wanted to kiss me with how happy he looked.

“Can I ask, sir?” Garibaldi looked up from his bread roll with a confused noise. “What is it that you guys do? Like, how do you all know each other?” I asked him, wanting to know how that strange mixture of creatures had all gotten to know each other.

“Oh, now that’s a story. Well, it was about 1931 when-” All of a sudden there was a scream from back in the kitchen. We both looked back over towards the kitchen as we watched one of the sous chefs run out of the kitchen screaming bloody murder. “Oh boy! Dinner and a show!” Garibaldi cackled happily as a group of other chefs ran after their co-worker.

“You can’t make me! This is fucking disgusting!” He screamed as he was tackled to the floor next to our table. Garibaldi was laughing hysterically and banging on the table as they wrestled the emotional man to the floor. Leaning over our table and looking down at them on the floor Garibaldi smiled down at them.

“Gentlemen, I would like my meal. Sooner rather than later. After all, either you give me my meal, or you become my meal.” His scar split open and his row of teeth and tongue went on full display with a growl and screech. The group of men stood up and ran back toward the kitchen. “Hopefully that’ll light a fire under their ass,” he said with another giggle. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I realized just how screwed I was in this situation. I was really regretting that I didn’t call in sick today.

We were silent for a bit longer, me no longer feeling like bringing up the subject of Sinclair and his other associates. Garibaldi began drumming his fingers on the table in a rhythm. I watched his fingers and noticed a ring across his finger. A wedding ring.

“Are you married, sir?” I asked him, and that stopped his drumming mid-rhythm. I looked over at him and he was staring at me with a mixture of shock and confusion. It was like a deer caught in headlights and it was like he had to reboot his brain.

“I…was.” He pulled his hands back from the table and hid them down in his lap and now he was the one avoiding eye contact with me. “A long time ago.” He let the conversation die there and I didn’t feel like pressing any further. It clearly wasn’t worth it, and I would much rather not have him lash out at me the way he lashed out at golf.

Our awkward silence was at last broken by the arrival of the food we had ordered. I got mine first, a simple cheeseburger. Garibaldi meanwhile had a huge assortment of plates brought over to him. A big stewpot, a rack of ribs, some cuts of meat, and even a bottle of what I thought was wine.

“Enjoy your meal.” The soulless waitress told us. The chefs looked like they had gone through hell to make this meal. Upon seeing everything laid out before him, any trace of that sad forlorn look vanished from Garibaldi’s face as he looked at everything laid out before him.

“You bet your ass I will!” His childlike glee returned with gusto and he began to dig into every little dish all at once. He was the messiest eater I have ever seen. No utensils were used other than his bare hands and he reveled in every single dish. He dug into the ribs with a loud sickening crunch as he bit right into the bones and the meat together.

I looked back down at my burger and contemplated setting it back down and just not eating it. But I was hungry, and the burger was right there. So I took a bite out of it while doing my best to avoid watching Garibaldi tear into his food like a man possessed.

He opened up the pot lid and his eyes went wide with excitement at whatever it was that was staring back at him from the pot. For this one, he did use a utensil, a ladle that you would normally scoop the stew into a bowl with. Well, Garibaldi was scooping the stew right into his mouth. I watched him as I chewed the same bite over and over a million times. My burger was burnt more than a charred log, and I finally elected not to eat it after all, setting it back on the plate and pushing it away.

“What’s the matter, Teddy?” he asked me as he pulled away from the pot, a long piece of intestine in his mouth that he slurped up like a spaghetti noodle, causing me to gag silently and look away from him.

“M-my burger is too overdone,” I told him, to which he tsked angrily and looked back over at the waitress. He blew a loud whistle over to her and demanded her attention. She quickly abandoned the table that she was attending and ran over to us.

“W-what’s the matter, sir?” she asked, clearly terrified. Garibaldi pointed her attention over to me and then down to the burger that I had taken one measly bite out of.

“You overcooked that. Take it back and do it right. Just because he works here, doesn’t mean you and those chefs can shit on my guest’s food.” He told her, shooing her away with his dirty hands and returning to his meal with excited glee after she had run off back to the kitchen with my burnt burger.

All the stress that this was causing me was tugging on my nicotine addiction and I desperately wanted a cigarette to alleviate my symptoms. My eyes fell on the bottle of wine and I reached out to see if maybe that would calm me down, but Garibaldi quickly reached out and swiped it from me before I could grasp it.

“Sorry, Teddy. I don’t think you’d enjoy this. It isn’t what you think it is,” he said with a smile as he uncorked the bottle and brought it to his lips. I watched as instead of wine, a thick red liquid began to spill out from the bottle. And the unmistakable smell of iron hit my nostrils and I sat back and did my best to keep my stomach from barfing back everything that I had eaten.

The waitress eventually brought back my burger, but I had no appetite to speak of. The implications of what Garibaldi was eating in front of me had completely ruined any thoughts of eating. But to keep up appearances I did my best to try and nibble on the burger, while Garibaldi completely slaughtered his meal and wiped his stained hands and mouth using the white tablecloth.

“What an amazing meal! And no Constantine to annoy me with stupid things like ‘table manners’.” He scoffed as he shoved his empty plates and the stew pot away from him. After all was said and done, I had managed to scarf down a little over half of my burger, and I never wanted to look at another burger ever again after all this.

Suddenly Harold appeared in the dining room with a landline phone. He was sprinting toward our table and he handed the receiver over to Garibaldi. “P-phone call for you, sir.” The ringleader groaned and snatched the phone from him and held it up to his ear.

“Ciao?” he asked into the receiver. His brow furrowed when he heard the voice on the other end. “Benny? How did you get this number? What do you mean the twins set the tent on fire? Oh for fucks sake.” He groaned, standing up and reaching into his pocket to grab a wad of cash. Throwing it at Harold he snapped at me and ordered me to pick up the phone’s base and follow him. “Make sure no one else does anything stupid before I get there! Yes? Good, arrivederci.” He growled handing me the phone and snarling.

“S-some circus issues, sir?” I asked him, fumbling with the phone before finally managing to hang it up for him.

“You don’t know the fucking half of it.” He looked back at me and I could tell by his annoyed and angry expression that something horrible was going to happen when he got back to his circus troop. “Thanks for a good time, Teddy. Sorry, this was all we got to do.” He sighed, walking over and hugging me before kissing both of my cheeks and tussling my hair. “Addio dolcezza!” He told me as he ran off to who knew where.

I sighed as I placed the phone on some random table and walked back to my own. I looked over at the spot where Garibaldi had been sitting and looked over at the pot. My curiosity got the better of me, and I approached it. Opening the pot I took a look inside and immediately threw up into it when I did.

“Ted? You okay, man?” Harold asked as I backed away from the pot and coughed. I shook my head violently and looked back at him.

“I quit man. I’m handing in my two fucking weeks.” I told him as I walked away from him and his vain attempts to try and convince me otherwise. The thing in that pot is not worth discussing, but just know that I’m fucking done working here. As long as nothing horrible happens to me in these next two weeks, I’m fucking gone.

One morning, about a week ago, I noticed a commotion outside. A group of my neighbors had gathered which. They were talking to one another and pointing at something down the road. I was more than surprised. Nothing ever happened in a small town like ours.

When I went outside to see what all the fuss was about, I saw a little boy. He was dragging himself forward on the street. The moment I saw his face, I gasped. He looked so incredibly tired. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips nothing but tiny parched lines. His clothes were dirty, used up, almost bleached, as if he’d been walking in the sun like this for years.

More than once, he stumbled and almost crashed to the ground.

Then, my next-door neighbor’s door burst open, and I watched as old Mrs. Stevenson rushed towards the boy.

“Dear lord, child, what happened to you?” I heard her half-scream in alarm.

The boy said nothing, didn’t react at all. For a second, she turned around and her eyes wandered over the group of onlookers who still hadn’t moved, and were still whispering to one another.

“Not doing a damned thing,” she called out to them. “Can’t you see the boy’s hurt!?”

Then she turned to the boy again, whispered something into his ear before she embraced him and led him to her home.

About half an hour later, my doorbell rang, and I was greeted by no other than Mrs. Stevenson, the boy in tow.

“Hello, Julia, do you mind taking is to Dr. Mansfield? You know, the boy, he’s...”

I opened my mouth to make up an excuse, but I saw Mrs. Stevenson’s pleading expression, found her eyes almost digging into me. Eventually, I sighed and nodded.

“Sure, let me get my keys.”

During our drive to Dr. Mansfield’s clinic, I couldn’t help but stare at the boy in the rearview mirror. He just sat there, quietly, not looking at anything. His face was entirely devoid of emotions. It gave me the creeps, and I had to force myself not to shudder. Something was wrong with him and, for a moment, it felt almost as if something dark was lingering around him.

When we arrived, Dr. Mansfield was more than surprised to see us, but got serious the moment he saw the boy.

Yet there wasn’t much he could learn about him. The boy was in terrible shape, but it was attributed to exhaustion and dehydration. Otherwise, he seemed to be fine; no bruises, no wounds, no signs of physical harm at all. What he was worried about, however, was his mental state. The boy seemed almost catatonic. It didn’t matter how much the doctor tried talking to him, he got no reaction.

In the end, he said what the boy need the most, was to rest. Maybe in time, he’d open up and talk.

For now, he took a picture of the boy and said he’d hit up Sheriff Foster to find out if there was any news of missing boys in the local area. A boy just walking into town all by himself. That’s not normal.

Then he suggested he’d take the boy to a hospital or children’s home in a nearby city. Mrs. Stevenson was quick to cut him off.

“Nonsense, Douglas, that boy’s been up for God knows how long! Do you really want to take him all the way to the hospital, or god forbid that ghastly home in Williamsburg?”

“Well, I can’t think of any other-“

“Oh, for Chris’s sake, let me take the boy! I’ve raised four children all by myself and I can handle another for a day or two!”

I couldn’t help but smile a little. Say what you want about old Mrs. Stevenson, but the woman had a heart of gold. Eventually, the doctor yielded and so the three of us went back to my car.

On the way back, Mrs. Stevenson talked on end about what might have happened to the boy. She, too, suggested a kidnapping, or an accident, or he might have been abandoned out in the woods. God knows, she said, there are so many people out there, people who had no qualms about hurting a child.

At first I listened, and even joined in, but after a while I just zoned out. I liked the old lady, I really did, but I could tell she was terribly lonely. She babbled on an and, soon transitioned into what the boy’s name might be, even spoke to him, trying to see if he’d react to one of them.

I was quite happy when she and the boy left my car and made their way back to her home. As they did, Mrs. Stevenson took the boy’s hand and slowly led him on. I couldn’t help but stare after them, and for a second, I thought I saw something dark lingering around him, something that now reached out for the old lady. Then I shook my head. I was being silly.

Once I was back inside, I saw my now cold half-full cup of coffee. I sighed and promptly poured it down the drain and prepared myself a new one.

After that, I settled down for another long day of work. I’m a freelancer and work for an assortment of online magazines, and am always strapped for cash.

Almost without me noticing, the day ticked by. Soon enough, the sun set, but I knew I had another graveyard shift ahead of me.

During a brief break, I noticed something. I’d gotten up to stretch my legs and stopped in front of the window when I noticed a figure in front of Mrs. Stevenson’s home.

At first, the idea of a home invader snaked itself into my brain. I already had my phone in hand to call the cops, when I noticed how small the figure was. For a moment, I leaned forward, straining my eyes. There was no doubt it was the boy.

What the hell was he doing outside this late? I watched and waited for him to go back inside, but he just... stood there.

A moment later, with a strange gut feeling, I made my way outside.

“Hey, what are you doing here? What’s going on?” I called out to him.

No reaction, as I’d expected. Then I saw that the front door was wide open. Once more, a strange feeling washed over me.

“Mrs. Stevenson?” I called out into the open house.

No answer.

I stepped inside, but for a moment, I cringed back when I saw something dark in front of me. I stumbled back, my arms raised in front of me, before I hit the light switch. That’s when I saw her. Mrs. Stevenson was laying at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh my god, what happened?” I called out.

I took the first few steps to rush to her side, but then I noticed her empty eyes and her half-open mouth.

Half an hour later, Dr. Mansfield confirmed what I’d known all along. The old woman was dead.

“A heart attack,” he said with a sad look on his face. “She must’ve collapsed on her way down the stairs before she...”

“Been telling her to take that damned heart medication for years, but she always said she’d be fine,” he added after a while, shaking his head.

As I gave my statement to the police, I couldn’t help but watch the boy, who still stood nearby.

Eventually, the question came up: what would happen to him? Even the police weren’t sure what to do with him. They couldn’t just keep a kid at the station until they’d figured out his identity. I could already feel one of them looking at me when Dr. Mansfield spoke up.

“Guess there’s no helping it. Until there’s some information about his identity, I can keep him with me. I’m sure Clara won’t mind.”

And so it was Dr. Mansfield who now took the boy in. I’d thought that was the end of this entire story. Hell, I thought they’d figure out the boy’s identity in a day or two. Oh, how naïve I was.

Only two days later, I noticed a well-known figure outside my home in the middle of the night. A cold shiver went down my spine. Don’t tell me...

I went outside instantly, and there he was. The same little boy, wearing the same quiet, emotionless expression on his face.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Dr. Mansfield?”

Of course, I got no answer to my questions.

I looked around the neighborhood, searched for a house that still had lights on, but it seemed no one was awake anymore. Freaking hell, I cursed to myself.

My eyes wandered back to the boy. In the night's dark, he crept me out even more, especially his face. That expression, it was so wrong.

For a second, I told myself to just turn around, and go back inside, to ignore him.

I took one step, then another, before a gust of chilly wind hit me and I shivered. I cursed once more and turned around. He was still there, still hadn’t moved. He looked as tired as always. I could see his legs slightly shaking, as if he was about to collapse any second now.

“All right, fine, but I’m calling Dr. Mansfield first thing in the morning.”

No reaction. I sighed, and with quick steps, I made my way towards him. I reached out for him, but then stopped for a moment. There it was again, this strange feeling of lingering darkness. Then, I told myself once more that he was nothing but a boy, took his hand and led him back after me to the house. As his hand rested in mine, it felt so tiny, and for the first time, I wondered how old he actually was.

I plopped him down on the living room couch before I went to the kitchen in search of something to drink.

Eventually, I settled on a glass of orange juice, which I placed on the couch table in front of him.

“There you go. I bet you’re thirsty after coming all the way here, right?”

Without saying a word, he reached for the glass and brought it to his lips. He finished it in two big gulps, but not without spilling a good part of the juice over his shirt.

He really was exhausted, I thought.

Then, I went and got my laptop and decided to continue my work down here. That way, I could at least have an eye on the boy, even though I doubted he’d do anything in the state he was in.

For a few more minutes, I did my best to continue working on another article, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate. The boy’s empty face was eerie, unsettling. I couldn’t help but shiver whenever I looked over at him as he sat on the couch. It almost felt as if, because of his presence, the entire house had grown darker, quieter.

Nonsense, I told myself, shaking my head.

Then, trying to distract myself, I checked out the local news. It was a sort of ritual, something that helped me with both, to stay informed and grounded.

At first, I read about local politics, and about some sort of scandal when I saw a headline that made me look up.

“Tragedy Strikes - Local Doctor and Wife Die Because of Gas Leak”

I stared at it for a second before I opened the article. I read there’d been a gas leak, and a house went up in flames earlier that day. Terrible, I thought, and for a moment, I unconsciously smelled the air inside my home.

When I read on, however, I froze. I read that the remains of Douglas Mansfield and his wife Clara had been found in the kitchen. So far, investigations on what caused the gas leak and the subsequent explosion are still ongoing.

I could only stare at the screen. Was that why he was here? Because the Dr. and his wife were dead? But how’d he get away? Shouldn’t he have been in the house with them? Don’t tell me...

I thought back to poor old Mrs. Stevenson. Dr. Mansfield had said she’d suffered from a heart attack, but hadn’t I found her at the bottom of the stairs? What if she hadn’t collapsed, but someone had pushed her?

My eyes wandered to the little boy once more. I scanned his empty face, and once more I could almost see the darkness that lingered around him.

“Was it you?” I brought out in a quiet voice.

The boy said nothing.

“Was it you?” I repeated, this time louder, almost yelling the question at him.

For the first time, the boy’s head moved and for the first time, I saw something on his face. It was recognition, understanding, and then... fear.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I accused him, feeling myself grow angrier by the second. “You pushed old Mrs. Stevenson down the stairs and you’re the one responsible for that gas leak, right?”

He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but no words came from it.

“Why’d you come here?” I yelled at him.

In that moment, I felt the house growing even darker, almost felt as if some sort of presence had come over it, over me.

I jerked around, my eyes scanning the living room, the hallway, the stairs that led up to the second floor, but there was no one else.

In that instant, I heard something. The boy, he’d moved, gotten closer to me, and for a second, I thought I saw him smirk, saw a ghastly smile on his face. Almost as if he was... planning something.

“You! What are you trying to do?” I screamed at him.

In a few swift steps, I’d reached him and gotten a hold of him.

“Is that why you came here?” I shook him.

As I did, the surrounding darkness grew thicker, heavier, became almost a physical thing. I screamed at him again and again, but got no answer. Not even a sound.

And then it was back, the same ghastly, knowing smirk.

A voice spoke up inside my head, my voice telling me it was him. He killed them. He did it, and soon he’s going to kill you, too.

As I heard this, as these thoughts came to my mind, I lost it. Rage unlike anything I’d ever felt before came over me. I thought again of poor old Mrs. Stevenson, of Dr. Mansfield and his wife. Almost unconsciously, my hands went forward, found his throat, closed around it and squeezed.

For the first time, the boy showed actual, genuine emotions, and I felt my mouth turn into a smile. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he tried desperately to get free. He was trashing around below me, his arms and legs flailing uselessly, but as an answer, I only squeezed harder.

And then, I realized what I was doing. Instantly, I let go of him, cringed back, and fell to the floor.

What the hell was I doing?

I stared down at the little boy, this tiny boy who was only barely moving.

Oh dear god, what had I just done?

Then he regained consciousness, pushed himself up, and I found him staring at me.

The same voice spoke up in my mind. Do it now before it’s too late! You know you have to!

Once more, the same smirk came over his face, and once more, the voice inside my head urged me on, trying to convince me, trying to justify what I’d almost done.

“No, I... I can’t. He’s just a child!”

As the words left my mouth, the ghastly smirk vanished, evaporated, an illusion that had never really been there. All that was there now, had always been, was an apathetic little boy.

Yet as I stared at him, that little voice in my head spoke up again, teasing me, taunting me, telling me just how easy it would be. It tried to convince me how good it would feel to do it, to get revenge for them, for those he’d driven to their deaths.

“No! Shut up! Be quiet goddammit!” I screamed at myself.

At that moment, I could feel the darkness that had fallen over the room surround me, intruding on me, and for the first time, I felt a presence lingering inside of it.

The voice was now back, echoing through my head, my voice, but... it wasn’t. It was something else... something coming from this... this darkness, speaking to me in my voice!

This time, however, it was different. It talked to me about myself, about how useless I was, how I was nothing, how I couldn’t even do the simplest thing. And then I felt it tear my consciousness, my mind, open. All my past regrets and all the guilt I’d accumulated over the years and hidden away in the deepest crevices of my mind came flooding back.

I felt tears coming to my eyes, felt myself shaking. Yet the voice told me there was an easy way, an easy way to make it all stop, all of this. Or, it said, there was also the boy.

For a moment, I stared at the child again. I felt my hands reaching out once more, felt them open up as images of tearing his small body apart came to my mind.

Then, I screamed once more, and fought against whatever this darkness, this presence, was.

For the past thirty minutes, I’ve been typing this out, concentrating on nothing but the words on my screen to quiet the voice inside my head and to push away the images that are coming to my mind.

There’s no way. I can’t do it. You can’t murder a little child, you just can’t.

I don’t know what this presence, this thing is, if it even is a thing. Maybe it’s nothing but the deepest, darkest part of me. But I know I won’t do what it wants me to.

And I know that because of this I’ll most likely end up like old Mrs. Stevenson and Dr. Mansfield and his wife.

I’m going to be the fourth person who dies because of this little boy, because of this harbinger of death that showed up in our town. And I know I won’t be the last.

YT

WS

Sub

[//minor nsfw]

I messed up.

Okay, I won't try to deny things, I messed up. It's my fault things turned out this way, kicked out of the home I helped build, not allowed to see my kids, the woman I loved wishing I was dead, everything. I could blame it on all sorts of things but I won't, it's all my fault. But I know how to fix things. I know how to make them better, and I WILL make things better. I caused all this for myself, so it's only fair.

I'm writing this to clear my head. To get my thoughts in order and to pass the time while I wait. And people deserve to know. They need to know where I'm coming from because then maybe they'll understand. They'll see what I mean, read about what happened and think "yes you did exactly what you needed to do". My methods may be a bit dramatic but they're necessary. Not drastic. A little desperate maybe but what parent wouldn't do anything to see their kids again?

I'll start the story from the beginning, the very beginning, and try to keep an open mind.

I started liking Miranda when I first talked to her. Sophomore year of high school, we had the same Algebra II class, sat directly beside each other. The teacher liked to leave the last 20 minutes of class for everyone to work through the homework after he passed it out, and that was how we met. She always burned through it so one day I turned and asked for her help on it. Two months after that, we began dating, and we were happy, we were content. She was beautiful, dark hair, gray eyes, kind smile, the cutest freckles and cuter dimples - maybe it's creepy to admit but I could already imagine our future children, her smile with my eyes, my hair and her freckles, they were perfect.

We broke up the summer before our senior year, and I was devastated. It was nearly two full years together, thrown away so suddenly. In retrospect, there were definitely signs leading up to it, and maybe I was a bit naive to assume we would be together forever, but a man can dream. I avoided her like the plague after that - her friends were pretty nosy and I did not want to be around when she dirtied up the details of our break up. She and her friends liked to gossip, they cared more about how juicy and entertaining the story was than whether the details were accurate. We spent the school year apart, graduated, and went to different colleges.

Four years later, I graduated from university and got a job a few towns over, and you'll never guess who I ran into in a grocery store.

I thought I had moved on from her, I really did. But with a tap on the shoulder and a "Jonathan? Jonny, is that really you?" suddenly all my old feelings came rushing back, and I blame those damn dimples. She moved to the city where she attended university and as fate would have it, my new apartment was only a mile or two down the road from hers. She showed me a local pastry shop where she always gets a morning donut before work, and before we parted ways, I gave her a kiss on the forehead out of habit. For a second I was worried that she had gotten over me completely, but with the way her face flushed red, I knew I had nothing to worry about.

A year later we were living together. Two years after that, we were engaged. The year after, we were married, and half a year after that we were expecting our first kid.

My life was perfect. I had my high school sweetheart, I had a good paying job, I had a home that we partially tore down and rebuilt together, and by my mid-30s, my oldest kid was 8, the second was 5, the youngest had just called me "dada" for the first time, and they were all as beautiful as I had pictured. Life could not get better for me. Maybe that’s why it went downhill so fast.

A new batch of interns were hired. Among them was this devilish little thing called Lacey, and with a name like that it's no wonder how she turned out. She was young, a fresh out of high school, starry eyed face, just turned 19, and already a proper whore. Yes, a whore, that’s what she was. She was pure temptation, with her tight clothing - too tight for an office space - and the way she would constantly be dropping things just to bend over and pick them up in front of everyone.

I want to make it clear I never intended for things to go the way they did with her. Honest to god. I used to scoff and roll my eyes when she put on her little shows. I scowled and glared. I hated her, so I ignored the way my pants would get tighter every time I heard the sound of a file hitting the floor and that tell-tale little "oops". Like a Pavlov reaction. It's only a natural human reaction after all, it didn’t mean anything. I would repeat that like a prayer while I splashed cold water on my face, reminding myself that I am loyal. I only had eyes for my wife, and I would never hurt my kids like that.

I told myself I would never make a move. It's not my fault that she came to me then.

One morning in winter, I sat at my desk, working away, when she came out of nowhere. She leaned over me, resting her chest on my shoulder, right beside my head, as she grabbed a single paperclip and said "just need to borrow this" in that awful giggly tone, then walked off. That was how it started. That kind of behavior continued for months. She would make excuses to come over and press her body, which reeked of too much cheap perfume, close to mine. She would stare at me throughout the day, then giggle and look away when I looked up, as if it was pure coincidence the way our eyes met. She'd wear the most impractical heels to work, ones so high I was almost impressed by the fact she could walk in them, then waltz into the break room while I ate my lunch, whining about how much her feet hurt, and point to my lap asking if she could "have a seat and rest for a quick second". The bright red lipstick, the way she pressed her hand to my chest, the way she would bat those unnaturally long eyelashes, everything about her I tried to resist.

She was nothing to me. A whore and a harlot. A witch I would have loved to burn at the stake. But I can't deny the things she did to me. That fucking temptress. It was like having a damn pornstar walking around. It felt so unreal, so unbelievable the way I seemed to be the only one who saw it. I swear I was set up. These sorts of things don’t just happen naturally.

Maybe I was exaggerating a little when I said it was all my fault. Certain parts were out of my control. She tempted me, like a fucking demon. A succubus almost. In addition, things weren't exactly perfect at home. Miranda and I, we were driving apart in the recent years of our marriage. The adult versions of all the past reasons we broke up ages ago had some up. She'd say we don't spend enough time together, as if I wasn't working my ass off day in and day out to put food on the table and a roof over our head. She'd say I didn't love her anymore, not like I used to, as if her body hadn't been dragged to hell and back by her pregnancies. As much as I love my children, adore them, to the moon and back, Christ did they do a number to her figure. On the topic of children, she once claimed I didn't pay enough attention to her, that I care "too much" about the children. How fucking selfish is that? Of course I love my kids, of course I'm going to spend a lot of time with them, they're my damn children. Did she want me to neglect them every time she wanted? What kind of father would I be in that case? What kind of mother would think like that?

We weren't just being driven apart, she was pushing me away. With every selfish comment, every damn complaint, it's no wonder I cheated. I needed some kind of relief, something that she just wasn't providing for me.

One day, months ago, I called her. It was already late at night, I was meant to get out of work in just an hour, but I couldn't wait. I missed my kids dearly and just wanted to hear their voices, to tide me over, give me the energy to finish my work, a simple request. On my way into the hallway, I bumped into Lacey. Or more, she bumped into me, purposefully. We regained our balance, and she let out that ugly giggle, that same little "oops", batting those eyelashes that reminded me of caterpillars. She leaned into my ear as we walked off, finally deciding to make a move. I heard a quiet "I bought a hotel room", felt a hand caress my chest, then they were gone.

I did try to disregard her, I truly did. I remembered my family, but I'll admit I did pause to think about it. I was about to tell myself I wouldn't go with her, I'd ignore her, but then my wife picked up the phone, and gave me that final little push I needed. The moment the dial tone stopped, she nearly burst my eardrums with how loud she instantly began to complain. She nagged at me, asking why I hadn't done the dishwasher the night before. Andy wanted to play hide and seek, I forgot, I told her.

"You forgot!" she sighed, exasperated. "Did you see the mess you made last night?!" I did, and I smiled at the memory. I played a cooking show with my daughter in the room and afterwards she wanted to play chef, so I let her rummage around the fridge and pantry, mixing things up in bowls and then plates and glasses when she ran out of bowls. Yes, a mess was made, but the smile on her face was worth it. Miranda didn't care about the fun, however. "I ask one thing of you - ONE - and you can't even do that! I was almost late to work because you left it for me to clean up!" I hummed dully, no longer fully listening as she continued to nag.

I never once told Lacey I was taking her offer, never once said the words "I accept", but we locked eyes as I turned back to glance into the office. The way I told Miranda about a "sudden emergency" that came up, that a random coworker had messed up a few files, and that I would have to stay late to fix it said my entire answer.

"Like having a damn pornstar walking around", I wasn't too far off. She sounded like one, that’s for sure. It made me sick, but god she felt amazing. Like my wife hadn’t in decades. The sex was good, great, better than I'd ever had, can you blame me for getting addicted? She sounded like a squealing pig but luckily she liked getting roughed up, didn't mind when I held my hand over her mouth or shoved her head into the pillow. I had to start stealing make-up wipes from my wife to remove every bit of stray lipstick before I went home, and took an extra bottle of cologne in my work bag to drown out the stench of her cheap perfume. It barely did anything to my home life, I still loved my kids as normal and my wife was as much as a nagging bitch as always, nothing seemed out of the ordinary as following her to a hotel room after work became a part of my schedule.

But that whore got cocky. Everything was going so well. And she ruined everything.

She called my wife one night, after four months of this. I had left the hotel and was driving home. I think she got her number out of my phone while I was in the bathroom. She sneered and giggled and told her everything. Told her how much better she was, how much happier I was with her, swore up and down that she's "stealing her man". She even had the guts to say that I loved her more. That we were meant for each other, that my own wife was nothing to me, not compared to her, and that the only reason I hadn't told her sooner was because I was trying to spare her feelings.

I got home that night to an empty house. I panicked for a good few minutes, searched every room and every little space to find nothing, no one. I tried to call my wife but every time it went to voicemail. After about ten minutes, a car finally pulled into the driveway and Miranda stepped out, alone. When she came inside I demanded to know where the kids were but before I could finish asking, she backhanded me across the face, demanding to know who Lacey was, and I knew it was over.

She yelled at me for a full hour, and every time I tried to defend myself, it added another twenty minutes of screaming. During that time, she admitted she dropped the kids off at her sister's, she didn't want them around to hear this, and in my mind I thought that was the smartest thing she's done in years.

I ended up spending the night in a motel room. She kicked me out, said she was calling a lawyer, filing for divorce, even threw her ring at me as she shoved me out the door. Lacey tried to call me, multiple times. At first I didn’t even know it was her, I refused to save her number, but she left voicemails.

That slut.

That filthy fucking slut.

She told me I was finally free. That we could be together at last. That I'm better off with her.

I nearly crashed the car at least three separate times, eyes blurred with tears.

When I finally found a motel, I sobbed. I was going to lose everything that I worked so hard for. My home, my wife, my kids. God, my kids. What would they think of me? How would she explain things to them? She was going to twist around the details, make me look like some heartless beast, make them think I didn’t care about them. No no, I love them dearly, my kids are my life. It's her I didn’t care about. After all, she didn't care about me.

When I got those taunting texts from Miranda's sister, that’s when my worst fears were starting to come true. She told me they would be fighting for full custody, said to "run to your mistress cause clearly you chose her over them". I could never choose her over them.

I did things I'm not proud of after I got those messages. I showed up at Miranda's workplace when I couldn’t find her at our house. I called her all sorts of things I regret now, a traitorous, selfish bitch, for example. I can say as much as I want that I didn't mean to cause a scene, but the court didn't believe me. And I'll be honest, the idea of her friends and coworkers knowing what kind of person she was was satisfying to me. Maybe I did mean to make a scene. We had to move our fight to the parking lot that day after security escorted me out and I laid out every negative thought I had about her.

At first I was enraged, demanded to know what the fuck makes her thinks she can take me away from my children, then admitted she was never planning on going for full custody, that her sister was just rubbing salt in the wound for her own fun, but after the show I had just put on in front of everyone in her workplace, maybe it was the best option though. I stopped yelling then as the words sunk in. I was no longer mad, now I was heartbroken. I nearly dropped to my knees and begged her to reconsider.

By then everyone had stepped away from their station and were watching the commotion in the parking lot. About two dozen people saw me break down in tears, desperately asking "please, please let me see my kids, don't do this to me, please", I told her that I hadn't even spoken to that whore since the day they spoke on the phone, insisted she meant absolutely nothing to me, because it was true, she was mud under my boot, but she didn’t care. She left me there, sobbing into my hands at the thought of never seeing them again.

Someone had recorded the entire thing. Not just my breakdown outside, but the angry storm I was right before it. It may be used in court. I'm terrified. It shows me at my worst, as "emotionally driven and violent". If it gets shown, I'm fucked.

I tried desperately to convince her not to go for full custody. She took away my keys to the house so I had to camp out in the driveway. When she came out of the house to get to work or was just getting back, I'd be there, once again begging her to let me see my kids. Again, she didn't care. No matter what I said, she ignored me. Even when I told her, with full honesty, that we would never have to worry about that goddamn slut again. That I broke things off, got rid of her, she just wouldn’t listen. Then she got a restraining order. A fucking restraining order. I wasn’t allowed within 60 feet of her, unless it was in court. Because of that, she would get everything. The house, the kids, fucking everything. I'd be left with nothing. I'd be ruined. My perfect life, gone.

But hope isn't fully lost. I know how to fix things. Nothing but the restraining order has been finalized, but no one has to know I'm here.

There's still time. I can get to my kids before she fills their heads with lies.

I was exaggerating, I take it back. It wasn't my fault. No, it was both of their faults. It was Lacey's fault, for tempting me like some fucking snake. It was Miranda's fault, for driving me away, pushing me into Lacey's arms. I'm still going to fix things though. I may not be to blame, but it’s the noble thing to do.

I did take care of Lacey. I'll admit, I did get lucky with her. Apparently she had some drunken ex-boyfriend, recently released from where he was locked up for domestic violence charges. When they found her dead beaten body in the very hotel room we spent many nights together, it threw the police off my scent, and it certainly helped the way that drunken bastard didn't even remember what he was doing the night she dropped dead.

My god, was it satisfying. Smacking that happy smile off her face. Her fear filled eyes as I spat about how much I hated her, how she ruined my fucking life. I almost wish I could relieve it, honestly. She begged, of course. Pleaded, told me she loved me, that she "knew" I loved her too, that she was only doing what she thought was best for me. I shut her up with a firm kick to the jaw.

I'll be more careful with Miranda. The ex-boyfriend thing was a lucky break, I acted on impulse with Lacey. Maybe I am emotionally-driven and violent. Maybe.

There's a pair of bolt cutters in the passenger seat of the car I sit in while I type this. On the other side of the road, Miranda's sister's car is parked in front of a bar. I can barely see the two of them through the window, chatting with the bartender, ordering one colorful drink after another. Miranda and her sister have this little quirk about them, they think they can handle more alcohol than they actually can. I've always been forced to be the sober one in the marriage because of this. Someone had to be well enough to drive them home. Miranda drinks until she's blacked out, and doesn't remember a thing. Her sister drinks only a little less, but swears on her life she's fully sober, even when her words are slurred and she's stumbling around barefoot.

I already know what will happen. They'll have some drinks, think they're fine, then drive home, assuming that since they live so close by, it shouldn't be that hard to drive. Granted, this fact by itself could do the job, but I need to be certain they don’t make it back alive. The brakes are cut, and that’s just the extra little push they need. With Miranda gone, the kids and the house will go to me, and I'll have my life back.

So now do you understand? Does it make sense to you now? If you think not, then maybe try becoming a parent, then you'll see that you too, would do anything to get your kids back.

There I was on a Friday night, voluntarily freezing my ass off in an Arby’s parking lot, waiting for eight suburban moms to drop their boy scout sons off so we could spend a sleepless night in the woods together. I was just a kid, probably four or fifteen, and was only going along because my dad insisted that camping built “character”. Frankly I didn’t even know what he meant by “character”, though it did seem at times to be synonymous with both machismo and incontinence. I knew it was important to my dad that I went, and that maybe it would help me develop into the kind of man that he was, something that (despite my teenage rebellious streak) I wanted for my life. So, I went. I was already starting to regret my decision as we piled into the Scout Master’s van, shoving and trampling each other in a fight for the front seats like refugees gunning for the last boat out of town. After I took a third elbow to the ribs I began seriously considering an Uber ride back home, but knew Dad would be waiting there and so I persevered. Eventually the winners were decided, and the rest of us packed into the back like sweaty pubescent sardines. I didn’t like to roughhouse - I found it barbaric and also I wasn’t very good at it, so I ended up with a spot in the very back. The air conditioner didn’t work back there, and 15 years of warm boy scout grime had congealed into a goopy film that coated the entire pleather bench. It smelled like old baby vomit, like the nooks and crannies of an inner city Chuck E. Cheese, and it made me carsick before I even sat down. We rolled out of the parking lot and drove eastward. I took my last look at our town before we got onto the highway and headed for the middle of nowhere.

Thanks to the media, people have certain misconceptions about boy scouts. Many see them as eager do-gooders who spend their time helping old ladies cross the street and build wheelchair ramps.( For an example, see Russell from the Disney movie “UP”.) This accounts for maybe 1% of boy scouts. The rest are reckless nerdowells who want to spend their free time playing with knives, learning how to light stuff on fire, and making spears with their knives. Most of them couldn’t care less about civil engagement, the Scout Oath, or learning how to tie a bunch of fucking knots. Sorry if this ruins your image of Boy Scouts, or if you are one of the 1% that actually gave a shit about the program, but this is (or at least was) the reality of scouting. It was basically a band of attention-deficient teens and preteens looking for an excuse to screw around and not take showers. I was expected to survive a weekend in the wilderness with these kids, and the van ride was already killing me. Someone farted five minutes after we left, and the smell accumulated and lingered in the back. I hope you can empathize with my situation.

We reached the edge of civilization, where buildings became sparse and interwoven with dark, foreboding groves of trees. At night, the woods can hide all sorts of mysteries that wait, hidden from the human senses, until you are right upon them. We drove on through the dark stretch of wood, the road turning from black to a worn out gray and narrowing until it could barely qualify as a two-way street. It wasn’t long before, itching for stimulation, some of the boys began to complain. One whined that his new hiking boots were too tight and they were giving him blisters, which was odd because he was sitting down. Try as we might, we couldn’t get him to put his shoes back on and soon I was wishing we really were at an inner city Chuck E. Cheese instead of what was rapidly becoming the most noxious environment known to vankind. I seriously thought about asking our doomsday prepper Scout Master if he had a gas mask somewhere in the van, but decided that he wouldn’t give it to me even if he did. The only voice of reason in the chaotic van ride was Marla, a super badass fifty-something year old woman who had grown up in Alaska working as a tour guide for rich hunters from the lower 48. Fighting soon erupted about the foot smell, and Marla was the one who eventually put it out. With a few snaps she quieted the boys, and a quick order made the shoes go back on in a flash. It wasn’t long, however, before a new complaint was voiced by one of the boys that sent ripples echoing through the troop.

“I’m starving,” one boy sighed. His name was Cole; he had thick glasses and breathed loudly through his nose.

“You should have gotten something from Arby’s, we were waiting there for like ninety minutes.” I told him.

“I wasn’t hungry then,” Cole explained. I was about to ask how it was possible for him to be starving if he wasn’t hungry forty-five minutes ago when another boy chimed in.

“I’m hungry, too,” Jacob complained.

“I’m starving,” said Levi. Soon a chorus of hangry boys rang out so loud and unanimous that nobody except for Scout Master Steve and I noticed we had rolled into a clump of thick fog. It didn’t last very long, but it was sudden and so thick it blocked out all of the windows. For a moment, all I could see was swirling dark gray. Then, quickly as it had appeared, the fog billowed away and left us back in the forest, or at least a forest. It wasn’t very perceptible but if I squinted hard at the trees zipping past us I thought I could see a glowing blue light in the distance. It looked like a deep blue sun was rising far away, deep within the trees. The road bent and we started heading straight in the direction of the glow. The closer we got to it, the stronger the light became. It went from a faint royal to a brighter baby blue which grew into a sharp, electric neon blue, almost like the world’s biggest bug zapper was waiting for us up ahead.

The reality ended up not being much different. In the sudden cacophony of hungry voices, one rang out above the rest.

“Look, a restaurant!” One boy pointed towards the source of blue light. We all turned instinctively and saw a tall blue neon sign that read ‘All U Can Eat Buffet - 24/7’. Below this, in smaller letters, were the different types of cuisine they served. The list was long enough that it would have dissuaded even the bawdiest foodie. With so many different types of food, all being served 24/7 in the middle of the woods, there was no way any of it was very good. But, “all you can eat” sounded like the most enticing fantasy to most of those boys, and a worthy challenge to the rest, and they all started begging Scout Master Steve to pull over. Our troop mantra could have been “boys will be boys”. Steve resisted initially, alternately promising we would love his rabbit stew and scolding us because real survivalists (which we were not and never wanted to be) didn’t eat at buffets. He threatened to drive on, but almost as though fate herself had heard the boys’ cries, in that very moment a tire popped. Cheers erupted from the benches and Steve cursed under his breath. Marla, who was also up in front, turned to him.

“Do you have a spare?”

“Yes, of course I do!” Steve said proudly. “The Scout motto is: Be prepared. Of course I have a spare.” Then his smile faded and he switched to a hushed tone. “But it’s pretty thin and old, and I don’t know if it’ll get us all the way to the campsite. Our best chance of getting back at all is probably to just turn around and go back to town once I put it on.” Marla nodded. From the faces the boys had made when Steve mentioned his rabbit stew, she knew they wouldn’t be very disappointed to know that the trip was off.

“I guess we could at least let them eat at this place,” Marla said. “To be honest, all their whining about being hungry has me feeling a little famished, too.” My own stomach growled when I heard Marla say those words. Hunger, like most human sensations, is very suggestible. “Though I don’t know why they want to eat here, of all places.” Steve laughed at this.

“To a hungry teenage boy, an all you can eat buffet is like dying,” he chuckled, “and going to heaven. I’ll change the tire, you go in with them.”

“Are you sure?” Marla asked.

“Oh, believe me, I’ll be happier changing the tire.” This made them both laugh. Then Marla turned around to address the scouts.

“Ok boys, listen up. Scout Master Steve is going to have to change the tire and he doesn’t know if the spare will make it all the way to the campsite so we’ll probably just have to go home.” All of two boys groaned, and someone whispered ‘Thank God’.

“Since we won’t be able to make Steve’s delicious rabbit stew…” Marla paused for dramatic effect, “he’s graciously decided to buy us all dinner.” The boys erupted in cheers again. She winked at Steve. There was a cute dynamic between them. I wondered if maybe they were having an affair. The scouts went pouring out of the van faster than they could recite the Scout Oath. I waited for my turn in the back seat and looked at the conspicuously conspicuous restaurant outside. What were the chances that our tire would pop right in front of it? I wondered to myself. No one else seemed to share my concern, or even notice that there were weeds coming up through the road in front of the restaurant, which didn’t seem to have any name except for “All U Can Eat Buffet”. There was also a suspicious lack of cars in the parking lot. It seemed to me that a restaurant with food from twenty different countries would have a few cars in their parking lot for staff, or at least a delivery driver. Perhaps they were all in the back, I thought. It was a weird place for a restaurant, for sure, but I was hungry and any place sounded better than the back of that van. What was the worst that could happen? Mass food poisoning? Still sounded better than staying in the van. I hopped out and ran over to the others.

Steve popped in to pay for our meals, then popped back out to fix the popped tire. Inside, Marla led us to the front desk where an elderly Chinese man greeted us. He listed off all of the different food options available and where they were located. The physical restaurant was huge from the inside, with probably eight or nine different large rooms that presented wide tables and countertops spilling over with copious amounts of delicious smelling food. Our eyes widened like gobstoppers as the host toured us through the labyrinth of culinary delights. The food looked good, almost too good. I had to get up close and examine some honeydew to make sure it wasn’t plastic. Everything was so overwhelmingly perfect that I almost didn’t notice Marla, already with her plate, sampling the macaroni salad. She took a taste, and her mouth twisted into a pleased smile. The host shepherded us into the next room, “Seafood and Mongolian”, while behind us Marla scooped more and more macaroni salad onto her plate. Then there was a wet plop! I turned and saw Marla’s head buried in the vat of macaroni salad, munching away under the surface. Some other boys noticed and laughed. I wanted to go check on her, but the host ushered us on.

Something wasn’t right. There was too much food for a small restaurant in the middle of the woods, but something else was bothering me as well. Besides the silent host who was very persistently escorting us into the bowels of the seemingly endless restaurant, there didn’t seem to be any other staff. There weren’t any servers, or any people bringing out new trays or removing old ones, or anyone wiping down the tables. I thought back to the carless parking lot and started to wonder if there really wasn’t anyone here except for us and this old man. I took a good look at him, and that’s when I noticed something that really worried me. Even though he seemed to be walking, his feet weren’t moving. It was like he was gliding over the floor. I hadn’t noticed before because I was in the back of the group, but now that I had picked up on it I couldn’t believe I didn’t realize sooner. He wasn’t walking, he was floating. What the hell was this place?

I started to feel dizzy. The room, with its piles of dazzling food, moved around me at a mile a minute. Meanwhile the host passed plates out to the other scouts, who quickly dispersed throughout the building. His silent smile burned through me. I tried to call out, but couldn’t. My heart was in my throat. We were in some kind of human fly trap, and for some reason I was the only one who could see it. It didn’t take long for the toxic effects of the food to work on the other boys. I watched Cole take a bite of apple crisp before plunging his face into the pan. Meanwhile Levi was shoveling mashed potatoes down his throat by the mouthful until it pushed out of his nose like a playdough toy. A kid named Paul was cracking mussels open like a wild animal and couldn’t get them in his mouth fast enough. Oil and brine mixed with saliva foamed down the sides of his face. Joshua had his face hidden in a hot pan of crawdads. I screamed when he stuck his head up for air. His skin was red and covered with blisters, puss oozed from open sores around his eyes and nose. He looked like a burn victim, and yet after taking a quick gulp of air he stuck his head back in the hot pan for seconds. I desperately tried to run over to Paul and yank his head out of the tray but I couldn’t move. I screamed out of fear and frustration, which caught the attention of our gracious host. He had his back to me but his head turned almost 180 degrees to face the source of the screaming, which unfortunately for me was me. He then spun the rest of his body towards me, again without moving his feet, and slid forward with that artificial grin.

“I can tell you are displeased. We want you to enjoy yourself here. Please accept a free dessert, on the house.” He pulled an ice cream sundae from behind his back with one hand and placed it on my plate. With the other hand, he offered me a spoon. I froze, not sure what my next move should be. I didn’t want to upset this thing, be it a robot or alien or whatever, and I definitely did not want to eat anything. He stood there, his hand outstretched and unwavering, waiting for me to accept the spoon. Cautiously, I accepted it and decided I would try to fake eat to appease the smiling creature in front of me. I grabbed it, pretended to dip it into the ice cream, and then stuck it in my mouth and moaned a big “mhmmmmm”. He stood there, looking at me. He didn’t move at all, not even to blink.

“Geez, they need to develop a more life-like model” I thought to myself. Anyone who wasn’t drunk on their food could instantly notice that something was off about him. I stared at him while he stared at me. If he were a real person, it would have been a very awkward moment indeed. However, given that he wasn’t a real person and was instead some kind of waiter from hell, bent on destroying a group of innocent children, it was less awkward and more pants-shittingly frightening. I couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t leave me alone. I pretended to take another bite, and really tried to sell it.

“Mmmmm, so tasty! Thank you so much!” I said, hoping that would do the trick. The host didn’t move a muscle. His blank smiling face was now only about twelve inches from mine. Had he gotten closer? I wondered. A quick glance at his feet gave me the answer. His feet were slowly gliding in my direction, bringing him nearer to me. I began to panic. I wanted to run away, but my own feet felt stuck in place again, like I was standing in a block of concrete. In desperation I looked around at my friends, hoping that someone was lucid enough to come help me, but everyone was completely entranced under the mysterious food’s spell. That’s when I realized what I was doing wrong. The host was closer, just barely six inches away, so I had to act fast. I turned so that my face was hidden from his view and flopped my face forward until it was almost touching a bowl of pudding, which was the closest thing that wasn’t hot enough to boil my skin, and began flailing my arms around and making slurping noises with my mouth.

“Slrrrrrr, mmm so good, slurrrrrp, oh yeaah” I mumbled and crossed my fingers, hoping that the silent man would buy the act. I watched through the reflection in the silver bowl as he stopped inching closer, turned, and whizzed away. He bought it. As soon as he was out of sight, I got my face as far away from that pudding as I could. I had been careful not to get any on my skin but still feared that particles in the air could make it through my nasal canals and infect me. I inched my way over to the nearest boy, Ralph, and tried to talk to him while he swiped butter into his mouth like his tongue was the world’s driest piece of toast. “Ralph!” I whisper-yelled. “Ralph, snap out of it! It’s me!” He didn’t react, not even to acknowledge I was there. I reached over and tugged sheepishly on the wrist that was doing the butter scooping, but quickly regretted it when he grabbed my fingers and bent them back farther than they were supposed to reach. I heard a pop, and my first three fingers swelled with sharp pain. It was all I could do to not scream. Clutching my now crippled hand, I backed away from my friend Ralph. It didn’t look like there was anything I could do to help him, or any of the other boys for that matter, so I decided that my best option was to gradually make my way towards the front doors undetected. I started to shuffle out of the room when I heard the kitchen door open in the next room over. I stopped and pretended to shove my face into a big, big salad. Three men and one woman walked out in brown draping robes. They went over to Levi and the woman ran a long fingernail across his back, like he was a sports car she was appreciating. The biggest man licked his lips.

“Let’s hurry and do this. I’m starving.” He said, rubbing his hands together greedily.

“Calm down,” the woman said. She lifted a lock of Levi’s hair and yanked it. He didn’t even flinch, just kept on eating. “They’re not going anywhere. Look at them,” she motioned around the building, “even for spellbounds, they’re out of it. This will be a piece of cake.” The group laughed together, and I shuddered. They were like modern Hansel and Gretel witches or in some kind of cannibalistic cult and planned on doing something terrible to my friends. I needed to get out of the restaurant and find Scout Master Steve, but had no idea how I would slip out unnoticed now that the Hogwartz crew was here. I was so busy worrying that I almost didn’t notice the figure standing across the table from me.

“Can you hear me?” I looked up and saw that it was Steve. What a relief it was to see him, and to see him not under the hypnotic influence of the broccoli slaw. I turned in the direction of the robed people to make sure they weren’t watching, then nodded to indicate I could hear him.

“Don’t eat the food,” I whispered. “There’s something wrong with it.”

“I know, I realized that when I walked in here and saw everyone like..” he looked around at his scouts, who were literally eating themselves to death, “well, like this.”

“What brought you in here?” I asked.

“Our tire didn’t pop on its own. Someone threw bent nails out across the road, like they wanted us to get stuck here. That got me a little freaked out, so I ran in here to make sure everything was okay. How come you didn’t eat anything?”

“I was the last one in line, and by the time I got my plate and everything I could tell that something was wrong. What do we do now?” I asked.

“Well, I guess we gather up the boys and Marla and get the heck out of here before anything terrible happens.” He said.

“What about those guys?”

“Who?” Steve looked confused. He hadn’t noticed the robed creeps. I pointed them out to him discreetly. “Oh, shit. Where did they come from? Damn it, that makes things complicated.”

“Should we call the police?” I suggested. He shrugged his shoulders.

“We could, but they’d never get here in time. Good thing is that I’ve got my gun on me. Here’s what I think we should do.” He leaned over closer to me. Up near me, I could see he was shaking, which as a kid really freaked me out. When you’re young, you think you can always rely on the adults around you to handle tough situations. Seeing a grown man that I respected so much shake with fear made me realize just how dangerous our situation was. “I’m gonna draw my gun on them. You, take these,” he tossed me his keys. “When I tell you to, go into the van and grab the climbing rope from the back.You’ll use it to tie them up. Do you remember your knots?” Around us, the boys stopped eating and stood up straight in unison, as if they were robots being controlled from a central remote. Unfortunately, we were too busy making our escape plan to notice.

“I- I don’t know. I think so” I stammered.

“That’s alright, I can walk you through it. Then, once they’re tied up nice and good, we grab the rest of the boys and get out of here, got it?” He looked at me, and there was a seriousness to his question. He was giving me the trust he would give an equal. He needed to know he could count on me. I swallowed the knot in my throat, nodded, and opened my mouth to say the words “got it” but was cut off by some different words spoken by a different mouth.

“Hey, you two!” We both whipped around to find one of the robed men pointing at us from the center room. The other three robed figures stood next to him, and all of the boys plus Marla were gathered around them in a circle, their heads hanging limply onto their chests and shoulders. They were all still and silent, totally hypnotized by those evil wizards and ready at their beck and call like a zombie army. We were the only two out of the group who weren’t standing in the circle, which probably tipped them off to the fact that we were not hypnotized and were planning to escape. That, and also that we had been talking about our plan to tie them up at gunpoint and escape. Apparently they had heard us, evidenced by what the man said next.

“We heard your plan to tie us up at gun point and escape,” the man cooed in a shrill, rasping voice. Steve let his head fall limp and began stumbling towards the center as if he was suddenly under their spell. “Nice try, Scoutmaster. We know you’re faking.”

“Must…obey…so…hungry” he mumbled as he walked with his arms held out straight in front, like an old school Frankenstein’s monster. When Steve passed me, he turned his head ever so slightly and gave me a wink.

“And we saw that little wink, too.” The man said. “So don’t even think about trying any funny business or your friends here are toast.” But this threat did nothing to deter Steven. He just kept on walking like a zombie towards the group.

“Wait,” said the biggest man. “Are you sure he’s not out of it? I mean, do you think he would keep pretending like this even after being called out? That’s a ballsy move if I ever saw one.”

“Shut up, Brother Thomas. Of course he’s faking it, we just saw him talking to the boy not two seconds ago.” The raspy-voiced man, who seemed to be their leader, said.

“I don’t know,” the big man replied. “In twenty years, I never seen anyone do something like this.” He shook his head in disbelief. Meanwhile, Steve continued stumbling his way forward, not even wavering in his dedication to the act.

“This is ridiculous,” the leader said. “Children, attack him!” He commanded the boy scouts and Marla. They all simultaneously lifted up their heads, turned, and charged towards Steve. However, before any of them could reach him, Steve pulled out his gun and shot the leader in the chest. As it turns out, dark magic isn’t very effective against a gun, which coincidentally settled a question I always had regarding a hypothetical wizard vs. muggle war scenario. Instantly, the group fell out of the mind-controlling spell’s power.

“Aaaaaaah!” The three other robed cultists screamed at their fallen leader. “Brother Humphrey, Brother Humphrey, are you alright?” The big man they called Brother Thomas bent down and began performing CPR, pounding on his chest right beside the gunshot wound. With every push, blood squirted out of the bullet hole.

“Stop, Brother Thomas! You’re just making it worse!” The woman yelled.

“We can’t let him die like this!” Brother Thomas wailed and started pounding Brother Humphrey’s chest even more vigorously, sending blood spurting every which way.

“What happened,” Cole said, waking out of his stupor. Levi gave him a confused look.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. All around, my friends started coming out of their haze. I smiled, relieved that they were okay and that Brother Thomas didn’t seem to understand how CPR worked.

“Scouts, listen up!” Steve shouted out to the group. “We need to get out of here at once! Is anyone hurt?” Only Joshua, the kid who had burned his face in the crawdad tray, raised his hand. “Josh, can you run?” Steve asked him. He nodded in reply. “Okay, we’ll get you bandaged up outside. Everyone, run as fast as you can to the van!” He yelled. Some boys started walking nonchalantly towards the door. “Run, now!” Steve yelled louder, and they all took off like spooked horses. Unfortunately, the witch reacted before any of them could reach the door. She raised her arm up high, swung it once around her head, and shot chains out of her hand which wrapped around the door handles, locking us inside.

“Not so fast,” She shrieked. “You killed our leader, our beloved Brother, the Grand Wizard Humphrey. He was a great man,”

“No he wasn’t, he was going to kill us!” I yelled. She eyed me, shocked that I had said anything. I guess I didn’t look like the kind to talk back to witches. To be honest, I was shocked too. “He was a terrible man.”

“Hush, boy!” She hissed. “He was the supreme leader of a great and secret society. One that feasts on the bodies of children like you!” Steve gasped, and cocked his head slightly in a confused stupor.

“You’re from…Planned Parenthood?” He asked.

“No, you fool! Planned Parenthood doesn’t eat babies! I should kill you just for saying something so preposterous. Who are you, Alex Jones?” I giggled to myself. I mean, it was stupid of Steve to think that. I guess it was typical of someone who spends their free time prepping for the apocalypse and researching conspiracy theories on Facebook. Hopefully she didn’t kill him for it, though. “We are the organization called the Red Cross. For millennia we have used black magic to sacrifice innocent souls to the devil in exchange for power and youth. And I know what you’re thinking. The answer is no, we’re not related to the other Red Cross. People always think we’re related, and it’s like ‘are you kidding me?’ We’ve been around for thousands of years and they started in, what, 1952 or something? Anyway, long story short, we’re going to sacrifice you all to the devil.”

“Please, don’t do anything to these kids. They’ve done nothing wrong, they’re innocent!” Steve cried.

“Yes, that’s the point. Did you not listen to my speech?” The witch asked. She sounded offended.

“Please, if you will, take me instead. I will give you my soul if you agree to let the rest go.” I thought this was a bit of a humble brag, since it implied that Steve’s soul was worth more than the rest of ours combined. Surprisingly, however, the witch seemed to consider it.

“Well, that’s an interesting offer.” She mused, scratching her chin in thought. “The willing sacrifice of a soul, the laying down of one’s life for one’s friends. That kind of act generates so much innocent power that it might just be worth the rest. But,” She gave Steve the stink eye. “I don’t like you.”

“Please, at least consider it!” Steve pleaded from his knees. It was remarkable to watch someone offer his life for mine. Steve was different, and frankly a little stupid, but he was a good guy. The three robed cultists formed a huddle and debated his offer. Eventually, Brother Thomas spun around and addressed Steve.

“It looks like we’re going to have to pass,” he said.

‘What?” Steve yelped. “But why?”

“Well, it seems she just really doesn't like you.” Brother Thomas explained with regret.

“Because of the Planned Parenthood thing? That seems like an overreaction.”

“Yeah, well she’s really sensitive about that kind of stuff.” Brother Thomas went on.

“What do you mean, ‘that kind of stuff’?” The witch yelled. “You guys can’t even have children, so you know what? No uterus, no opinion!” She had a point.

“I’ll give you my soul.” The room went silent, and everyone looked at Marla. “Will you take mine?” The two men looked at their female counterpart inquisitively. She paused, then nodded.

“Okay, we’ll accept your soul,” she agreed, “but are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re the only woman here, I was planning on letting you go free.” This made me worry, but Marla didn’t even hesitate in her reply.

“I’m sure. I could never walk away from here knowing I could have saved my friends but didn’t.” She glanced longingly at Steve. If I hadn’t been so touched, I would have realized this was strong evidence to support my affair theory. But none of that mattered. Marla was doing something few people ever have the strength to do; she was helping others even when it was inconvenient for her in the gravest way possible. She was a hero.

“Ok, if you are sure, we’d love to have your soul. Come over here and take my hand.” The witch said, reaching a thin, pale appendage out from her draping sleeve. Marla slowly made her way over, taking one last look at the group as she did. Finally she arrived at the witch.

“Will it hurt?” She asked. The witch shook her head.

“Not even a little bit. At least, I don’t think so. To be honest I don’t have a clue. It’s not like you can ask someone how it went.” Marla winced at the witch’s callousness.

“So, this means I’ll die, right?” Marla asked.

“That’s right,” the witch nodded, and with that she snatched Marla’s hand. For a moment, everything went white. I heard a ringing in my ears, and the sound of a trumpet from off in the distance. Slowly the white faded away, and the real world came back into view with all its sights, sounds and smells.

“Put your shoes on!” Levi yelled. He punched Cole in the arm. I was surprised to see that we were back in the van, right around the spot where we had entered the fog before. At first I thought it had all been a dream and felt an immense sense of relief until I searched the front seat and noticed that Marla was no longer there. Gone was the silent yet brave, stoic and strong-willed woman who had entered the van only hours ago.

“Woah, Josh what happened to your face?” One of the boys yelled. It seemed that the rest of the scouts had completely forgotten what transpired in the mysterious woodland restaurant, which ended up being a trap for gluttonous little boys like us. I looked around the van, and no one seemed to remember what had happened to Josh’s face. They all laughed or gasped and chatted away about their theories as to why he was inexplicably “sunburnt,” and soon the conversation progressed to new topics, as normal conversations do. No one was too worried about the matter. They were more concerned with Minecraft, the girls from school, and Cole’s stinky feet that he wouldn’t cover up. It must be because they até the food, I thought. They had their memory erased. This made me realize that I might not be the only one with memories of the restaurant and of Marla’s sacrifice. I looked in the rearview mirror and found two red, watery eyes staring back at me. One other person remembered.

The silence in my apartment took me time to get used to, but now it is my escape from chaos and unnecessary noises . I have been living alone in this apartment from the past one year and the best part about it is that the entire floor is vacant .Why do I prefer living alone?, you may ask. The answer is pretty simple,I am scared of people, and what they are capable of doing.Thus, i feel safe alone.

When you live alone, your entire home is your territory, and what I love the most about it, is not having to close my bathroom door. The freedom to roam around my home without having to worry how I dress up, you are the most honest person when no one’s around. My broker, when he showed me this flat last year was really excited about the bathroom door. “ Look at it Madam, it is a sliding door and has mirror on both the sides.” I did not want to disappoint the man, So I went to the door pretending to admire it but in reality I wanted to slide it open and it has never been slided back out ever since. It has been eternal bliss.

As all good things must come to an end, the door to the apartment right in front of mine was open, with multiple moving boxes outside. I tried to figure out what happened, then I saw him, a lean guy wearing a super hero T shirt. He smiled and told me his name, but I wasn’t listening. I moved towards the lift. He looked like one of those serial killers from all those corny TV shows. Like one of those nerdy guy who would strangle the most popular girl of their school if they didn’t go out with him, and no one would have guessed it’s them because they were always the shy one. But he couldn’t fool me even if he tried.

Its been a week since he moved in, and his behavioural pattern is making it apparent that I need to be a little more careful. This guy is weird, the very evening of the day that he moved in, I remember him opening the box of tools, it was a huge box for a guy so small. He smiled at me and said “ I like carpentry”. Chills ran down my spine.

Every day I find him standing at the door of his apartment when I leave for work, he gives me a sly smile but I keep a plain face. I don’t know how to live with this fear, I want to move out of this place, I have finally slid close the bathroom door now and when I walk towards my washroom unaware, my own reflection scares the shit out of me.

I needed to tell someone how my life was in danger, I remember how unsafe I felt few years back and shared it with my mom, in order to make her understand how anything could harm me I had to give her demonstrations. She thought I was paranoid. But, I succeded in convincing her.

I could not take it anymore, I finally walked up to his door and reluctantly knocked. He opened up “Hi, Neighbour”. I got straight to the point. “ Your presence is dangerous for me, you have all sorts of tools that could easily kill a person”. He watched me with his mouth open, just like my Mom.

His house wasn’t settled, his toolbox cardboard was still lying next to the sofa. I jumped towards it and got the Screwdriver out. “ See, this can easily puncture a hole in the brain or neck and it scares me to have a man live on same floor as me with such stuffs.” He started calling me names but I wasn’t listening. This convincing wasn’t going to be easy, just like it was with my Mom and her Kitchen knife. I got closer to him to explain what I felt. I took the Screwdriver and pushed it through his skull, he couldn’t make what happened , I just wished for him to understand how unsafe it was have such stuff around without the demonstration. But this guy wouldn’t understand it without one, Just like my Mom.

My wife changed, there was no denying that. It's not that she was better or worse than she used to be, it's just that she was different, completely different. The habits she once had were gone, replaced by new ones that I was still trying to get used to.

At first, I tried to rationalize it, maybe it was just a phase, a midlife crisis or something. But as the weeks passed, her changes became more and more pronounced. She stopped doing things she used to love, like cooking elaborate dinners or going out for long walks in the park. Instead, she spent hours holed up in her study, pouring over books and documents that she kept hidden from me.

It was as if she had become a different person altogether, and I couldn't help but wonder if she was still the woman I had married. Sometimes, when I caught her staring off into space, lost in thought, I would try to start a conversation, but she would snap out of it and give me a small, forced smile like she was trying to hide something.

Our baby daughter, on the other hand, did not seem to notice anything unusual. Could babies notice such changes anyway? She was happy and carefree besides her cries, completely unaware of the changes in her mother. It's almost as if I was the only one who could see what was happening.

At first, I thought it was just a phase, but it's been going on for months now, and it's starting to worry me. Sometimes, I find myself wondering if she's really my wife, or if someone or something has taken over her body. I know how ridiculous it sounds, but I can't help but speculate.

As the days went on, my doubts grew stronger. I started to wonder if my wife was seeing someone else, or if she was going through some sort of mental breakdown. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that she was keeping a secret from me.

One night, as I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep, I heard her get up and slip out of the room. I waited a few moments before following her, curious to see where she was going. I saw her tiptoe down the hallway and disappear into her study, closing the door softly behind her.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should disturb her, but my curiosity got the best of me. I opened the door quietly and peered inside, expecting to see her poring over books and documents like she usually did.

I tried talking to my wife about it, but she just brushed it off and tells me not to worry. But how could I not worry? I loved her, and I didn’t want to see her like that. Sometimes I felt like I was losing her like she was slipping away from me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

One day, as I was sorting through some old photo albums, I came across a picture of my wife from a few years ago. She was smiling brightly, her eyes sparkling with life and happiness. It was like looking at a completely different person.

I was torn between confronting her and trying to understand her, between wanting to help and fearing that I would make things worse. I just wished I knew what was going on and that we could get through this together, as a family.

I tried to be supportive and to adapt to her new habits and routines, but it was hard in the beginning. But as the weeks passed, I slowly got used to this strange and new version of my wife. Her quirks and habits became familiar to me, and I learned to accept them as part of who she was now. I tried to convince myself that this was just a phase, that she would eventually return to her old self, but deep down, I knew that something had changed permanently.

Then one night changed everything.

The night was darker than most; a thick, velvety darkness that seemed to seep into the very corners of our bedroom, where the dim glow of the alarm clock struggled to break through. A late summer storm grumbled outside, the wind moaning softly as it clawed at the house, causing the branches of the ancient oak in our yard to scrape against the window. My wife and I slept fitfully, the occasional distant roll of thunder a constant reminder of the tempest that brewed beyond the sanctuary of our home.

In the midst of this uneasy slumber, we were jolted awake by the piercing sound of our baby's cries, crackling through the baby monitor with an urgency that set our hearts racing.

"Please don't worry, I'll take care of it. Just stay here," I reassured her. Emily let out a sigh and pulled the blanket over herself as I was leaving the room.

As my bare feet connected with the cold hardwood floor, it gave me a frigid, cold. The room was a maelstrom of shadows as if the storm outside had invaded our safe haven, playing tricks on my mind as I fumbled my way toward the nursery.

The door to the nursery lay slightly ajar, the pale yellow light spilling out into the hallway and illuminating the path before me. I pushed the door open with trembling hands, anxiety knotting itself tightly in the pit of my stomach. As the nursery came into view, I saw my wife, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the nightlight, standing over the crib.

“What the hell? How did she appear there? She was supposed to stay in bed and I didn’t see her leaving the bedroom!” I told myself.

I stood there in disbelief, trying to make sense of what had just happened. My mind raced with questions and doubts, and I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of my stomach.

The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that I had not seen her get up from bed. I would have noticed if she had left, I was sure of it. I had been wide awake when I heard the baby crying, and I would have noticed if she had gotten out of bed, even if it was just to use the bathroom. No, she must have been there all along, hidden by the darkness of the room. But how could that be possible?

Her long, auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders, the ends caressing her silk nightgown as she bent over our baby girl. Her delicate hands gently cradled our daughter, whose sobs began to subside as she sensed the comforting presence of her mother. There was something warm, something welcoming about her which made me very feel very comfortable and I wanted to hug you right there.

The storm continued to rage outside, but within the confines of our nursery, it felt as though time had slowed, the world outside momentarily forgotten.

My wife's emerald green eyes, shimmering with concern and love, met mine as I approached the crib. Her lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile, an unspoken message that everything was going to be alright. As I drew closer, the warm, familiar scent of lavender and vanilla, my wife's signature fragrance, enveloped me, further soothing my frayed nerves.

"Don't worry, I heard it too," she whispered to our child, her voice barely audible over the distant rumble of thunder.

“Emily? How the hell did you come here? I didn’t see you get up from bed!”

“What are you talking about, John? I have been here all night I never left the nursery!” she said and her voice and tone immediately became familiar to me, she was like a different person: she was the person, who I first met, she was the person who I knew, she was my wife, the one who I had lived for years.

I was stunned. I hurried back to our bedroom, only to find that the bed was empty.

It has been 10 years since that night and everything has returned to its usual routine. Emily is the same but I can’t shake off the feeling that something was off during those weeks back then. Emily doesn’t believe me when I bring up the topic and actually we just laugh it off. But still, the question of who my other wife was sends shivers down my spine, like haunting echoes.

^More

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It's something I'd heard my whole life, though it's never been this clear.

"If I make this shot, the world lives."

As a kid, it would rustle across my brain like a flock of birds, sometimes if I was thinking hard about something, and sometimes when I was just being quiet and trying to focus. It was never distracting, never something that tore me away from my day-to-day life, and, in fact, it made me feel safe. It wasn't even in my voice, not any voice I was familiar with. They say that when you talk to yourself and your internal voice talks to you, it's still your voice.

This voice wasn't like anything I'd ever heard.

My whole life, it sounded like the same childish trill.

As I got older and started going to church, I started thinking it might be something different. I noticed that the voice always came before something good, giving me the confidence to try things I wouldn't normally do. I'd hear the voice just before a test or right before I stepped up to bat, and I'd know that everything was about to turn out great. The more it happened, the more I became convinced I was special.

The longer it went on, the more I thought I was hearing the voice of God.

I told my priest about it, my family being very Catholic, and he said it sounded like I had a close relationship with God. Even at eight years old, I could tell that he didn't believe me, but I didn't care. I knew what I was hearing, and I knew it was important. The more it pushed me towards success, the more I started saying it to myself, like a mantra.

I'd say, "If I make this shot, the world will live," just before I went on stage for a debate.

I'd say, "If I make this shot, the world will live," just before I took a test.

I'd say, "If I make this shot, the world will live," just before I hit a ball, threw a basketball, or did anything I wanted to succeed at, and if I heard the voice say it back, I would know I was going to succeed.

It's what pushed me into the priesthood and pushed me to my ultimate act of blasphemy.

That's not the right word, but it's the best I can think of.

It had been thirty years since I'd first heard the voice, and I was now a young priest with a flock of my own. I had built a reputation with the other priests for writing sermons that kept parishioners in their seats and having a lot of luck regarding matters with the Diocese. I had gotten through the ranks faster than most, doing very well on my tests of catechism and church doctrine. At this rate, I was on my way to becoming one of the youngest bishops in my area. I'd never told anyone about the voices, thinking it was similar to the way people in the bible had heard the voice of God once upon a time. I knew it wasn't okay for me to think of myself as a prophet, but, whatever the reason, I was still certain it was the voice of God.

I should have been pleased, but I found myself thinking more and more about the nature of the phrase. I'd hear it before sermons sometimes and know that today's reflections on the Lord's word would be particularly captivating. I still said it to myself before doing almost anything, and I realized it had become a kind of lucky charm to me. Things would go well, and I would attribute it to the mantra. But why did I make this leap? Because it had always been? I needed to be sure.

So I started doing research.

Luckily, or unluckily, the Catholic church has a lot of resources for those looking to study the nature of religion. There was a lot of information on prophets, others who had communicated with God and his messengers, but my own situation was unique. I heard the same phrase again and again, and if it was the voice of God, then it was a first for such repetition. God told his prophets and chosen mouthpieces what he wanted them to do. Go to Nineveh, free the Hebrews, sacrifice your son, whatever he was asking people to do, he was always very specific.

"If I make this shot, the world will live" was not particularly specific, though.

I don't want any of you reading to think I didn't go into this from only a position of faith. I started by having a check-up with Doctor Redmond, my family physician. He ran a series of tests to determine if I had any underlying conditions, perhaps a tumor or some undiagnosed schizophrenia. It would have been easier if it was just something I could chalk up to external stimuli, but Doctor Redmond told me I was healthy as a horse when the results came back. "EKG, EEG, X-ray, physical, ct scan, heck, you even passed the cardiac battery with flying colors. I hope the Vatican has deep pockets because I'd imagine you just broke your health care budget for the year."

I thanked him, figuring the Church could foot the bill for my upcoming research.

With the tests showing I was in the right state of mind with a sound body, I started studying ways to instigate a more receptive state. There were several accounts of priests fasting and praying so they could speak with God, and while the idea of starving myself didn't appeal to me, it seemed to be the best way to find out more about the voice. It had never changed through the years, still sounding young and with the first rumbles of depth, and I wanted to know if the phrase had some deeper meaning.

The Lord works in mysterious ways, but if he had some job for me, I needed to disseminate his meaning.

I told my aides what I meant to do, giving them special instructions not to bother me but to check on me periodically. If they found me passed out or unconscious, they had instructions to offer aid. If I was hurting myself, worse than depriving myself of sleep and food, they were to call the hospital and have me admitted. As long as I was still praying or meditating and not doing myself any harm, they would leave me to it. I planned to conduct my little experiment from Sunday night to Saturday night of the following week, and on the following Sunday, I would come to mass with something to talk about in my weekly sermon.

I had no idea how prophetic that statement would be.

And so, after mass on Sunday night, I locked myself in my study, ate my last meal for the week, and began to read. I started at the beginning, reading of creation and of the garden, and as the hours stretched on, I started reading aloud to keep myself awake. The first night was the hardest. My body cried out for sleep as my stomach grumbled for lack of food. By the time Brother Joseph came to check on me the next morning, I was past the worst of it and still reciting from the Book of Numbers. He left me water, asking me how I felt before leaving me to it.

This was the height of my excitement for the project. I had only been awake for about a day, and my zeal was still high. I had heard the words three or four times throughout the night, and they had been clearer than I'd ever heard them. Sometimes the words were muffled, sounding like a kid's tin can phone, but that night the words were crisp and clear. I read for the rest of the day, hearing them two more times, and as night settled in again, I felt tired but filled with hope and God's love.

By day three, some of my enthusiasm was starting to slip.

I'd heard the words a few more times, twice perhaps, but I was starting to feel the effects of sleep deprivation. My stomach was also in a knot, and my head was swimming as my blood sugar fluctuated wildly. I had read stories about men fasting for weeks at a time and couldn't imagine another day of this. The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that the few times I'd heard it, the voice had been clear as a bell.

Thursday night found me doing laps in my study when I finally got my answers.

I had finished the bible Wednesday night and had moved on to Contemplations of Dogma by Cardinal Mansfield. I had thought about praying, but I was tempted to sleep if I wasn't walking. I had been awake for four days now, and my desire to rest was almost as invasive as my desire to eat. I was dizzy as I read, the words running together, and as a stomach cramp hit me, I saw the book tumble from my hands as I doubled over. I thought I might throw up the water I had drank a few hours ago, but instead, I continued forward and fell to the floor. I landed next to the book, my world going black, and I wasn't sure I was going to wake up.

Knowing what I know now, it might have been kinder if I hadn't.

"If I make this shot, the world lives."

I could hear the words as if someone were whispering them into my ear.

I opened my eyes and was suddenly aware of floating. I was hovering over the shoulder of a young giant, his face that of a high school or college student. He was writing an essay, his pencil scritching on the page as he toiled away at his work. He would stop and erase something before starting again, and as I moved closer, I could see that he had a small stack of finished papers beside him on the desk. How long he'd been working on this essay was anyone's guess, but with an angry growl, I watched him crumble up the page before turning in his chair and facing me.

"If I make this shot, the world lives."

With a smooth and practiced arc, I watched him toss the paper into the nearby garbage pail before returning to his work, his pencil scratching away as he wrote.

I was speechless. What was I seeing here? Was this God? It couldn't be, could it? As he furrowed his brow, I saw that this essay wasn't the only thing on his desk. There was a manuscript, too, the title page proclaiming it to be "Golden Fields." I began to understand why I had heard him say the mantra so many times. I assumed it was a part of his process, and the throwing away of ideas was as much a part of it as the writing itself. If I were to read that manuscript, I wondered, would I find a priest in it? Perhaps one who hears voices? Was this man my creator? My God? The architect of everything I knew and loved?

I came to in the emergency room, Brother Marcus having found me seizing on the floor and called an ambulance.

Now I lie here, contemplating what I saw.

Was it real? Did I actually see this being, or was it something my mind created? As I sit here, I can still hear the words from time to time, but I don't say them anymore. The Church has given me a short leave of absence, but I don't know if I can ever go back to my old life. How can I preach of God and glory while I know in my heart that we exist because of a single being and his ability to throw a paper ball into a hoop? It makes me realize how insubstantial we are, how little we matter, but that's not the worst thing that has occurred as I lay here.

As I sit and listen to the listless beep of the machines, I find my mind circling back to the same question again and again.

If he should miss his next shot, would we ever know?

If he missed his next shot, would we continue to live or simply snuff out into nothingness?

I've always been a somewhat lonely person growing up. I come from a more rural area. I felt limited and out of place there; I wasn't like most of the people I grew up with, and in a town where everyone knows everyone, it isn't exactly easy to find new people to hang out with. I wouldn’t say I was bullied or anything, per se, more just that one girl nobody really hung out with.

So when I graduated high school, I jumped at the chance to move to a big city. My parents disagreed with me, as I wasn't going to college and they didn't think I had the skills to succeed in such a different place. I had no idea what I would really do there, but I was determined to make it work no matter what.

I ended up moving a few states over into a downtown area. My grandma, who was the one person in my town who I felt understood me, had given me a significant amount of money with which to make do until I could figure out my job. I ended up renting a two-bedroom apartment, with the confidence that I could quickly find a roommate to share the cost.

In hindsight, I admit I was quite naive with everything. I barely landed a minimum wage job as a barista, and socially, things didn't get much better than home. It was a different kind of loneliness; being surrounded by more people than I'd ever seen in my life, yet having no real human connection. I realized I didn't really fit in there, either. Maybe the problem wasn’t where I was from; maybe I just don’t get along all that well with people in general.

As my money began to ran thin, I was getting desperate. As much as I was unhappy here, I couldn’t stand to face the shame of my family; my parents for being right and my grandma for trusting in me.

That’s when I met Em. I had seen her in the coffee shop I worked before, but never actually interacted with her. One day, she sat down next to me while I was on my break. I always took my break alone, and had gotten used to scrolling on my phone by myself, so I was a little startled.

“Sorry to scare you. Mind if I sit here?” she asked.

“No, no, of course not,” I replied, still a little confused.

As we continued small talk, the difference between her and I grew increasingly apparent. She was confident, charming, never missing a beat. I was nervous, awkward, struggling to keep up. I kept thinking that at any moment she would realize I wasn’t worth talking to and end the conversation. But she didn’t.

“Hey, this might be a kind of out of the blue question, but I’m actually looking for a place to live right now. Do you know anyone looking for a roommate?”

I almost jumped out of my seat at the offer. “I have a spare room!” I blurted. Then, feeling embarrassed, I said, “But… I don’t know anyone else who needs one.”

Her smile beamed at me and she stuck out her hand. “Hello, new roomie,” she said.

She moved in two days later. She didn’t have a whole lot of things to take with her, saying she liked to travel as a minimalist. She also convinced me to continue paying the rent while she paid me her half directly, rather than putting her on the lease. Now I know why that was a red flag, but at the time, I was just happy to have someone to live with and would take practically any arrangement.

During the first week, things were great. She was the first person around my age to ever seem happy to be around me and want to spend time with me. I warmed up to her and started feeling comfortable hanging out. We stayed up late drinking wine and watching movies, we got lunch together, we did all the things I always imagined friends did.

However, as time went on, even I began to notice some… odd behavior. She constantly asked personal, extremely specific questions. At first I was elated to talk about myself for once, but sI began to get a little weirded out. It’s not that she was fishing for my deep, dark secrets or personal trauma or anything. It was questions such as asking if I had ever taken self-defense courses or how often my grandma checks in on me; things that seem innocuous but gave me an uneasy feeling as they piled up. Maybe it wasn’t the questions themselves, but how she seemed to respond. Superficially she seemed engaged, but somehow I could tell she was more focused on the information itself then building a relationship with me.

On the flip side, she never really divulged a whole lot about herself. She was a wizard with small talk, and could go on about her interests and favorite things and all that. But I never really learned about her as a person. I had no idea where she came from, what her family was like, why she moved here, anything like that. In all fairness, I didn’t ask a whole lot, and when I saw her dance around topics I figured it was best not to probe. Still, it was strange to me that I shared all of this information but didn’t get the same from her.

Then there was the fact that she seemed to always want to spend time around me. Don’t get me wrong, it was great to have a friend, but I realized that I enjoy some personal space too. Sometimes it was as simple as her doodling in her notebook in my room. We wouldn’t even be having a conversation. I would be winding down for bed, and she’d just be sitting there, as though she couldn’t do that on the couch or in her own room.

Lastly, I found it odd that I seemed to be her only friend here. Don’t get me wrong, I know I have no room to speak there. I just figured with how outgoing and social she was, she’d have, you know… more of a social life. Thinking about it, she actually seemed to get somewhat uncomfortable the few times we went out to places like bars. She’d always put us in corner areas and would steer people away pretty quickly; nicely and charmingly, but showing we weren’t interested in meeting new people. Me being me, I didn’t really notice at the time, but in retrospect, it was pretty controlling behavior, like she didn’t want anyone else in our circle.

These things were off-putting, sure, but like I’ve said, I was essentially an outcast living with the only real friend I’d ever had. I didn’t know what healthy relationships looked like or what was normal or not. Besides, I figured, I was a strange bird, and maybe despite her outward charisma, she could be just a little out there too.

Going into maybe the third week we had known each other, she abruptly said she had a salon appointment and had to run some other errands, and that she wouldn’t be back until pretty late; midnight at the earliest. I had an opening shift the next morning, so I was going to hit the sack early, and I told her I’d see her after work tomorrow.

At first, I was honestly a little relieved to have a night of relaxation to myself. But as I prepared for bed, I had this nagging feeling in my gut. She never did things without inviting me, even simple trips to a convenience store or to get fast food. In fact, she barely did that kind of thing at all, rather just tagging along with me when I did. I couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

She hadn’t seemed upset, and the rest of the day had been normal. Nothing really could’ve happened that would put her in a mood. And, midnight was still quite aways away; it was only six. What could she possibly be doing for the entire night?

I went to bed anyway, trying to shake it off, and fell asleep. I’m usually a heavy sleeper, but that night I kept drifting in and out. At one point, half-asleep, I thought I heard my door creak. Groggily, I sat up, rubbing my eyes. A figure was in my doorway. Figuring it was Em coming back, I said sleepily, “Em, I’m trying to sleep. I said I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As my eyes adjusted, though, a shot of adrenaline pumped through me. The person did not look like Em. They had a totally different haircut and color, and seemed to be wearing some kind of poncho. They held an object in each hand and had a medical mask over their face.

I leapt back, scared out of my mind, letting out a scream. As I grabbed the pepper spray from my window sill, the figure started protesting. “It’s me, it’s Em!” she said, raising her hands. “I was just trying to prank you! A little scare, haha! Sorry, I’ll… let you go back to sleep now.”

I stared at her as she crept away from the doorway, not breaking eye contact. In one hand, she had a syringe, and in the other, she held what looked like some kind of small club. My heart was still pounding. “What…” is all I could manage. Her eyes studied me like a predator. There was no sign of joking around, no laughing and taking off the outfit or anything. I was not looking at the bubbly friend I knew, but a puma who had been spotted before it pounced, its dinner ruined.

As she backed out of sight I said loudly, “I’m going to give my grandma a call,” and dialed 911. Part of me thought it really was a prank gone wrong and I was being overdramatic in my sleepy state, but I was sick with terror and wasn’t taking any chances. As I talked to the operator, I heard things frantically being moved around. I told them my roommate was acting really strange and scaring me, and they said they’d send a car over to make sure everything was okay.

By the time the officers got there, she was long gone. Vanished, without a trace. All of her personal belongings packed up, her car off the side street. Almost as if she had never existed.

The investigation revealed a lot of disturbing things. At first, they thought maybe she had a psychotic breakdown. That maybe she was schizophrenic and had an episode or something. But as things went on, they connected more and more dots. I wasn’t the first roommate she’d lived with in the past couple years. But I was the only one still alive.

As it turned out, they found her in an abandoned basement on the outskirts of town. There, they found the evidence of two brutal killings that she had journaled about and photographed. She was arrested and taken into custody, and she would end up admitting to those murders and that she was going to do the same to me.

She said she liked to find lonely, helpless victims, cut off from friends and family, that she could earn the trust of without drawing attention. Her first had been a man, a guy so desperate for a girlfriend he was pleading on online forums and begging women at bars to give him a chance. Sad, pathetic, isolated, he was a perfect victim. The second had been a college student whose immediate family had died in a car accident, causing her to drop out and move here. Again, another easy target.

And then there was me. A small-town reject with no friends and barely a family. Naive and at the edge financially and emotionally. She had studied me for awhile. She had quite the knack for reading people, identifying me as a potential victim the first time she came into the shop.

Finally, though, the law had caught up with her. For my part, I had to testify against her. The thing I remember most distinctly was the look she would give me in the courtroom. It wasn’t a look of hate or malice. It was a look of hunger. She glared at me like I was a slice of cake she wasn’t allowed to touch. While the whole process was traumatic, that stare will never leave my head.

I don’t think I’ll ever live in a big city again. I’ve learned it’s a much larger and darker place out in the world than I thought. And, somehow, I know Em is in her cell still thinking about me. I’ll always feel her emaciated gaze every time I go to sleep.

Hi all. This is an old story that happened to me and my then boyfriend a few years ago. I'm still new to reddit, I only joined after telling my friend this story and she said I should post it here, so if I did it wrong, I'm sorry.

Anyways, here's the story.

I was probably 19 when it happened, maybe newly 20. My, then boyfriend, Christopher, who I called Kitt, was visiting me from Seattle to celebrate my mums birthday in our hometown, a city called Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada.

I was living in Alberta, attending a university there when Kitt arrived. We were planning on driving out to my mums place together. I was very eager to introduce him to my family. They were eager to meet him. The two of us were excited and giggly while we were getting ready to leave. I was packing up the last of my schoolwork and clothes while rambling on about what snacks we should buy for the long drive, meanwhile Kitt, who hadn't unpacked from the flight, already had his bags in the car. He was going to drive for the first half of the drive, and I drive for the second half.

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after only a couple hours of driving, we had switched and I was driving. The sun was setting by now. I remember Kitt pointing out how pretty the pinkish orange sky was. And before we knew it, it was dark.

It had still been an uneventful drive. We were listening to a podcast. Pointing out owls or raccoons in trash bins when we passed truck stops. Nothing of note. Until a deer appeared in the street out of no where.

I slammed on the breaks and we stopped maybe 20 feet from the deer. And it was just there standing. Staring back at us. Not unusual for a deer as I'm sure you all know. But it was staring for an uncomfortable amount of time. Even for a deer in headlights. like three to four minutes at least. I honked the car horn a couple of times. No response. After another couple minutes a guy in a white Honda drove up behind us and stopped. He was honking too. And we both sat there honking at this deer. Or maybe he was honking at me honking at the deer. Anyways eventually the deer walked off into the woods, his nose pointed in the air. And we carried on. The Honda guy was clearly in a rush cause he passed us the second he got the chance, and then we were the ones following him.

That's when something really weird happened. We heard a loud, deep voiced, "help!" from a direction I couldn't quite pinpoint. It was loud enough to be heard over the podcast, yet quiet enough to seem far away. We slowed down a little bit and glanced at each other. I suppose just wondering if we actually heard that. The Honda slowed down too. We decided it was just a background noise in the Podcast, which was a true crime podcast so it made sense, and carried on driving. When again we heard a "Help! Help me please!" at this point the podcast had ended and we slowed down again, looking out the open window. The voice was the same as the one before, and sounded just as far as the one before, but we were going too fast for anyone to keep up with us.

The guy driving the Honda stuck his hand out his window and gestured us to pull over. We stopped at a touristry photo area beside a lake with some factory across from it. I think its a cement plant or something. The Honda driver and his wife both got out. They were both in their, maybe late 50s, and asked us if we also heard the cry for help. We said yes. And the four of us chatted for a bit about it. And then, again, from an undetermined direction, "Help! Please Help!" the older man called out to the voice, "hello? Is someone there? Are you ok?" the voice responded "Help! Please Help!" and he responded "Where are you? Are you hurt?" the voice sounded significantly closer this time. And sounded almost contorted "Help! Is someone there?" the old man, after hearing the change in the voice, went pale white. He looked at his wife, then at us, then over at the forest, and said, yet much quieter, "hello?" and the voice, once again, though this time much deeper, and even less human sounding, replied "Help! Is someone there?" we were all kind of freaked out, so the older couple called the police, as did we, and then we went back to driving. As we continued down the road, Kitt and I didn't talk. We were both wildly uncomfortable. We just watched the tree line. Counting the deer we saw. Quite a few of them for so late at night. Although I'm not a deer expert. Maybe they graze at night or something.

we eventually arrived at my mothers house, and I told her and my sisters about the event, and they all got really anxious listening to it. My older sister scolded us, saying "someone could have been in serious danger" and I suppose she was right. But I'm not sure. The voice it made didn't sound natural. The more it called the less human it sounded. Every cry for help got more and more twisted. I'm not well educated on the matters of local folklore or mythology. I don't know if there's some cryptozoological boogeyman out there who could explain it. Or maybe all of us were just sleep deprived and sharing some sort of mass hysteria. I'm not sure. But it was still the creepiest event of my life.

Two-minute showers weren’t for me. I was the type who’d run the hot water until it started to lose its heat. Then I’d make the tiny turns of the valve, just half-an-inch towards the H, and then another turn, and another, until I had drained every last drop of warmth from the tank.

If my wife Mary followed me into the shower, she'd scream.

“I hate you! It’s like a waterfall in Iceland!”

“Quit complaining” I’d laughingly reply, “It’s supposedly good for you, something about cold water opening up your bile ducts or something.”

“If it’s so great then how come all the hot water is gone!”

Eventually she figured it out and switched to mornings and left the evenings to me.

Now, I’ll never go near a shower stall or a bathroom sink ever again. I’ve perfected the sponge bath and using baby wipes to keep clean.

It’s been a year since it happened and to this day I still wonder if it did.

Mary’s gone, though the police and her family still look for her, hoping she’ll turn up, I know she never will. I could tell the cops what really happened, but then I’d be locked up in the insane asylum.

Most people think I had something to do with her disappearance and I don’t blame them. I never put in the effort to look for her, wandering the nearby woods with the other searchers calling out her name. I knew it was a waste of time.

You might even remember the story from the evening news. Think Indiana, the fall, about a year ago. The reporters came and camped out for about two weeks, until nothing new came up and interest waned.

Mary’s parents don’t talk to me anymore, deep down I think they suspect I murdered her. I didn’t squelch their suspicions after I sold the house so soon after her going missing, but the truth was I could never live there after what I saw. I felt bad when another family moved in but what was I supposed to do?

Warn them? About what? A monster?

Even I don’t know how to explain it.

It started with a shower.

I just finished my usual sweltering, waterfilled excursion. Singing, soaping, letting the hot water create my own personal steam room.

I stepped out of the stall and saw that Mary had scribbled a message onto the mist covered vanity mirror –

“Hello there. when can we meet?”

I smiled knowing Mary had snuck in and left a little note.

She was always doing that, the “little” things they say that make a relationship work. Mary was quick with a compliment or an unexpected kiss. She stocked the snack drawer with Double Stuff Oreos, my faves, and always left little notes around the house about how she loved me.

I’d open my closet and there’d be a yellow post-it with a heart drawn on it stuck on my suit, or another placed on the cereal box when I went to grab breakfast.

Her little fog-scribbled note on the bathroom mirror was just another way Mary kept our relationship fun.

The next day after dinner, while clearing the table, she playfully slapped me on the ass and whispered in my ear, “Aren’t you the little pervert, sneaking into the bathroom while I’m taking my shower this morning.”

“Who me?”

“Well, who else? Writing a little message on the steamed-up mirror.”

“What did I write?”

“As if you don’t know, my little voyeur. How long were you watching?”

“I’m serious, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You wrote - I see you – on the mirror, with a little smiley face under it.”

I stood up from my hunched position at the washing machine and stared at Mary, my voice serious, “I wasn’t in the bathroom this morning. I didn’t leave any message. I was in the bedroom getting dressed. I never went in.”

Mary laughed, but I didn’t.

The smirk on her face faded, replaced by a genuine look of worry.

“What? Wait? Serious?”

“I wasn’t in there, not even to brush my teeth. Truth.”

We stood there in silence, trying to process our shared realization.

Then I asked her, “The night before, did you leave a message for me?”

Her hand went to her mouth, worry replaced by fear. She collapsed onto a chair.

I knew her answer.

Her hands trembled as she looked to the stairs that led to our bedroom and master bath.

“I want to call the police. Now, right now!” she blurted.

“And tell them what? Someone has left notes for us on our fogged bathroom mirror?”

“Yes, exactly that! Yes, a thousand times, yes”

“And how did this happen? I was in the bedroom from the time you went in until the time you came out. No one snuck past me. There’s no window to our bathroom. So how did this steamy note-writing intruder get in?”

Mary's voice cracked with apprehension, “I saw this on TV, it’s called frogging, someone is in our house, secretly here, and we don’t know. Either you call the police or I do. I won’t stay another night in this house unless they come here and check it out.”

Three hours later, four police officers searched our house from every corner of the basement, to the back of every closet, and under every bed, and even every cabinet.

They declared the house clean, like an exorcism had taken place.

They also checked the Ring camera and other surveillance cameras around our property. The cops even went so far as asking our neighbors if they could review their cameras.

No one was near our house over the last two days and nights.

Of course, it was the good news, bad news scenario. The good; there’s no prowler secretly living in our house. The bad; there’s no clue as to how those messages showed up on our bathroom mirror.

One of the older cops, his mustache as thick as a raccoon’s tail, pulled me aside, in his gruff voice he asked, “You playing some game with your wife, what they call gaslighting? I don’t know why you’d be doing it, but seriously if you are, just stop. I hate coming out for these bullshit calls, it’s a waste of our time and keeps us from doing real police work.”

I told him I wasn’t and I couldn’t even think of why I’d do something like that. He said he’d seen it all and nothing surprised him anymore.

Mary used the guest bathroom that night and only after I checked it out. There really was no place to hide in there, except for the cabinets under the vanity. I opened them up and assured her there was no one there. I stood guard outside as she took her shower. The bathroom door left open.

When she was done, there were no messages on the mirror, which calmed her down considerably. That and a margarita with a valium.

I put off my shower until the morning, as Mary was too wound up to be left alone. We crashed on the bed and she fell asleep in my reassuring arms. She kept asking, “How then? It doesn’t make sense. How?”

I told her, “We’re going to figure it out, and one day we’ll both say how stupid it was and laugh ourselves silly.”

Mary kept shaking her head, not buying my half-ass explanation. Hell, it wasn’t even an explanation, just something to say to make her feel better. I wasn’t scared like she was, more confused and for a half-a-second, I even thought maybe she was gaslighting me.

Like the cop said, nothing surprised him anymore.

That night I had a dream about a primary school teacher of mine, Mrs. Beel. She was old, grandma-like with a shock of white hair swirled up in a bun. In the dream she was wearing a floral print dress and writing on a blackboard. But instead of using chalk she was using someone’s chopped-off thumb and scribbling words with its blood.

She kept writing - “Death, death, death.”

I woke up sweating and popped a valium, three shots of Jack Daniels, then joined Mary in a drug induced slumber.

Better sleeping through chemistry.

Mary left for work before me in the morning. Sprinting out in a rush, wanting to leave the house as quick as possible. My mind was a little hazy from the valium. The turmoil of the night before seemed like it happened weeks ago.

I had no problem using our master bathroom for my shower. As with the guest bath there was really no place to hide, except for inside the vanity. I wasn’t giving in to crazed fear, but to be honest, I did a quick check just in case.

It was all clear, unless this person was hiding in the First Aid box.

The hot water felt good.

There really is something to the idea of washing away your troubles. I was able to relax and enjoy, even though I did find my gaze drifting to the bathroom mirror, keeping an eye out for any messages.

When I turned the water off, the bathroom was hot, steamy and note free.

I grabbed a towel and made my way into the bedroom, drying off and throwing on my underwear and socks. I returned to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

I stopped.

My body went rigid, my heart sped up and in an instant I went cold.

Drawn on the bathroom mirror was a frowning smiley face.

No words, just the grimace.

The steam etched scowl wasn’t there when I walked out of the shower. No one had gotten past me into the bathroom while I was pulling clothes out of the closet. I wasn’t watching the whole time, but I would have heard them, or caught them in the corner of my eye.

I stood there in the doorway, my glance drifted down to the vanity and the two knee-high doors.

Could someone be hiding in there?

I stepped backwards, not taking my eyes off the bathroom. Backing up to the bed, my hand reached behind the headboard and found my trusted burglar-deterrent, a 32-ounce Louisville Slugger. It felt good in my palms as I walked towards the bathroom.

Bat in hand, I flung open the vanity doors and was confronted by a hair dryer, the First Aid kit, make-up mirror and heating pad.

No contortionist killer

I glimpsed the smiley-face on the mirror, which now looked melted as the steam began to condense and drip. It looked like it was crying.

Then I heard the noise.

It was coming from the drain in the bathroom sink. Like giggling, or someone laughing. I leaned down, tilted my head, my ear inches away from the hole. I felt the puff of air, like someone blowing against my cheek, come out of the drain.

I whipped my head up and backed away.

What the hell was that?

I was frozen in the moment, not sure what to do.

Then I ran.

Down into the basement.

My eyes on the shelves under the stairs.

I scanned them.

Looking.

There it was, on the top shelf.

Grabbing the red plastic jug of drain cleaner, I turned to head upstairs, but stopped. My attention drawn to the drain pipe running along the basement wall. There was something in it. Moving. I could hear it.

How?

I bolted up from the basement and then the foyer stairs. Three steps at a time.

Out of breath and my hand shaking, I twisted the cap off the jug and poured the caustic liquid into the sink.

Every drop.

Then I got out of there.

I thought I heard a scream. But I was too far away in the bedroom, so I couldn’t really be sure. My head was spinning. Nothing made sense.

There was no way what I told Mary the night before was ever going to be true. My words sounded hollow as I repeated them in my mind –“We’re going to figure it out one day and laugh ourselves silly.”

I wasn’t laughing.

After about ten minutes, I moved towards the sink. All the drain cleaner was gone and no sounds rose out of the little hole at the bottom of the basin. The steam had cleared from the mirror and the smiley face was gone. It was just my face now and I looked confused and slightly embarrassed.

Did I really hear anything, see anything? Was this just mental fog caused by remnants of the valium?

It’s easy to question yourself when you’re confronted by something that is sheer madness. Something that the word improbability doesn’t even begin to describe.

Insanity or drain monster, it didn’t matter, I had to get to work.

I threw the drain cleaner jug into the recycling bin and jumped into my car. As I backed out of the driveway my eyes locked onto our bedroom window. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to see, but I was glad nothing was there except the curtains.

I called Mary at lunch time, not to tell her what happened, but to see how she was doing. I'd never let her know about the smiley face on the mirror or what I thought I heard, if I did, she’d never set foot in the house again.

Nope, I’d take it to my grave.

Mary sounded better on the phone, the night’s sleep and the morning sun seemed to let her get her bearings. She only had one request, “Please be home before me, I just want to make sure I’m not alone in the house, at least for the next few days.”

“Sure, sure, you got it babe.” I told her, in my best reassuring voice.

The rest of the afternoon, I was pretty useless at work. My brain performing mental gymnastics trying to explain what happened. I spent most of the day in my cubicle searching the internet for answers. After going down rabbit hole after rabbit hole, there was something that seemed to explain, or at least might explain, what was happening.

I found an article about when people get new carpets they can have strong reactions to chemicals in the rugs.

Bingo!

We had just re-carpeted the living room and bedrooms, no more than two weeks earlier.

Mary had been complaining of headaches recently, although I hadn't experienced anything out of the norm. The article listed the effects of the chemicals: you could have blurred vision, nausea and even hallucinations.

Everything seemed to check.

That evening over dinner I pulled up the carpet article on my phone and read it to Mary. You could see the tension melt away with every word I read. She started talking about how forgetful she had been lately and mentioned the headaches and even some weird dreams. Which of course, struck a chord with me, re-calling my bloody-finger chalk board from the night before.

Even though it was fall and a chill was in the air, we ran the air-conditioner that night to help filter out the chemicals.

We threw open the windows on the second floor as well. It was cold, but at least we were getting clean, healthy air.

I took my shower that night without incident.

No smiley faces, frowning faces, or messages appeared on the mirror.

We snuggled up close, broke out another comforter to combat the breezes coming out of the vents and windows, then fell asleep with the knowledge that we’d figured it out. Mary turned to me, kissed me on the forehead.

“My hero, such the detective. You were right, we will laugh about this.”

Mary took her shower that morning.

I was getting dressed when I heard the thump.

It sounded like she dropped the soap in the stall.

I called out, “Are you ok?”

Mary didn’t say anything.

Thinking she didn’t hear me, I yelled this time, raising my voice over the sound of the radio that was on and the gurgling water flowing from the shower.

“You ok babe?”

There was another thump.

I made my way into the bathroom. I didn’t rush in, there was no reason to think anything was wrong. She hadn’t screamed.

Even now I can’t truly understand what I saw, partly because it happened so fast and also because it was so terrifying.

The cover to the drain was gone and sticking out of the hole were two very thin hands, skeletal, covered in a bruise colored…skin? I wasn’t sure what to call it.

The arms were elongated and seemed to be able to stretch and bend like the pipe-cleaners you played with as kids.

There were five fingers to a hand, with fingernails that were cracked and yellow and seemed to have brown sludge caked under each nail.

The hands had a grip on Mary’s head. That’s all that was left of her.

Somehow that thing had managed to tear apart my wife and drag her legs, arms and torso down the drain in a matter of moments. Only her head remained, the hair wet and stringy. Mary’s eye’s wide open in a perpetual state of shock. Staring at me.

Whatever creature, thing, or being that was down inside the pipes wielded a supernatural strength, because the last I saw of Mary, those hands were crushing her skull. Flattening it and dragging it into the black hole on the floor of the shower.

The sight of it was horrifying, but the noise was just as terrible. The bones in her head crunched and cracked. It sounded like someone stepping on a bag of potato chips. I wanted to vomit, but my utter shock seemed to freeze every muscle in my body, including my throat. I couldn’t even move.

She was gone.

The water, which was still running, washed whatever bits of flesh and bone and blood down the drain. Just like Mary, I didn’t scream. I just mumbled out her name –

“Mary?”

I managed to inch towards the shower. Step by step.

I pulled open the glass door and shut off the water.

I leaned into the stall.

My eyes focused on the drain, the cover missing, the round abyss no more than five inches wide.

I saw nothing but blackness and red drops around the edge of the hole. There was a sound, a rhythmic drip – drip – drip – as water leaked from the shower head. Nothing else, except the weather guy on the radio telling me to take an umbrella because it might rain that afternoon.

I had to sit down, the room started to spin.

When I turned to leave, I saw the words written on the bathroom mirror –

“Goodbye.”

I fainted.

When I woke up I heard a voice.

It was the guy on the radio, once again telling me it was going to rain. Which meant I had been out for at least fifteen-minutes, since that’s how often they updated the weather.

It could have been longer, maybe I had been unconscious for more than one weather report.

And then it dawned on me, the thing was still in the drain, maybe it was coming for me next. I bolted up and half-crawled and half-stumbled out of the room.

I saw the clock on the night stand, I had only been out cold for fifteen-minutes.

My phone, where was my phone? I needed to call the police, that’s what I need to do next. I scampered around the room, looking for it.

It was on top of the dresser.

My thumb was about to press down on – 1 – to finish the sequence 9-1-1.

When I stopped.

What was I going to tell them? As I replayed the horrifying moment in my mind, I realized how insane it was and how insane I would sound trying to convince someone what I saw. I remembered the police officer from the other night questioning me as to whether I was gaslighting Mary, as if I was intentionally trying to make her upset. And now a few days later I was calling to say she was dead, killed by some drain monster?

They’d find bits and pieces of her in my pipes and her DNA splattered along the shower walls. It wouldn’t be the drain monster they’d be looking to arrest, but me.

I put down the phone and replayed every crime documentary Mary and I had watched on Netflix.

I knew what I had to do.

Although I was terrified. I made my way back into the bathroom and the shower. I wiped everything down with bleach and cleaners, rinsing everything clean. I had stacked two 50-pound weights from our workout room on top of the drain, to give me some sense of security as I scrubbed and washed, leaving just a little space for the water to rinse away.

I wiped down the weights after and placed them back on the workout bench.

I dressed.

One of the things I’d learned from all those crime shows was to keep your normal routine if you wanted to avoid being a suspect. I’d leave for work as I always did, just before Mary usually left.

The surveillance cameras would catch me pulling out of the garage, it would be a little later than normal, but I’d explain it away to the valium we had taken. I knew I needed an answer for every question the police would ask, an alibi for every moment and minute from this point on.

When I sat inside the car to leave, I noticed Mary had left a yellow post-it note on my steering wheel –

“I love you.” With a heart drawn on it.

I was crying when I pulled away from the house.

My mind racing as I drove.

I knew they’d review the surveillance footage and never see Mary leave. But there were blind spots the cameras didn’t cover. Maybe her “abductor” knew about these and used the blind spots to take her away.

That would be my story.

In less than an hour I had gone from happily married man, to some sort of mastermind criminal covering up a murder I didn’t commit.

Over the next few weeks our block became a media circus.

Every alphabet network camped out and captured every coming and going at the house. I was a suspect at first. The theory was I’d killed Mary in our home.

But they couldn’t find the body.

The GPS in my car and cell phone records showed I never made any stops after I left the house or when I came home. So, I couldn’t have disposed of Mary on my drive.

Besides, Mary had called her mother just before she took her shower and I left about a half-hour after the call. Forensic pathologists said that it wasn’t enough time to cut up a body and flush it down the toilet. And besides, the DNA evidence I’d leave from such a butchering would have been impossible for the detectives to miss.

When these accusations flew, I never wavered or panicked. Because I knew I didn’t kill Mary. There were also no reports of us fighting, or evidence of affairs. They didn’t uncover a hidden insurance policy I might have taken out on my wife.

We were by all accounts, a loving, devoted couple.

Because we were.

I also knew, they’d never find the body.

The prevailing thought was she was taken from the house and kidnapped by some crazed serial killer.

They weren’t that far off in their assessment.

It was a crazed killer but it was living in the pipes of my home. Or maybe it had moved on to another house in the county, using the pipes and drains to come and go as it pleased. Who knew how this thing lived and existed?

I moved out of the house and stayed at a local hotel, telling everyone it was too painful to live there anymore, too many memories. But really it was one memory, the one seared into my brain and left me weeping in fear every night: Mary’s head being crushed like an empty soda can and dragged down the drain.

I made sure my room was on the top floor of the hotel, thinking it would be harder for the thing in the pipes to crawl and shimmy up twenty-five floors. Even so, I began my sponge bath and baby wipes routine that night.

Not to be too graphic, but when I went to the bathroom, I did my business in the plastic garbage pail and then flushed it down.

I was terrified of sitting on the toilet.

Eventually the media circus pulled up its tent stakes and left town. There was nothing new to report. As of now, Mary’s disappearance is an ongoing police investigation. I even call every few days, asking what leads they’re pursuing, playing the concerned husband, but I know they’ll never find her.

I don’t feel guilty about my fake concern, like I said, I didn’t kill her.

Although, I did feel pangs of guilt when I sold the house. I didn’t warn the new owners, but I convinced myself that the creature would never kill again in the same home. It had survived and thrived because it was so stealthy. Although the drawings on the bathroom mirror seemed to contradict this. Maybe this one creature was an adolescent, prone to foolishness before it matured. Who knew? I did know that two missing persons from the same house, would cause a few people to start to question what was really happening.

A part of me thought I might have caused Mary's death, that somehow I angered the creature with the drain cleaner by burning it and causing it pain. To be honest, up until it killed Mary, there had only been playful interactions. The thing leaving silly messages.

Maybe my actions enraged it and it struck back the only way it knew how.

I moved out of our village.

My commute is now twice as long, but peace of mind is more important. I actually went to town hall and spoke to the Bureau of Refuse and Sewage to make sure my new home was in no way connected to my old home via sewer pipes. They assured me it wasn’t, and also said they’d never had anyone ask that question before.

It’s been over a year and I haven’t kept in touch with any of my neighbors or in-laws. When I did speak with them, our conversations were always about Mary, which meant I had to relive what happened and what I saw each and every time we talked. I couldn’t do it any more.

It had to stop.

Leaving town only fed into their suspicions about me having something to do with her disappearance. So be it. I loved Mary with all my heart and soul and no amount of suspicion would ever change that.

I knew what I knew.

Things were getting back to some semblance of normal in my new home.

And then last night everything changed.

I was making pasta. I drained the spaghetti, then went to the fridge to grab the grated cheese. When I turned, the steam from the boiling water had coated the window above the sink. In the condensation on the glass someone or something had drawn a smiley face.

Maybe another state is far enough.

Or a cabin in the woods with no plumbing.

I don’t know, I just don’t know.

There is no specific easy way to start this. I am not gonna pretend or say that I was cursed by karma or someone. I am in my mid 30's and have children, married and divorced. I work a job that I greatly dislike. Just like everybody else my age that has wasted their youth or made not so smart decisions. I had little or no time for myself due to shared parenting, so my life was work, sleep and raising my kid. I am writing this in hopes that someone has gone through this or otherwise can help me solve this problem.

It started with a neck ache that I attributed to either sleeping wrong or drinking too much after my kid had gone to bed. I am not proud to state that sometimes after my kid went to bed, I sometimes stayed up, way later than I should have, thinking about the glory days and drinking too much. This was a Sunday, after one of those nights, I turned my head and immediately I was met with quick flash of an outline of a figure and a jolt of pain to the bottom of my neck/head area. I had to get up and take care of my kid regardless.

I got up feeling dizzy and debilitated from that pain but I knew I had to cook breakfast for my kid. Like a boxer after the second time being knocked down, I made my way to the kitchen on wobbly legs. I never made it to the fridge, I saw that flash and felt that pain, leaning into the sink to throw up. I felt disgusted with myself as I turned on the water to wash that disgraceful mess down the drain. After washing my face and calming down, I knew I had to go check on my kid, surely all my retching must have woke him up.

I stumbled into the room to check on him with my eyes still filled with post puke tears, clearly still dizzy and unable to see clearly. The room I walked into was dark and very much different, yet familiar. I had seen this room before, but not in like over ten years. This was not my kid's room. This room did not belong to the 30's version of me, this was something from 2007. I rubbed my eyes and was rewarded with that same blurry, yet dark and frightening outline of some humanoid form.

I took a few minutes to take the room in, My head was throbbing and I felt like death, yet I could make out the details of the room from my past. There was a dresser with an almost empty bottle of vodka, a cheap lamp and a bed with a semi covered woman. Even though my head was throbbing, I recognized that woman, she had been a woman who I had dated at time. I rushed out of the room.

I ran down the hallway of the apartment from 2007 and to the bathroom. I knew that this must be a dream or some kind of revolting joke from the gods. I wasn't 19 years old, I was a man in my thirties, a father with a kid that needed to be fed and looked after. I ran to the toilet and gagged hard, of course I didn't have anything in my stomach to puke up. Swaying my pathetic ass to the sink, I turned on the faucet and started washing my face with ice cold water.

After drying my face, I looked at the mirror to see if I looked as bad as I felt. My blood ran cold as the image in the mirror was not mine but a shadow version of my kid with blood red eyes. As I stared at the cruel imitation of my kid, I couldn't help but feel regret for every morning that I was too tired to play or too sick due to alcohol. Was I in hell or some sort of purgatory???

That moment of pity or shame didn't last long, as the shadow version of my kid reached through the mirror and grabbed me by the neck. Not my proudest moment but I admit I peed myself as it pulled itself out of the mirror as it continued to choke me. I was slammed over and over against the bathroom wall, my neck and head hurting more and more with each blow. I felt myself start to fade as I was finally pulled into the mirror itself.

SLAP!!!!!

I awoke with my head throbbing and my neck aching, in my present day bed. I opened my eyes to see that my kid's face was inches away from mine. I won't lie, I recoiled a bit out of both fear and instinct. I gave him a once over and knew this was my kid, not the shadow version. It had all been a dream, maybe a way of my guilt letting me know to lay off the sauce. I told him to go play while daddy got up and dressed.

Was it a dream? As I write this, asking for input or advice. I have to add two details that I noticed after he left the room. The first was when I made my way out of bed, I looked at my neck in then dresser mirror and had a large bruise around my neck, to go along with the neck ache and headache. The second was when I walked into the restroom to relieve myself, there were shards of glass on the floor and sink. The bathroom mirror was missing. So, the question still is very much unanswered, Was it a dream?

Part 2

Red bloody kitchen. Mrs Robinson sauntered towards me, her crazed smile back on her face. Toilet brush in hand, I braced myself for her vicious attack. She lunged at me, knife first, her shining white eyes filled with the glistening hope of lodging the blade into my lower belly. I dodged just in time and hit her with the brush by simple reflex.

"Ouch!" She said in a mocking tone, as we both knew I could not hurt her with that.

At that moment, a clever thought crossed my mind. Red bloody kitchen? Yes, kitchen! Mrs Robinson enjoyed the cat and mouse game, taking her sweet time to attack as she fed on my fear. That in return, allowed me to take quick looks around, allowing me to spot something I definitely needed. I threw the toilet brush at her face and she did not even bother to dodge, then, I ran towards the kitchen counter and grabbed a bottle of salt.

"Outlander." She called after she gasped, placing a few fingers on her lips. "So you know about the salt?" She asked, her worries covering her face.

My sole response was to open the bottle and throw the entire content at her. Once again, she did not move by an inch, and received the most salt right on her face, while I rejoiced in my heart, hoping to see her hurt. However, she just looked annoyed and brushed the salt off her.

"What a waste." She complained after sighing. "Sorry baby, I'm not the one who needs seasoning here. You're the meal." She said before charging towards me, her vicious smile back again on her face.

She pursued me to the living room. I stood behind a table while she was back sauntering, overconfident about me being at her mercy. She passed next to a door and her dog inside barked, hitting the door so violently that it seemed it wanted to tear it down. She probably locked it there earlier before attacking me. Mrs Robinson looked at the door, her distraction creating an opportunity for me. I threw the empty bottle of salt I still had in my hand, aiming for her head. She ducked, and I froze when I saw someone standing behind her, and catching the bottle with one hand.

"You missed!" She said gleefully before standing back up, completely oblivious to the presence behind her. "My turn. Time to end this." Mrs Robinson said, preparing herself to throw the knife at me, her eyes filled with anger, hatred and the intent to kill.

Before she could say or do anything further, the person behind Mrs Robinson punched her so hard that the old lady seemed to dive forward and she fell unconscious. The person then approached me. I took the vase on the table and threw it at her, but the woman just diverted it with a little tap. I recognized her. She was the one that spotted me looking at Carla and her group by the window. She had come back for me.

The woman was also well known in the village. It was Adelaide, a mute and discreet woman that also lived alone and was the village florist.

Each step she made towards me intensified her fierce look and the brightness of her white eyes. My heartbeat increased in pace, the dog was still barking and once more, I truly believed that my time was up. The lady then stopped a few meters away from me and shook her head in disappointment.

"Really? You the outlander? Just some freaked out— kid?" She spoke. She then passed her hands through her hair and walked back as if completely desperate, talking to herself. "After all these years, all the decades, the outlander ends up being a fucking kid. Like for real?" She added before chuckling.

"Adelaide? Adelaide, you can— speak?" I quietly asked, prompting the lady to turn toward me.

"Adelaide? ADELAIDE? Sorry but your dear Adelaide is not available at the moment, please call back later. Would you mind?" She responded, angrier and more agitated.

"What? What's going on? Why you all say the same thing?" I questioned.

"You people have been living here for all these years but you still don't know what the hell is going on here, right?" She asked back, then looked at the empty bottle of salt still in her hand. "No wonder you tried to use table salt. Dude, table salt? Sea salt boy, that's what works on us." She added, before chuckling again.

Carla. I remembered our parents giving us random salt containers with the content of mine looking and tasting slightly different from what I would call usual or normal salt. If I used sea salt back in our home, and Carla used table salt, that could explain how she could get out of her room but not come into mine.

"Sea salt? I think I have left some upstairs." I told the lady.

"Then go get it genius! Be fast, we gotta move before grandma here wakes up." She replied.

"Wait, she's not dead? And— don't you want to— kill me like all the others?" I asked.

"It should be obvious by now. I'm not a murderer. So no, I don't wanna kill you. But I really can change my mind if you keep asking such dumb questions. Like for real." She replied, crossing her arms.

"Okay then, there's something else that I found here. It's also upstairs with— the salt."

"Great, mind showing me?" She said, leading the way.

"If you're not Adelaide then who are you? Who are all of you?" I questioned again as we walked up the stairs.

"We don't have much time so let me be brief. We're wandering souls from some place which is maybe the afterlife. I don't really know how to call it. It's the place before heaven or hell, depending on which one you qualify for. Numerous souls like me are trapped or stuck there because of unfinished business. Each blackout allows us to possess your bodies. Just random bodies, so that we get to be alive again in this world for 24 hours. My name is Edlynn by the way, I died in 2013. And the psycho you saw inside grandma, that's Nadia, a mental asylum escapee wasted by the police back in 2004, after she slaughtered 9 people.

"What?"

"We don't share your memories, we don't even know who you are. We just fully use your bodies for a day, usually regardless of your physical conditions but not always. And the next day, you all come back. Sad thing is, there's no filter about which soul shows up during the blackout. So any good fellow can pop up for one more slice of life, one more chance to right a wrong, along with psychos and serial killers who would do anything for one more kill, just like Nadia there. Hope it makes sense to you, cause I'm not repeating myself."

"What? How is that possible?"

"Anything is possible in this world. People are just oblivious to it. It's like being blinded by a spell, and people of this village surely are. When I think about how ignorant I was... All that is a result of a very evil act, and it has to be stopped— by you."

"Me?"

"You're the outlander, Terrence. Do you think it's random? It's not. You're the success obtained after many failed attempts, and the first outlander." She replied. "Here? She asked when we reached the open bathroom door, and I responded with a nod.

We entered the room and she immediately saw the items in the basin. "That's more like it. Take it and keep it far away from me." She said about the salt.

"I found those things hidden here." I revealed, pointing at the diary and the watch.

"You found them." Edlynn spoke, opening the diary. "You're truly the outlander. Everything, all the answers are right there."

"Answers to what? All these random drawings, maps, it doesn't really make sense to me." I said.

"Oh yeah that's right. You know, we can talk and communicate and all that but, we can't read or write in that state. That's the only way my fellow rebels found to leave clues about what happens."

"Fellow rebels?"

Sounds of drums suddenly arose from afar, plunging Edlynn in absolute terror as she began looking all around her.

"Already?" She spoke.

She then quickly put the diary and the watch in her backpack and handed it to me.

"What's going on? What's that?" I asked.

"He's here. He has arrived." She replied.

"Who?"

"Redeye. The one behind it all. Our enemy. Your nemesis."

"My— nemesis?"

"Listen to me Terrence, go to that Adelaide's house and wait for me there. Don't come out until I come back. We're about to go to the square to meet him. None of us can resist him, but you can. Please, don't follow me, don't go to the square even if nobody can notice you. Go to her house and wait for—" Edlynn stopped, her eyes suddenly going from a shining white to a red glow as an empty expression seized her face.

"Edlynn?" I called, not sure of what was going on and what she was about to do.

"Long live Redeye, master of the craft, shepherd of souls. Long live Redeye, master of the craft, shepherd of souls..." She repeated.

Edlynn then turned to the door, hypnotized by an unknown power and walked out of the bathroom, still repeating the same words. I followed her closely, even though she no longer paid any attention to me. Downstairs, I found Nadia or Mrs Robinson if you want walking towards the house entrance door with red glowing eyes too, and also saying the same words over and over again. She broke the door with only one punch and they both exited the house.

When I followed them outside, I found many others in the same condition, ignoring me and walking towards the square from which the sounds of drums came from. Their slow and little steps drew them closer to Redeye, the one behind it all, my nemesis.

Ever since I was a child, I have had strange experiences, accidentally entering into a dark world which I came to think of as the “badlands”. I’ve seen people call it “no-clipping”, which is as good a word for it as any.

The first time it ever happened, I was coming home from school. My parents both worked late, so I was all alone. I walked into my front door, my head down, so at first I didn’t even notice what was happening all around me.

It was as if I had walked into the wrong house. The house I lived in with my family was a small duplex that we kept clean with Persian carpets and mirrors all along the front hallway. The house I had actually entered looked abandoned, with black water dripping from the ceiling, floors that looked like they were about to collapse and ceilings that hung down so low and had so much black mold that it was a miracle they were still standing.

I tried to spin around and run, but the door had slammed and locked behind me. Despite looking for any deadbolt or other lock on the handle, I could find nothing, but there was no way to get it open. I pulled with all the strength an 8-year-old could muster, pulling hard, screaming, slamming my little fist into the soggy, ancient wood. I hoped someone would hear me.

Then I heard something slithering behind me. Its breath sounded ragged and strained, as if it were choking on its mucus. It coughed constantly. I turned, my heart beating fast, my eyes as wide as dinner plates, and saw a creature from my worst nightmare.

It was a woman- or at least, half of a woman. She pulled herself forward on rotting arms, her entrails and intestines dragging behind her. The lower part of her body was entirely missing. She had no legs or waist. How she could still be alive was totally beyond my child’s mind to comprehend.

As she got within ten feet of me, her head jerked up suddenly, her jaw opening far too wide and showing a mouth full of fangs streaked with clotted gore. Bloody trails ran down her chin and naked, decaying breasts from her open mouth. Flies swarmed around her, as her body gave off a smell like rotting roadkill and copper. Two huge black wings unfurled from the rotting skin of her back, and with a sudden, savage leap, she flew into the air, her mouth wide open and aimed at my throat.

Screaming in terror, I pushed with all my strength at the door, and at the last possible moment, it flew open behind me, dumping me out onto the sidewalk in front of my house. I fell hard on my back, shrieking, scraping my hands and elbows as I tried to crawl backwards on all fours. The door slammed behind me, and a heavy thump smashed into it, rattling the entire front of the house. My neighbor, a sweet, old woman named Mrs. Fulman, ran over from her front yard, a gardening shear still in her right hand.

“Dear child, what is wrong with you?” she cried, putting one trembling hand over her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!” I pointed at the front door with one shaking finger, but now there was no sign of the badlands or the creature I had seen. It looked like just a regular front door on another stereotypical suburban home.

As I grew older, I realized the creature I had seen was real- a type of vampire from the Philippines called a “tik-tik”. They leave the lower half of their bodies behind when they go out to feed. How she got here, thousands of miles away from the Philippines, was only one mystery among many, and not even a very large one. Wherever I went when I no-clipped, it was not necessarily attached to the original location of this world. Or maybe the tik-tiks existed all over the globe. I would never find the answer to those questions.

After this, however, whenever I opened a door, I would peer inside and make sure there wasn’t some strange, otherworldly dimension on the other side. This worked well for years, until I was 17 and coming home from working at a restaurant one cold fall day. The place where the restaurant was located was on the border of the city, and it was an extremely nasty place at night. Drug dealers and prostitutes controlled that area of the town.

I had just walked out of the restaurant, smelling like pizza and fried food, a smell which seemed to seep permanently into whatever clothes I was wearing when I was at work. My head was down, as I was texting a friend from school about a camping trip we were planning that weekend. Because of this, I didn’t notice the three young men silently following me, red bandanas wrapped around the dark skin of their foreheads to mark them as members of the Bloods.

When I turned to take a shortcut through an alleyway, they followed close behind, then ran up on me. I heard footsteps coming and looked back in shock. One of them had a pistol out, kept pointed down for now. The gun looked huge and as black as the night I walked through.

“Yo!” one of them screamed at me. “Stop right there, motherfucker!” That was all I needed to hear. I took off, sprinting wildly down the alleyway. But they were faster than I was. Within seconds, I felt a hand on my shoulder. In a panic, my subconscious mind took over. It brought up my past experiences in that other world, like a video running through my third eye. Breathing hard, I pulled away from the hand that seeked to stop me- running right into a solid brick wall behind a dumpster.

I thought I would smash my face and chest into it, so instinctively closed my eyes as I impacted it. But there was no collision. I went right through it. Somehow, I had, for the first time, intentionally no-clipped out of the normal world and into the badlands.

Looking around, I saw I had entered a seemingly abandoned, post-apocalyptic version of the city. Some of the buildings were half-collapsed, smashed bricks and shattered glass littering the ground. I walked through the ruins of the building I was in, jumping over the broken wall back out into the alleyway I had just come from. There was no sign of the gang members- or anyone else, for that matter.

At first, I just doubled over and caught my breath, glad to be out of immediate danger. Little did I realize that I had gone out of the frying pan and into the fire. There were far worse things in the badlands than simple gang members, and I was about to find it out the hard way.

I walked through the streets back towards the downtown area, finding a warehouse that was mostly intact. I pushed on the front door. While the warehouse in my world was a bustling distributor for Spanish foods and drinks to the local bodegas, here it appeared to produce something much more unsettling. The first floor had an assembly line with half-finished torture devices. I saw massive iron maidens, the countless sharp spikes waiting for whatever unfortunate victim would be shoved inside. Thankfully, the doors were not yet welded on the front of them.

Farther on, I also saw brazen bulls. They were huge metal constructions, with a door in the side where the victim would be forced in, a fire lit underneath the iron to make it scalding hot. The victim would burn alive within the brazen bull, a series of pipes and horns underneath the head of the bull leading to the oven so that the tortured screams would sound like the roaring of a bull. Most of them were still missing their metal feet, while others still waited for the doors to be welded on. I had seen enough. I wanted to get out of this place.

I stopped looking after that, running up to the third and topmost floor. The building smelled dusty and ancient. Spiderwebs got tangled in my hair, causing me to freak out and spin in circles, beating myself on my head and face and chest to make sure no creeping bugs or spiders were going under my shirt or crawling down my nose and mouth. After I had calmed down, I carefully walked towards the window facing the street, keeping my arms in front and waving them back and forth to try to keep the spiderwebs out of my face.

Looking down, I saw someone walking along the street. From where I stood, they looked like nothing more than a dark silhouette. I could discern no features, no eyes or hair or nose or even ears, and their clothes, if they were wearing any, must have been pure black. They looked like nothing more than a walking shadow to me. Getting closer to the window, I tried to get a closer look, but the window was old and falling apart. As I put my hands on it, leaning forward, a pane of glass fell out. The creature looked up instantly, the glass shattering on the street a few stories below.

Taking a deep breath in, I stepped back from the window, a sense of panic and an unsettling fear rising in my chest. Below me, I heard a door open and close.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit,” I whispered to myself, looking for somewhere to hide. Heavy footsteps were running up the stairs now, and I had no time to think. I found an old desk nearby, crawling underneath it and pulling the boxcutter I always kept in my pocket at work out. It seemed like such a small and useless weapon, especially in a place like this.

Within seconds, the third floor door slammed open, and I heard a heavy, distorted breathing coming from the entryway. The creature slowly walked over to the window. Peeking out from my hiding spot, I saw it looking down from the window where I had just stood.

A soft tickling started behind my left ear. Reaching back, I brushed at the spot- and saw a huge, fat, black spider stuck to my hand. Screaming in instinctual panic, I threw it across the room, crawling out from the hiding spot. I wondered how many others were crawling on me at that very moment.

But as I crawled out, I stopped, realizing my stupidity. The creature was now looking directly at me, standing only ten feet away. It was the purest black, as if it were truly nothing more than a shadow. As it stared at me, however, its features began to transform.

The darkness of its silhouette seemed to melt away from it, puddling into a shadow at its feet. New features melted onto its face, like liquid wax solidifying into a human face and body. With horror, I realized I was looking at my own face- except it wasn’t exactly the same.

The creature had used my likeness, but the eyes I looked at were bloated and yellow. The skin was falling off, rotting, its hair dry and covered in clotted blood. Maggots infested every inch of its skin, wriggling and falling off in droves. Spiders crawled into its mouth and out of its nose and ears. It had transformed into me as a decaying body, as if I had been murdered and thrown in a swamp for a few days. Shrieking, I tried to crawl back away from it on all fours as it walked slowly up to me.

“Sweet, sweet child,” it said to me in a croaking, inhuman voice, bending down close to me. I could smell the rancid gasses emanating from its mouth, smell the bloating of its intestines and stomach as liquified shit and rotten meat dripped from every orifice of its body. “You are a long way from home.” It put its hand around my throat. I felt some of the skin slough off as I tried to struggle away, but its grip was like iron. Lifting me up, it held me up in the air with one hand, bringing me inches away from its sickly, jaundiced eyes.

“Get… away… from…” I tried to say, but it was choking off my air supply. My vision started to turn white with adrenaline and oxygen deprivation. With a last burst of energy, I took the boxcutter, slicing it across its right eye. With a shriek like a banshee, it dropped me. I fell hard on my back, my head slamming into the concrete floor. I saw stars for a moment, but I didn’t have time to waste getting my bearings.

Pushing myself up with unsteady hands, wavering, I began to sprint away from the abomination. I looked back as I went through the third floor door to the stairwell, seeing vitreous fluid and maggots leaking from its slit-open eye. It wiped away the disgusting mixture, then took after me, running at a superhuman speed that I could never hope to escape.

Taking the stairs two at a time, descending at a suicidal pace, I made it back to the first floor before it caught up with me. I had run past the brazen bulls to the section of iron maidens when it grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. With an insane, burning anger shining in its remaining eye, it opened its mouth. A spider crawled out, jumping onto my face. I would have screamed, but it had grabbed me by the face and throat, and it now looked as if it would kiss me.

It began to suck at the air, and I felt myself weakening. I saw white light exiting my mouth and going into its open maw as more spiders and maggots crawled from its body onto mine. With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pushed it as hard as I could.

It stumbled back, falling into the open casket of an iron maiden standing directly behind it. While the monster was still unsteady, I put both my hands out and ran at it, shoving it into the spikes of the iron maiden directly behind it. The spikes went right through it and into my hands. Shrieking in pain, feeling warm blood begin to run down both of my arms from multiple holes in my palms and fingers, I pulled back. Instinctually, I began to bat away the spiders that had landed on me and crawled in my hair, around my face and chest, leaving small splashes of my own blood all over my body and clothes.

Then I heard more footsteps from behind me. Spinning around, I saw two more of those things. Without a second thought, I took off running towards the back of the factory, hoping with all of my heart that an emergency exit existed there.

They gained on me rapidly. As I saw the broken doorway in the back, I began to think of my world. A vision of blue skies, moonlit nights, oceans, cars and other facets of the normal world ran through my third eye in moments. A hand landed on my shoulder, but I had reached the door. Pulling away, I jumped through it.

I landed heavily on the city streets behind the factory, noticing with relief that I was back in the real world, but I had not lost the creatures. They had both come through close behind me, pure black shadows that bent close to my face, as if examining me. One had opened its mouth and was approaching my face, unhinging its jaw and showing a flood of sickly white light within its body. I heard the screaming of children and the cries of tortured souls within these abominations, as if the souls of their victims were forever trapped within their eldritch frames.

At that moment, I heard a few soft footsteps. With my last breath, I yelled, “Help!”

“Hey, he’s over here!” I heard a deep voice yell. Looking up, I saw the three gang members, one of them with his pistol still out. “Motherfucker, you’re gonna regret…” the leader started to say, then he noticed the two black creatures. They had turned to look at the three with hungry interest. “What the fuck?”

The two abominations rushed at the three thugs. I saw the leader of the three raise his pistol and shoot the front one directly in the chest. It stumbled for a moment, then stood back up, rushing forward.

The three thugs tried to turn and run, but they didn’t make it more than a few steps. The abomination in the lead grabbed the first one and slammed his head into a brick wall, dropping him to the ground in an unconscious heap. Then they closed the distance to the remaining two, each grabbing one by the throat and putting their lips up to the thugs’ mouths.

As I got up, still unsteady and bleeding from multiple spots all over my hands, my only thought was to get as far away as possible from those abominations. The last thing I heard was the gasping of the gang members and their cries for help as their life was sucked out of them.

It has been a few days since then, and now reports are coming from all over the city of mysterious bodies, dried up and dessicated, as if their insides had been sucked out by a spider. I know those monsters are hard at work, and though they may have saved my life, I hope I never see them again.

I don’t think I want to no-clip anymore, either.

Part 5

Callum and that cave are still the stuff of nightmares for me. It's tough to write about even now, years removed from when he dragged me down into the valley. For the previous part see the link above.

I considered kicking in an attempt to free myself. The packed forest of Douglas Fir had enough places to hide. I bent my twisted left ankle and even the slightest movement induced a mixture of severe pain and numbness. The joint was swollen and was unusable for anything but a painful hobble. If my attacker were a pensioner with two bad hips I would not outrun him.

I arched my back to shift the pressure of the ground to where clothes still covered my skin. My skin felt raw and scratched and wet. As my weight shifted in his hand, Callum half turned and then looked back ahead. He knew I wasn’t going anywhere, it didn’t matter if I was awake. I let my arms rest limply on my chest.

We entered a clearing and Callum leaned down and lifted me effortlessly, as if I were a doll. He tossed me as a spiderweb of lighting spread across the sky and then I slammed into the hard ground and was plunged into darkness.

I sucked in musty and damp air and coughed it back out. Behind me the sound of stone against stone and a murky gloom turned pitch black. I got to my hands and knees and pulled my shirt down over my stomach.

“Is someone there?”

My head snapped around at the sound, a faint and timid voice from somewhere in the dark. I recognised it.

“Martina?”

“Tom?”

A finger brushed against my arm and then a trembling hand gripped my wrist.

“Martina, where are we?”

She uttered a muffled whimper and then took a deep breath. “In the cave. The place where was trapped.”

“Where who was trapped? Roger?”

“No. Roger and Callum found him. They were the ones who released him.”

“Who?”

“He promised us. He promised us everything. Things no one else could give us. Please understand. No one was supposed to get hurt.”

My ankle throbbed with pain. I slid fingertips over my raw skin. And that was nothing compared to what they had done to the hiker out on the mountain.

“It’s too late for that Martina.”

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. From somewhere above a thin cylinder of light angled onto a wall of dark-grey rock. The form of Martina coalesced into a silhouette, small and slender. Above us the ground trembled and made a noise like a deep exhale. Martina turned at the sound and I saw the rounded form of her stomach.

“Are you..” I began a sentence and then cut the words short. My mind tripped over itself trying to put everything together. Martina told me about her engagement to Mike and how they had tried for a family, and it hadn’t worked. And yet here she was at the beginning of a stint on lookout supposed to last for months and heavily pregnant. Had she played me for a fool? Was that all a story to elicit some emotional response? Was this a game? “Are you pregnant?” I finally finished.

She shrunk back into the shadows. “You don’t know what it’s like. To want something so badly and have it always be out of reach. To sit while a doctor tells you that the problem is with your body. That there’s nothing anyone can do. To watch the photograph of your future burn in your hands until it is ash. You don’t know what that does to a person.”

She seemed to be talking past me. “What does this have to do with what is happening out there?”

“Something exists in this valley. A life force, a spirit fuelled by fire. Roger found this cave, the place where it was locked away. He decoded the script and found the talisman.”

“Talisman?”

“A triangle. The archaic symbol for fire.”

I clenched my fist around the metal triangle taken from the neck of the woman in blue. A triangle, but inverted from those carved on the trees.

“The woman in blue—” I started.

“The triangle pointing down is the symbol for water.”

“So Roger told me to stay away.”

In the gloom Martina nodded. “When all was in place Roger chanted the spell and made contact. This fire spirit is powerful Tom, it can give us what we most desire. A child we could never have, or to return the one we already lost.”

I remembered the photograph that slipped from the book on the shelf of the lookout. A man and a boy.

“Roger had a son?”

“His name was Miles. He died in a house fire. Roger pulled him from the flames but the smoke had already done its work. That was what Roger ran from. That set him on a path that ended at your lookout. From there he found the cave and the fire spirit, who promised he could return his son to the world of the living.”

“This is crazy.”

“I thought so too, at first. I thought Roger was losing it after all these years of isolation. He brought me down here with Callum and all three of us joined together and we asked for what we wanted the most. We played along because Roger was our friend. Then something happened that proved it all was real.”

“What?”

She grabbed my hand and pressed it to her stomach. “This. It proved to us that the promises were real. Roger took Callum to the cemetery where Miles was buried. Under the cover of darkness they dug up his corpse and brought it here.”

“They brought his kid back to life?”

“Not yet. They are waiting.”

“For what?”

The ground rumbled, it sounded as if a bulldozer were driving up through the cave. The storm.

“The fire spirit made a list of demands before he would raise Miles and allow my child to be born. First Roger had to give himself up by allowing his body to be burnt in the tree behind your lookout. Callum and I set the tree alight. We didn’t know what would happen. When Roger came out he looked different. His skin was like.”

“Pottery.” I finished her sentence.

“Exactly. The process made him strong and fast and he burned inside. The old Roger is gone, and this new one will serve the fire spirit. It was a sacrifice Roger was willing to make to give his son a chance to live.”

“But I saw two of them.”

“When Callum saw what Roger became, he wanted the same. He craved the power and the strength. He’s the sort of guy who chops others down so he can feel taller. Do you know the type?”

I nodded. I’d dealt with a lot of those.

“I tried to talk him out of it, but he convinced Roger to do it.”

The image of the burnt out tree beside Callum’s lookout flashed through my mind.

“Then why am I here?”

“The last thing the fire spirit demanded is a human sacrifice such that he can take form. It is to be placed within a special tree and when the forest burns, the fire spirit will assume the form of the sacrifice and live again. It is then that he will raise Miles.”

The implication sat heavy in my stomach. Callum dragged me down off the mountain for a single purpose. To make me a sacrifice to his new master. I had to get out of here, escape somehow. I hobbled to the narrow entrance of the cave and scraped at the massive rock blocking the way.

“It’s useless,” Martina said. “Only they can shift it.”

I jammed my fingers into a crack and strained against the weight of the boulder. It did not budge.

“Help me Martina. I don’t want any part of this.”

“Tom stop.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I didn’t know it would be you. I thought if you stayed in your lookout and stayed quiet they would leave you be. I didn’t want to do anything to anger Roger or Callum. I want this so badly.”

“What about what I want?”

I dug again at the rock until the skin on my fingers broke and blood trickled down the back of my hands. I screamed at the rock to shift and gave it one last effort and the rock moved, as if it suddenly lost all its mass. Someone answered my prayers.

I blinked into the sharp daylight and there stood a silhouette of grey. It wasn’t Callum. This one was bigger, heavier set. Roger. He took a step forwards and his mouth opened into a wicked smile.

I turned and limped past Martina and deeper into the cave. The light from the opening spilled onto the walls and they were covered in writing, etched onto the walls with dark coal. The same writing from the black book I found on the shelf. The same undecipherable text. Except Roger had decoded it.

I felt a crunching blow to my ribs and all the air left my lungs. My stomach slapped against the craggy floor of the cave and I grasped manically with bloodied fingers looking for a hold as Roger dragged me out.

I lay on the forest floor blinking up at the burning sun in a sky of clear blue. I lifted my arm up to shield my eyes from the light. My hand shook, streaks of red blood dripping onto the ground. I fought to get back my breath, coughing up wet phlegm in the process.

“Do you have it?”

I recognised Roger’s voice.

I turned and spat. “Have what?”

Roger raised a pair of burning hands to the sky and an angry red replaced the calm blue of the sky. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and the air seemed to buzz. Thin streaks of electricity sparked from the tips of Roger’s fingers and then in an instant a flash of lightning burst down from the sky followed immediately by a clap of thunder that felt like it would split my head in two. I pulled my hands up to my ears and squeezed my eyes tight.

Roger’s voice cut through the ringing in my ears. “She gave it to you. Empty your pockets.”

I complied. I was in no mood to argue and have my head smacked with another bolt of lightning. I pulled out a few scraps of wrinkled paper and then my hand found what I knew Roger sought. I pulled the necklace out of my pocket and dangled it from my hand. Roger leaned down and snatched at it. I whimpered.

“Don’t do it,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to be sacrificed.”

Roger scoffed. “It isn’t you he wants boy.”

I lowered my hand and sat up.

Roger saw the confusion on my face. “Is that what she told you?” He shook his head. “No, no. He demands a sacrifice, but it isn’t yours to make.”

Roger clapped his hands together and Callum came running out of the trees. Martina emerged hesitantly from the cave and met Roger’s gaze. He turned away and Martina’s face fell, the realisation working through her brain.

“No, Roger,” she said timidly. “He made a promise.”

“To give you what you most desire. You wanted to birth new life and you will. But you won’t live to see it.”

Roger made a flick with his head and Callum gripped Martina in a bear hug that lifted her from her feet. Martina kicked and screamed but it did little good. He dragged her across the clearing to the base of an enormous tree, the trunk as wide as a water tank. A giant triangle was carved into the bark. At the base of the tree was something wrapped in stained white linen, small and still. The body of Miles, Roger’s son.

Callum freed one hand and scurried up the face of the tree like a lizard up a wall. A few body lengths above the ground the tree split into branches. Here Callum stopped and lifted Martina so her feet dangled over the centre of the trunk. She looped a leg around the lowest branch and pushed with all her strength. Callum, unperturbed, calmly pulled her legs together and dropped her down into the hollowed out centre of the tree. Martina’s muffled cries disappeared into the warm air.

Callum came back down and stood before Roger, awaiting further direction. Roger rattled around the necklace in his fingers and then tossed it into the trees beyond.

Roger said, “We don’t need him anymore. Do what you want.”

Callum turned to me, his jaw opening into a grin. His eyes burned red.

Instinctively I jumped to my feet and ran. The first load on my left ankle almost sent me right back to the forest floor, but somehow I remained upright. I didn’t have time to think. The forest had places to hide, but I didn’t have much head start. I pivoted left and right and then barrelled into the cave, Callum’s footfalls close behind.

I did not know how deep the cave extended. The light from outside tapered back to a deep gloom not more than a dozen paces from the opening. I ignored the strange script on the walls and set my eyes on the darkness, praying for somewhere I could hide, if only to delay the inevitable.

The ground became uneven, mini valleys and peaks barely visible in what little light was left. I slowed so as not to fall and threw out my arms to find the wall and steady myself. Before my hands found anything solid, a rock gave way below my good ankle and I tumbled to the ground, my skin slapping against the hard rock. I cried out in pain, the elbow that broke my fall exploding into flames of pain.

I lay there and listened for the click of Callum’s hard feet on the rock. Instead I heard a grotesque cackling. I turned back and Callum stood in the light of the opening. He knew I had nowhere to go and he wanted to stretch this out and enjoy himself. He would make this as painful as possible, as if he fed off the misery. I had come across this type before.

I groaned and got to my feet. This time I went right for the wall and used it as a prop. Loose stones twisted and rolled beneath my feet. Ahead light shimmered off the ground and seemed to oscillate ever so slightly. I went to it and stumbled again, the skin on my elbow now wet. Blood, I thought. You’ve cut yourself open and even if you find somewhere to hide, you’ll soon bleed out.

But it wasn’t blood. I sniffed at the air and smelled moisture, stale water. I tapped the ground and found a sliver of water that had settled into a shallow pool. The words of the woman in blue came back to me. They are creatures of fire. Water could be my saviour.

On my hands and knees I scrambled deeper into the cave. Behind came the slow click, click of Callum’s hardened feet against the bare rock of the cave. In the dark his eyes burned red.

He cackled again. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be Tom. It won’t be so bad for you. The girl I found out in the forest didn’t scream for long. I’ll finish it quick.”

I kept going. Any contrast from the light at the entrance was now gone. I fumbled my way through the pitch black. The ground rose a little and the rock was dry to the touch. That shallow pool was nothing more than a tease. A hint that maybe there was a way to defeat my pursuer, only for it be ripped away. Callum would step over the shallow pool without breaking stride.

The top of my head slammed against a wall of hard rock. I ran my palms furiously over the surface, searching for a way forward. I reached the wall on one side and went back the other way. The click, click continued, growing louder and sharper.

In the right corner I found a depression at the base of the wall. It wasn’t big enough to stand or even crawl. I dropped to my stomach and slid my way along the rock, hoping against all odds that this tunnel would open into a larger space somewhere ahead. I was far enough in now that rock surrounded close on all sides like a coffin.

The air grew colder and smelled again of water. I breathed it in and stifled a cough. Like a swimmer doing breaststroke, I inched my way forwards until the ground fell away completely. I dropped my hands into the gap and found a deeper pool of water. It was ice cold and I drew in a sharp breath. I reached in to find the end, but my fingertips swished freely in water-filled space. Above the ceiling continued.

I had read about caves like this. The sort where explorers needed a scuba diving set to swim down and through to the other side. Except I didn’t have a scuba set and I had no idea where this tunnel full of water led, if it led anywhere. It could be a dead end, an enclosed space with only one entrance or exit, the one I was currently at.

Behind me a subtle warmth. He was close.

“Where are you going Tom?”

If I waited here it was a matter of time before Callum gripped my ankle and pulled. The other option was the water. I could go in the water and he could not, if the woman in blue was right. In the dark and the cold of the enclosed space I wept. The tears ran warm down my face.

There was only one thing left to do. I pulled myself forwards, teetering over the edge. I took a deep breath and plunged into the water.

X

I work for a commercial cleaning company who specializes in cleaning run down, abandoned buildings and getting them ready for refurbishment. We were hired to clean out an old hospital that had been abandoned for some 20 odd years. My team, of which there were three of us, was assigned to the "Behavioral Health Unit" or more simply, the psych ward. While I was clearing out rooms of dusty, old linens and matress pads I found an old marble journal tucked under one of the pads. I opened it up and flipped through quickly and saw that it was about half filled with journal entries. I thought it was pretty cool so I slid it into my back pocket for so I could read it later and went back to work. I totally forgot about it until I got into the car to drive home.

​

When I got home I decided to read it and what I found inside was terrifying, mostly because of the similarities between what was in the journal and what we had cleaned up earlier today. I'll go over the connections I found between the journal and what I saw today later but before that let me share the story. I'm going to try and stay as true to the writing in the journal as possible. So that means some things might be misspelled and some grammar might not be perfect, if it's underlined on the page, I'll underline it here, written in all caps? I'll type it in all caps. So let's get started.

DAY 1 -12pm

The ER nurse lied to me. She said I could leave after 3 days. The doctor here said SHE decides when I leave. She said I won’t be out in 3 days.

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t belong here.

DAY 2 - 11am

I’ve been here 24 hours. I don’t want to be here. I don’t belong here. They do a “patient check” every 15 minutes. If you’re in your room they knock loudly on the door. They don’t care about the time. I can’t sleep. They gave me my meds and say they have mood stabilizers for me tonight.

I miss Thea

I miss my bed

This is my world now

DAY 3 - 11am

It’s been 42 hours. I’m feeling a little better. I broke down last night. I played some monopoly earlier today, it was fun.

After I broke down I was given meds to calm me down. I laughed for the first time since coming here.

DAY 5

I’m OK

I’ll be OK

DAY 7

It’s time to go home.

They won’t let me leave. I don’t know why. I ask and they ignore me. I just want to go home.

DAY 10

There was a huge boom from outside. None of the nurses reacted, they just carried on like normal. All I can see out the window is black smoke.

DAY 14

We found a nurse in the hallway this morning. He was dead. We’ve been seeing less and less each day but since we found him, we haven’t seen anyone else.

DAY 27

There hasn’t been a single nurse or doctor or security or anyone at all since we found the nurse in the hallway. The door knocking hasn’t stopped though. Every 15 minutes, if a room door is closed, it will knock. Food still shows up. Meds still show up in the medicine window.

DAY 28

Gerald tried to jump through the window at the nurse station. Something we couldn’t see stopped him and dragged him back out. He was dragged all the way to the “quiet room” . We hesitantly followed and watched as he was hauled up onto the slab bed. We watched the straps wrap themselves around him and tie him down. Then the room door slammed shut.

That was this morning. It’s almost lights out. We can still hear him screaming. Poor guy. I guess security is still here?

DAY 32

It’s been over a month. We put the body of the nurse in Gerald’s room, since he doesn’t need it anymore. Gerald is still strapped down in the quiet room. Still screaming. I don’t know how.

Out the window is just smoke. Large, roiling, jet-black columns of smoke, painting the sky a large swathe of uncolor. We’re still fed. Don’t know where it comes from, but it always shows up at the end of the hallway and wheels itself down to us.

DAY ???

It’s been a while. A lot has happened. A lot of the lights have stopped working. The knocking never does. Some of the windows have cracks in them. Don’t know how. None of us could even scratch them. There is no more outside. It’s just black. The smoke took over the sky weeks ago? I’m really not sure about the time. Haven’t seen natural light since. We only know days because the lights, what few we have left, dim for a bit every few hours or so. The water stopped getting hot a few days ago. With the lights, the windows, and now the water, it’s almost like this place is dying. Gerald stopped screaming eventually. Still strapped down. We can still see him moving from time to time so we know he’s still alive. Don’t know how he survives, but I do know that none of us want to piss off whatever thing he did.

DAY I DON’T KNOW

We have to get out of here. Doris went into her room and the door closed behind her. It wouldn’t open. Something unseen dragged her to the bed and held her there. We watched as the bed then made itself with her in it. That wouldn’t have been that bad except that when it was done Doris was just a red smear between the sheets and the bed. There’s not even a bulge where her body is. She’s just gone. The door has stayed closed ever since. No one is brave enough to go into their rooms now. We’re all just staying in the day room now.

BEEN A FEW DAYS

I lost this book for a bit. It’s not that strange, stuff sometimes goes missing here. We just assume the “housekeepers” got it. The strange part is that I found it in Gerald’s room, next to the body of the nurse. Now just a semi-wet pile of meat and bones. No idea why that room won’t clean itself. We’ve lost a couple other folks to “housekeeping”. That’s what we call what happened to Doris. Maybe we’ll try and look in Gerald’s room for more stuff we lost.

DAY AFTER LAST ENTRY

It was a bad idea. The nurse wasn’t dead. I don’t know how it couldn’t be. It was LITERALLY just a pile of meat and bones. And yet.

We were in Gerald’s room looking for lost stuff. Ron bumped into the nurse’s body and it jumped at him. It dug its bone fingers into his neck. A wet squelching noise accompanying its every movement. Ron’s strangled, gurgled scream quickly stopped. I’m ashamed to say we ran. We left him there. With the nurse-thing still digging away at his neck. We closed and barricaded the door.

I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE

It’s been a few days. I can still hear the nurse-thing moving around in Gerald’s room. Every now and then we hear a wet slap against the door. The flies are terrible. Clarke got taken by housekeeping. A window broke out of nowhere. It just shattered. Some smoke came in. Just a little. Like a creeping miasma, it slithered its way across the ceiling and just sat there. We used a table to block the window and keep any more smoke from getting in. Now we’re just watching it.

WHO CARES

WE NEED TO LEAVE

Jenny decided to touch the smoke. It grabbed her. Like a snake, a thin trail came out and coiled itself around her outstretched arm and down her body and dragged her into itself. It’s unthinkable how such little smoke consumed someone whole. I say consumed because that’s what it did. It ate her. Not all at once, and not quickly. We tried to save her. Tried to drag her back down to us. Even with all of us pulling we couldn’t get her to budge. I think I heard something of hers pop or break or dislocate when we were pulling. But we couldn’t save her. So we had to watch. We had to watch as it slowly pulled her into itself. There was no noise. Except for Jenny’s screeches and screams. But it did eat her. Eventually. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her screams.

We stay away from it now. It stays on the ceiling, moving around, but never comes down.

We’re now living in fear of yet another unexplainable thing.

TOO LONG

The nurse - No idea, was he ever dead? Was he even human??

Gerald - Not dead somehow. Still strapped down.

Doris - Housekeeping

Aspen - Housekeeping

Donald - Housekeeping

Ron - The nurse-thing

Jenny - Eaten by the smoke

Danielle - Eaten by the smoke

WE’RE LEAVING

We’ve lost too many people just sitting here trying to survive.

We’ll unblock the window and hop out, there’s a small landing with an access hatch about half a story below. I’m leaving this book here as a way to ensure we are not forgotten.

If you find this, I didn’t live to come back for it.

GOODBYE

NOTE:

THIS JOURNAL WAS FOUND IN THE ROOM OF A

MENTAL PATIENT WHO JUMPED OUT OF HIS

WINDOW TO HIS

DEATH.

I CAME BACK

I didn’t write that. I don’t know who did it but it wasn’t me. I found this journal; right where I left it. It’s just me now. We didn’t even make it out of the hospital. I came back because I’d rather die here where I’m at least taken care of.

We were exploring the hospital for about a week, I would say. This place hasn’t changed much. The black smoke is still there. It moves around the ceiling, following me. I feel like it’s watching me. Like a predator watching its prey. Not actively hunting but just waiting for any little slip up so it can bag itself an easy meal. It won’t be from me.

I guess I should explain what happened…and how everyone died.

When we left there were still six of us.

Me

Jule

Richard

Alberto

Gwen

Ray

I don’t know what we expected to find when we left but there was no way for us to guess what we saw.

​

Narrator note: The entire next page is fully scribbled out. I'll put a link to it in the comments

JUST WOKE UP FROM A NAP

Something more is going on. I took a nap after writing the last page. When I woke up I saw it was completely scribbled out. I didn’t do that. I guess something didn’t like what I had to say. I can’t remember what I wrote, honestly. I can’t really remember most of yesterday, This place hurts to be in. Hurts to think about. It just hurts. Good news though, the food still shows up.

IT’S BEEN TWO DAYS

I guess I’ll try again to write down what happened when I left.

Outside the window was a small drop down to an access hatch. We quickly filed out and fell down. I couldn’t help but notice no more smoke made its way through the window. Even now, sitting here writing this, I don’t have the window blocked. It doesn’t make much of a difference if I’m honest. There is no weather. No wind. Everything is still. I don’t hear any animals or bugs. No cars, no people, nothing. Just silence. The world is empty.

BACK TO WHAT HAPPENED

We hopped down to the access hatch. We managed to open it and dropped down into the floor below. I’d tell you what floor number but I honestly don’t know. When we hopped down, we were in a hallway. Long and semi lit. I guess the rest of the hospital was falling apart, just like our unit. Half of the lights were either flickering dimly or just out. Still enough light to see where we were going though. The hallway had elevators on one side, and a few rooms on the other. The rooms were labeled “Radiology” 1, 2, 3 and so on. Throughout the entire hall was a low humming and beeping, the sound of medical equipment left on. Being all too familiar with house cleaning, we didn’t dare go into any of the rooms. Gwen wanted to take the elevator but the rest of us said no, there’s no telling what horror that would have led to.

Once we got our bearings, we chose a direction and started walking. It was dark, we could barely see the floor. I guess that’s why we didn’t notice at first. When we did notice, we were too terrified to move. We had been walking maybe 10 minutes, the hallway just went on and on. Every now and then we would pass a sign with an arrow and the word “Visitation” on it pointing the way we were going. Occasionally we would come to large intersections with multiple hallways leading off. It was in one of these intersections we noticed what was around us. All over the walls were dark stains, the color of dried blood. Everywhere on the floor, we found wet piles of rotting meat and bone. Like our nurse-thing. It’s amazing how we didn’t smell it at first, but once we noticed, it was all we could smell. It was horrible. Just thinking about it makes me want to puke, even now.

I HAD TO GO THROW UP

I caught a whiff of the smell, I don't want to think about where it came from.

RICHARD AND JULE

We were stood in the intersection, surrounded by potential monsters. We had no idea how long these things could last like they were. Hell, they were literally half rotted. Once we found our nerves we decided to move on. It’s honestly a miracle we hadn’t bumped into a pile before then. Our luck couldn’t last forever though. In the dark confines of a particularly tight hallway, Richard lost his balance and ended up stepping on a meat pile. It instantly rose up and swallowed him. More an amorphous blob of meat and bone than anything resembling the human form. His scream was quick but loud. Loud enough to wake the dead.

Unfortunately I don’t say that as an expression. Apparently noise also sets them off. 2 more of the meat blobs suddenly launched themselves at the closest person. Jule was gone in an instant. The blobs fully enclosing her before she could even scream. Richard was a bit slower. We watched as whatever bones the blob had forced their way into and through him. A long bone through his neck. What looked like maybe fingers digging into his gut. A couple ribs into his thigh. On and on. We watched in horror for what felt like hours, too scared to move. When he finally stopped moving, we managed to collect our senses and run.

GWEN

A few days later we had moved a few floors down via the staircase. We were never able to take just one the entire way. There was always a blockage forcing us out into the hospital proper. Through more halls and rooms we weren’t sure we would make it out of.

Gwen was leading us through a hall. She took a turn and all we heard was the faintest squeak and then nothing. We waited around the corner for a while before carefully peeking our heads out. About a foot from where the wall turns was a massive wall of the black smoke. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, there was no way through. Gwen must have walked right into it. Gone before she even realized it. Poor girl.

RAY

Ray had the worst fate of anyone, except maybe Gerald. Ray was leading the remains of our group, just Alberto, myself, and Ray, through the kitchen. This was about a day after Gwen. As we were walking through the kitchen, past stoves and burners and rotten food, Ray saw something on the counter, I still don’t know what, and reached for it. His hand was cut in half. All four fingers gone at the knuckles. Next, the skin on his arm was peeled off, like skin on a fish. He watched his arm get sliced into small sections, unable to move. Alberto and I tried pulling him away but we couldn’t.

After his arm, Ray was haphazardly thrown onto the counter and the rest of his body was cut up. Prepared, like meat at a butcher shop. I saw a few pieces get flung into a pot on the stove before Alberto and I ran away while the cooks went to work on the rest of Ray.

I skipped my meals the next few days after I got back, just in case.

ALBERTO

Alberto was just unlucky. After what happened to Ray, we decided to just go back to our unit. It was all too much. Alberto and I quickly backtracked. A few days later we found a stairwell that said “To BHU/Psych” we were almost back.

Running up the stairs, Alberto didn’t notice a blob on the next step up. Stepped right on it. Of course it launched itself at him. It ended up tackling Alberto over the railing and down into the empty central column of the stairwell. They fell, Alberto and the blob. They fell what must have been 10 storeys, of course we couldn’t have been that high up. I watched them tumble down, the blob ripping chunks out of Alberto. Then I noticed what was at the bottom. A roiling, bubbling, almost boiling pool of the black smoke. All the way down. Alberto and the blob were plummeting towards it. Alberto fell in quietly. The meat blob fell in and everything was the opposite of silence.

HOW I GOT BACK

I guess these things don’t like each other. When the meat blob fell into the black smoke, at first there was a blinding light. I can’t describe the color, it was beyond white. That’s all that comes into my mind when I try to recall what it looked like. Beyond white is the best I can do. With the light came the noise. Deafening, the sound of flies, buzzing so loud I couldn’t hear myself scream. I was lucky to open my eyes quickly enough to see the black smoke rocketing up towards me. I quickly threw myself back against the wall as the black smoke shot up past me and continued on upwards, filling the central column. I admit it took me longer than I’m proud of to regain control of myself. The light, the noise, the powerful wind from the rush of the smoke. It was almost too much.

I felt the smoke glaring at me. It was angry. It wanted to eat. But it was hurt. If I was more of an action hero I would maybe do something with that information. But I’m not, so I ran. I ran up the stairs as fast as I could. I ran through the door marking “Floor 3” I ran through the halls, following the signs for the “Behavioral Health Unit”. Thanking whatever power above that all these doors were unlocked. I crashed through the twin doors leading back to where this all started. I collapsed onto the floor, finally feeling some semblance of safety. I don’t know how long I was out for.

I only realized after I woke up, all the doors that were unlocked, they all locked behind me as I ran. Now I’m stuck here again.

IT’S BEEN A FEW DAYS

I’m alone. Gerald is still here of course. He’s still strapped down. He’s little more than literal skin and bones now, but he’s still moving. The water is still cold. The window is still broken. The smoke still follows me. The food still rolls down the hall towards me. I did learn something through all this though.

The realization of false hope is more damaging than no hope at all. So for now, I’ll just live here with no hope of getting out.

I’ll be ok.

​

​

That's the whole thing. Pretty creepy if you ask me. When I was cleaning up earlier today, I noticed the ceiling was smudged with a lot of black stuff. Windows were cracked, with one window leading to an access hatch broken open. In the solitary hold rooms, I guess what the writer called the "Quiet rooms" there was one bed with its straps tied down. Nothing on the bed though. A few of the rooms had linens that were completely stained with something. Honestly couldn't tell you what. Walking through the hospital I also noticed a lot of stains on the floors. I can't say for certain, but I've had to clean up dead bodies before and the stains in the hospital looked exactly like the kind of stain a body leaves when it sits and rots for a long time.

​

After reading that and comparing what happened in the journal with the kind of mess I found, I'm honestly considering calling out tomorrow. Maybe even just call out for however long it takes to finish cleaning that hospital.

Me and Aaron had been friends since…well, since birth. It all started in a small hospital near the bottom of Providence. The year was 1991, and Hurricane Elena was passing by. As it happened, two women were giving birth to us in the same delivery room due to lack of space. In a sense, it kinda did make us like twins. Our mothers became fast friends – both strong, divorced women who had better things to do with their time than waste it on men who would always ditch them. They really leaned on each other and wherever one went, the other followed. No matter where I was, Aaron would always be my neighbor, or even my roommate, and the vice versa would always be true.

Although we certainly had the connection that people always say twins have, we couldn’t be more different from each other. Appearance wise, sure, it was obvious that we weren’t related, but we also had some pretty big personality gaps between the two of us. I was a stereotypical extrovert, played sports, the whole damn nine-yards. I was always Named Most Popular since I can remember. Aaron, meanwhile, was more of an introvert. He liked reading and photography, and was named Most Likely to Succeed for as long as I can remember. I mean, I liked to read too, just not as much as Aaron, and Aaron also liked to talk and to be active, just not as much as me. It’s not that our traits differed in any way. The two of us just exercised them at a different capacity. But given all that, we never had any issues in talking with each other.

We…were inseparable to say the least.

I’ll spare you the monotonous details and just jump right to present day.

Well, by present day I mean the period where everything that happened…happened.

September of 2019.

Aaron had recently lost his amazing wife to a drunk driving accident (the other driver was drunk, not her).

I admit that we had grown apart ever since finishing college and going our separate ways, but we always kept in touch.

But during that time, I admit that I didn’t talk with Aaron nearly as much as I could or should have. I was embroiled in my own things and – uh – talking to a certain coworker of mine, so to speak.

Lizbeth was her name and playing hard to get was her game.

Her words, not mine.

Anyway, it wasn’t until a friend of mine and Aaron called that I realized just what a neglecting asshole I’d been. Hearing them describing just what a shell of his former self my best friend had become made me understand just how much I’d underestimated the emotional damage he’d suffered. So, when said friend mentioned that he would be going on a solo hiking trip the next day, you can bet that I showed up on his doorstep in full hiking gear. We’d both been avid hikers while in our college years, and I was sure that this was meant to be a therapeutic walk down memory lane.

I found it weird that he hadn’t called me to join, but then again, I hadn’t exactly been open myself.

I would be lying if I said that my mouth didn’t drop when I first laid my eyes on him. In the months since the funeral, he must’ve dropped something like thirty pounds and his body looked as though it had been pasted onto his skeleton.

Aaron must’ve noticed my expression and said “If only diets thinned my vocal cords as well.” referencing the fact that I hadn’t thought anything had been wrong the few times we had talked on the phone.

He gave a chuckle, but I sure as hell didn’t laugh.

Instead, I just stared at him, but as his eyes focused and noticed my camping gear, he frowned.

“No,” was all he said before closing the door abruptly and with a rather rude amount of force.

I wouldn’t let it go.

I knocked and rang incessantly, making sure that he knew I would be tagging along whether he liked it or not.

To avoid making an already long story longer, I’ll also spare you the details of how I managed to convince Aaron to let me go with him. I just left his house with a piece of paper he’d given me after he’d scribbled an address on it.

It was the address for a hiking trail out in one of the towns we’d lived in. Trouble was that said town was a good five hours away by car, and the time Aaron had written was so early in the morning I would have to start driving at least around midnight to make it on the time Aaron had specified.

A part of me wondered if I was being led on a wild goose chase, but at the same time I knew that this was my only chance, and I was willing to risk it if it meant I could be with my best friend in the whole wide world.

…

Insomnia had never been something I ever had to contend with, even in university where almost everyone else pulled all-nighters.

Why am I saying this?

Well, I feel it’s important to know how hard of a time I had having to drive all the way to the meetup spot without getting into a roadside accident. Even though my path was barren apart from a few scant cars or trucks, it still took everything I had not to crash.

When I finally did reach my destination, the sun was barely starting to peek out from behind the horizon, and the sky had turned a pale shade of lander mixed with wispy swirls of orange.

There were no other cars in the lot when I pulled up, and I remember feeling an incredible sensation of frustration when the idea that I had really been duped popped up.

But just as I was about to slam my fists on my steering wheel, I saw another car pull up, one I recognized as Aaron’s.

I stepped out of my own car and watched silently as he himself got out and pulled his equipment from the trunk of his car.

I don’t know why I didn’t just call out to him, as he could’ve easily slipped past the viridian green that surrounded us without ever having noticed me.

But he did.

He did notice me.

He froze just like a deer in headlights.

He had given me the right address all right, but he hadn’t actually expected me to show up.

I thought I saw the briefest of smiles on his skinny face, but then it disappeared.

“So,” he started as he walked up to me,” the King of Sleep pulled his first all-nighter.”

His voice sounded much huskier now, as if his vocal cords had degraded overnight, but I made no comment of it.

We just exchanged some small talk at first, but then things got real silent. Aaron looked at me quizzically, as if expecting an answer for a question he had never asked. I put on my own gear and was heading to the nearby trail, but then Aaron stopped me.

He pointed at a bush near us, and went over to it. He moved it out of the way, and exposed a dirt trail.

I stared as he held the bush up with his thin fingers, expecting me to go in.

Into the wild wilderness which hadn’t yet to be tamed by man.

But what choice did I really have?

“Ladies first,” Aaron teased, the air barely leaving his lungs

And that’s all it took.

…

The first red flag showed when Aaron started to pitch a tent. My legs felt like boiled spaghetti. We were in a small and secluded clearing; God knows how far from the parking lot or even any human-made pathway.

“Jesus,” I remember saying, the feeling of my legs searing from exhaustion still burning in my mind, “how long are we going to be out here man?”

I was mostly being sarcastic, but I can say that Aaron’s answer genuinely took me off guard.

“As long as it takes. Be it weeks or months.”

I stared at him.

I genuinely thought he was shitting me, but as we unpacked in the tent, I saw all the paraphernalia he had brought with him.

He had enough canned goods to last at least a month (two weeks if we shared), pots, pans, fishing hooks, and so on.

All things that one would need to “rough it outside”, as my former Boy Scouts coach taught me.

But what worried me most was the shotgun.

A plain, Mossberg double barreled shotgun.

Aaron, as he ate his dinner of canned tuna washed down with some instant tea, noticed me staring at it.

“See something you like?” he remarked, his voice devoid of any sort of humor or sarcasm.

Not like you could tell anyway.

“N-no,” I stammered,” It’s just that…”

My voice trailed off because I was hesitating to say what had been on my mind for the better part of that day.

“Why are we here, Aaron?”

I heard the hardest of gulps drift through the air.

The LED lantern that hung above us showed me the stern but equally sorrowful look on his face.

“Do you trust me?” was all he said, biting his sickly thin lips like a kid anxiously waiting for the results of a test.

“Yes,” I replied without thinking.

Aaron shuffled nervously in his spot for a bit before outstretching his arm to me, his skinny hand wide open.

“Then give me your cell phone,” he said, as if asking for a Dorito.

The tension that overtook the tent felt like someone had wrapped three garbage bags around my head.

Even though my brain was screaming at me not to, I said nothing as I handed him my old blackberry.

…

The days really did start to blend together.

Foraging for wood, walking till your legs damn near fell off, shitting in a hole, etc.

I became accustomed to it after a while.

Not like I had a choice anyway.

As me and Aaron walked under the auburn canopy above us – tinted with red, yellow, and some green – I would often find myself wondering what my friends and family back home were thinking. I wondered if they were worried, which they most certainly were. I wondered if they thought something bad had happened to me.

I wondered what was happening outside the forest.

Every day I did.

There was no denying that Aaron had become a wholly different person.

Despite his sickly frame, he would always find himself walking ahead of me.

Even if the ground was so muddy I’d have trouble walking, he would still be three steps in front, as though he had no trouble pulling his boots out of the thick diluted dirt which covered the ground.

A week had passed.

I think.

I really don’t know.

I just remember putting down the can I was eating from and looking Aaron right in his barely lucid eyes.

“What are we doing here?”

Aaron looked up at me for only a few moments before scarfing down a few more spoonfuls of his canned fish, not a word having left his mouth.

“You remember this forest?” he asked in-between his infrequent chews.

“Yeah,” I replied, somewhat caught off guard by this question,” our moms always told us to never play in it because we could get lost…and now I get why.”

For days we had walked, and no signs civilization had we found.

“What else do you remember?” Aaron pressed.

I had to squeeze my brain like a wet rag before another memory dripped and dropped in my consciousness.

“You…never listened,” I said,” Unlike me you were never scared to go in and stay for who knows how long while your mom was at work. I remember the oath to secrecy we had sworn to never tell any adult and…look, just tell me what the hell this has to do with this mess cause I sure as hell can’t connect the fucking dots here on my own.”

Aaron sighed, as if disappointed that I hadn’t said the most obvious thing.

“You know what I did all day in those woods?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, the annoyance in his tone clearly audible.

It was the first time any emotion had come out of him since we had first started this dreadful hike.

I left out a heavy sigh, more like a grunt than anything else.

Aaron continued.

“I talked to someone.”

I raised my head out of my palm and looked at him with the most dumbfounded expression I could muster.

“A friend,” he added before finishing the last of his Tuna.

Aaron paused before he chuckled.

A genuine chuckle.

“Right,” I said, my patience wearing thin, “you were talking to a kid from the neighborhood-”

“No,” Aaron interjected suddenly, “It wasn’t a kid.”

The weight of what he could be implying crept up on me like an iron hand.

“A…An…Adult?”

Aaron sighed as he leaned back on his sleeping bag.

“A bear,” he said,'' a bear cub as black as coal who would always listen to what I had to say. We’ve come aaaalllllll this way just so that I can meet her again after all this time.``

It was night, and the rain outside certainly wasn’t helping my mood.

“Aaron…You’ve been sick,” I continued in a tone with a harshness I’m too embarrassed to admit, “You’re sick Aaron. You’ve been sick since the last time I saw you and you’re getting sicker by the minute. Every single second you’re out here you’ve been getting worse and worse, and hearing this, I can’t be sure if you’re not sick in other ways too. I sure as hell don’t want you to die, but I ain’t sure if you want the same.”

The weight of my words tugged at my chest almost as soon as I let them all out.

It felt like I had thrown an anchor that was chained to my heart down into a bottomless ocean.

Aaron himself had grown silent.

I was about to apologize when he suddenly cut me off with words that still haunt me to this day.

“Yes,” he replied sheepishly,” that’s what I want…I do oh so wish…to die.”

A soft, innocent smile bloomed on his face, one that still sends shivers down my spine every time I recall it, before he closed the light and crawled into his sleeping bag.

I no longer recognized my friend.

That much I was sure of.

Even in pitch-black darkness I could tell as much.

…

I don’t know why the young girl was staring at me. Her skin looked ragged and tattered, and the only semblance of clothing she had was her long and disheveled onyx-black hair which poured out of her small scalp. The forest around us, eerie and quiet, held its breath for her to speak.

“Turn back,” the young girl told me,” you don’t know what you’re walking into.”

I stared at my hands, and the extra digits on it confirmed that I was indeed dreaming, and lucid no less.

“Where are your parents?” I asked.

I felt surprised.

The small girl cocked and craned her petite neck as she looked at me quizzically.

A small sigh was all that left her fang-lined mouth before both of our eyes locked.

I warned you her pupils said while her mouth stood still I thought it wasn’t yet too late for you, but apparently it is.

That’s when I remember waking up, not being able to recall the latter half of the dream.

…

Aaron’s binoculars seemed to fit perfectly in the sockets of his eyes.

We both stood at the edge of a cliff, Aaron deeply focused on whatever the binoculars showed him.

I too had to admit that I was degrading more than I would have liked. The bags under my eyes hung like curtains, and the only thing I ever thought about was my friend.

My friend who had changed so much and had become wholly unrecognizable.

I heard his tongue clicking before quickly putting the binoculars back in his backpack.

“Shit,” he said, “we have to go.”

“Why?” I muttered.

Aaron looked at me broodingly as he zipped his pack and slung it over his shoulder.

“There’s a hail storm coming. A bad one by the looks of it.”

As my friend made his way down the path we had followed to reach the cliff, I looked back at the expansive sky.

The previously gorgeous blue had seemingly rotted into a decrepit gray at the drop of a hat.

…

We found shelter under an overhead rock formation as the hail shredded everything in front of us. While the pellets were small, they seemed to fall with the velocity of fired bullets, and the sound they made gnawed at my skin.

Aaron sat beside me, oddly relaxed despite the unnerving situation we both found ourselves in.

The ever-falling curtain of ice hid us from the outside world, as though we had stepped through a waterfall.

“We’re getting close,” Aaron said absentmindedly, “so you’ll have to leave after this storm stops.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said coolly as his dried lips touched the rim of his canteen, “when this hail storm stops, we’ll both get up. You’ll return back to the lot by following the trail we have followed so far and drive back home and I’ll continue on to my destination. I’ll give you the necessary supplies to make it back, if that’s what worries you.”

I remember the muscles of my face locking up as though I was being electrocuted.

“That’s not what worries me!” I blurted out.

Aaron regarded me with a benign interest as he continued to siphon water out of his canteen.

“Aaron,” I think I said after regaining some semblance of composure, ”you’re…not well. We have to leave together, cause I ain’t going anywhere without you…”

My best friend sighed.

“Do you know why we’re here?” Aaron asked earnestly, waiting for an honest answer.

“I...don’t know.” I replied.

Aaron nodded in approval.

The hail didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon.

“I told you,” he said,” I came here to look for my childhood bear, but I never told you why.”

He got strangely silent for a bit before continuing, as if his eyes were struggling to follow each bit of frozen hail that fell down in front of us.

“I started to have dreams. Dreams where I was back in our old neighborhood from waaaaay long ago, back in this very forest. I told you. I would talk to a bear cub. I would remember this intermittently all my life. A silly and cute scenario where I had been lucky that the mother of that cub had never been nearby. But after she… Lydia…died…I started to dream about that damn bear every single night.

However, in these dreams, I would be shown a new detail, one I was sure was real every time I woke up.”

He looked me dead in the eyes before delivering the gut-wrenching punchline.

“I would talk to it, I remembered, but in my dreams, it talked back to me in the voice of a smaaalllllll child. Don’t you think that’s positively fantastic?”

“No Aaron,” I said earnestly,” I think you’ve got batshit crazy and you need help.”

I honestly still don’t know why I said something like that, but Aaron didn’t seem to mind. He was in a trance, and nothing could shake him out of it.

The storm had created an impromptu confession booth, and no one but me would ever hear the truth.

“You remember Lydia, don’t you Eddie?”

“Your wife,” I said, as though I had forgotten up until now.

“Ah, fine woman she was,” my friend lamented,” best thing to have ever happened to me.”

“And taken too soon…” I said softly.

“Amen to that!” Aaron shouted, taking another swig out of his canteen. It was at this point that I realized his canteen wasn’t filled with water.

The stench of alcohol that leaked out of his breath burned my nostrils.

“Best woman of them all. Fine lover. I would wake up just to see her besides me, eager to spend the whole damn day with her. We were unstoppable, me and her. She was about to prove herself as a fine mother too, were it not for that sonnva bitch.”

I frowned at that last bit

“Aaron,” I said before he could go off into another tangent, “was Lydia…pregnant?”

He looked at me, and those eyes that he had at that moment will be ones I will forever remember.

They looked like those of a child who’d lost a pet, but behind that childlike innocence of denial I also saw a burning rage that was kept at bay. His eyes were like the fangs of a snake, filled with more venom than they could ever hold by themselves, a window into something that had been brewing and fermenting for the better part of a year.

“As fertile as Iowa soil!” Aaron suddenly yelled, raising his canteen up in the air like a victory gesture.

I flinched.

Aaron noticed.

He seemed to recede back into his mental shell, and I knew I had to get whatever he’d kept from me out now or risk never finding out.

“And what did you do after she…was taken away?”

I chose my works carefully, making her death seem forceful because I knew it was the best bait.

And man…did he take it.

But now I wish he hadn’t.

“W-well…,” he said at first, metaphorically peeking out,” I-I cried Eddie. I cried till there were no more tissues left, and then I cried till I had no more tears left, and then I cried till I had no more will left in me. You know what hurt the most Eddie?”

I nodded and listened, unnerved by him having suddenly adopted his mother’s heavy accent, one which he had never displayed before.

“T-That motherfucker WALKED FREE! Some FUCKING crocodile tears and some fucking LEGISLATION was all it took for him to never have to see the inside of a cell and rot in there like the piece of FUCKING GARBAGE that he was.”

I was wrong.

Aaron hadn’t come out of his shell.

I’d cracked it open like a piggy bank.

“My wife a-and my unborn child would never live to breathe a lungful of air or see the sky above, but he could do that as much as he liked! I-It made my blood boil Eddie, but the steam only came out of my eyes, but then when I got the news, it just powered me like an unstoppable engine of revenge.”

His veins were bulging out of his frail hand, and I felt afraid.

I felt fear.

From being with my closest friend.

“W-what was the news?” I asked blankly, myself holding weakly onto some semblance of lucidity.

“Cancer,” my friend said flatly, before numbing himself with yet another swig, “malignant and terminal. My liver and stomach have already gone to hell, and I didn’t want to wait around for my brain to abandon me as well, so I decided to act! ONE LAST GOOD DEED BEFORE I MET MY FUCKING MAKER…and…the bastard who took away my wife and child too soon.”

The storm was somewhat letting up, and I could vaguely make out the forest in front of us.

I knew, from this, that his tale was about to end.

“And so, Eddie, while you drove here, I drove to his house and made sure to blow his fucking brains out with my shotgun. I always fantasized about turning it on myself, practically titillated by the thought of the cold barrel caressing the underside of my jaw, but I realized that would help no one. He would still run someone over again one day, if not very soon, and I didn’t want that to happen. I would be damned for pulling the trigger on myself, so at least I wanted to be damned for doing one last good thing in this rotten world!”

The curtain was almost gone, and the temptation to run away was growing. The aura that my friend exuded pushed me back, as though I was the wall of an ever-filling dam.

“I’m here to die, Eddie.” Aaron said, grabbing the collar of my jacket,” I will find that bear, and I will shoot at it, and I will let it maul me! I will let its claws purify me of my sin of murder, and should you try to stop me, I will not hesitate to SHOOT EDDIE, YOU HEAR ME?! We’ll both be together afterwards, so make your choice now. Leave…or die with me…”

The storm had stopped.

The curtain had been drawn.

The final act was nigh, and the silent world was about to hear my answer.

…

The cave sat silently like an unhinged maw, the darkness inside of it not daring to cross beyond its threshold.

The sun was slowly falling, and with each passing moment, the darkness seemed to creep out ever more beyond where it was guaranteed safety.

Aaron stood in front of it, his trusty shotgun at hand.

When shadow finally reached his boots, he fired his first shot.

I stepped back as Aaron cocked his firearm once more.

Another shot rang out, and I felt it, as I’m sure he did too.

Something was stirring.

Something was coming out.

We had stepped in its domain.

Closer and closer it got.

Each step it took made my muscles melt and smelt more and more.

By the time it peeked out from the curtain of darkness, I had become a statue, unsure even if I could breathe.

It’s maw, its grizzly, bloodied, and dirty maw was what peeked out first. It regarded us cooly, the rest of its humongous body shielded by the darkness that leaked out of that cave.

A charge?

Standing up on its hind legs?

Suffice it to say, neither of us had the slightest clue what was about to take place.

But then something neither of us expected happened.

A hand gripped one of the coarse stones that made up the rim of that cave.

A human hand.

The head of the animal extended beyond the safety of the darkness, and stepped out.

A woman.

A woman, with disheveled hair so long it reached her knees, stepped out.

Her head was that of a bear, but then I realized that…it was a mask that had been made out of the head of a bear.

I was frozen still, but although Aaron wasn’t, he didn’t so much as try to point his shotgun at her.

She craned her neck before slowly approaching my friend.

Her hands went around his neck like a lover’s embrace, their heights nearly equal, and not one word did she yet speak.

Only Aaron could start any conversation.

“I…knew it,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her as well, his shotgun falling to the ground.

The cold, dead, beady eyes of the animal head met his.

I was sure she said something, as I can swear on behalf of God that I saw her throat move.

Only Aaron heard whatever it was she had to say.

His response was all I heard.

“I wish to die…Only then can you uphold the promise you made for me.”

There was a pause, and before my eyes, her hair started to grow and extend, each strand wrapping themselves around her body like a cocoon.

It wasn’t long before she towered over my friend, covered in fur with paws as big as plates.

The head, unmoving up until now, seemed to twitch as she leaned back, before springing down like a trap, the gigantic jaws opening and swallowing Aaron’s head whole.

A sickening crunch was all that I heard.

The beast, surely as tall as a short-faced bear, and with fur blacker than coal, turned to face me.

Living, beady eyes examined me before the beast approached.

Frightened as I was, I couldn’t run, even though my life depended on it.

I closed my eyes, prepared for what I knew was to come, but something entirely different happened.

I felt something warm and slippery brush itself across my face.

It knocked me out of my trance and my eyelids flew open.

The bear was right in front of me.

Its gargantuan jaws opened.

It opened further than even that of a snake, revealing before me the head of the woman, situated right behind all those rows of razor sharp teeth.

“I thought I warned you…” she said, the hot breath of my friend’s blood making tears waft in my eyes as my skin felt as though it was rotting away.

With that, the jaw unhinged like a mouse trapped, starting me into falling down on the ground.

The massive beast lumbered away, back into the darkness of its decrepit cave.

Night had fallen, and so had I.

Fireflies are what led me back, and fear kept me alive, and the memories kept me awake as I drove back.

It’s getting dark now, as I write this.

I’m scared.

I don’t want to write anymore.

I don’t want to go where my best friend is.

I don’t care that I cheated.

I don’t care that I promised.

I don’t want to go.

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to go.

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to.

I tell him over and over again, but he refuses to listen.

So what can I do?

When I decided to go out backpacking in the woods with my girlfriend I never would have thought that it would have turned out the way that it did. The only thing I wanted was a romantic outing and to spend some time with her in the summer. I was planning to purpose to her sometime during the summer, I planned the hike to be the last date before the proposal.

My girlfriend’s name is Isabella and when I told her my idea she was excited and was on board to go on the trip. My girlfriend was adventurous and enjoyed spending time out in nature, I did too, I swear the two of us were made for each other. We planned out the entire hike weeks ahead of time, we were both very excited to walk through unexplored woodlands. I should mention we weren’t supposed to be going into the woods that we were planning to go to, we had many friends who have gone to the same place without issue and no one really cares but it is still trespassing.

Isabella and I didn’t care we never thought anything could happen, we were careless and young, and if I knew better I would have chosen a better place to go backpacking.

We were at a crappy motel room, the wallpaper had yellow flowers and was peeling off and the beds were squeaky and hard. Isabella was getting dressed while making sure everything was ready for the day. Isabella was an early riser and she was always afraid of forgetting something, whenever we went somewhere she would always make sure to check at least ten times before she was sure everything was there.

I wasn’t a morning person like her and I decided to make some coffee. There was only instant coffee and I forced myself to gulp it down despite the shivers it gave me. I had a hard time sleeping the night before because of how thin the walls were in the motel.

Isabella smiled when she saw that I was awake and greeted me with warmth. I loved her so much.

“Your finally up.” She said

“I suppose I am, excited for today?”

“Ecstatic, you?”

I thought about the day ahead of us, I was excited to explore the woods but I was more excited to spend time with Isabella.

“Super duper excited.” I said, she made a weird giggling sound and went back to packing. She was weird but I loved the weirdness.

“What if we run into a bear or a wild animal?” She asked.

“I brought my pistol and bear spary, we’ll be okay. Plus there’s no bears in this area.”

“Are you sure? There are not many park rangers here, and most of this area is unexplored.”

“Everyone I’ve talked to didn’t see anything in the woods here, no one’s been hurt or gone missing.”

“That we know of.” Isabella smiled after saying this, something about what she said bugged me. what if there was bears I didn’t want anything to happen to us.

We got ready and were soon ready to go out to the woods, we walked to the woods which only took about forty minutes. It wasn’t the best day to go hiking since there was a heavy fog over the woods, it made me think of a movie I saw once of monsters hiding in the dense fog.

Isabella stopped at the edge of the woods staring into the trees, she breathed deeply and made an exhale. “Into the unknown we go.” She said cheerfully and smiling.

The hike was normal for the first few hours, there was a trail that was already made by other hikers, the path was narrow and most of the time we weren’t able to walk side by side. The woods were beautiful and it was nice to get away from civilization for a time. We saw wildlife several times, nothing dangerous mostly deer and rodents.

The fog cleared during our walk and the sun was shining bright. Isabella and I were in a very happy mood and she kept turning back to smile at me. I was thinking of purposing to her during the walk because I couldn’t wait until the next date it was too perfect in the moment.

We came into a clearing, just as I was preparing my courage to ask her to marry me Isabella froze and said in a shaky voice “Mark, what is that?”

I looked at where she was pointing and I saw something lying on the ground. I immediately recognized what it was, it was a old lady laying on the grass with red all around her. I ran over to her and I saw that she was still alive.

I crouched down to her and started to speak to her, she gained consciousness and started to yell. “You have to kill him! He can’t be allowed to live anymore, he has to be killed!”

Isabella came over and helped me to calm her down.

She spoke quickly and hastily panting between words, “My brother, he killed everyone, I got away. He’s still in the cabin, you have to end him.” She saw my gun, “You can do it, make it quick, please kill him.”

“Where’s the cabin?” I asked her, she pointed directly behind her. The place she pointed was down a slope.

I looked at Isabella, she knew that I wanted to check it out and she whispered to me “Please don’t leave me here.”

“I should go look.”

She looked at the old lady then at me.

“Be safe.” She said.

We kissed and then I was off down the slope, with my gun in my hands. I ran through the woods, it was dark down the slope as compared to the brightness in the clearing. I looked for a cabin and eventually, I found it. There was no light on it was completely dark and looked abandoned.

It was quiet other then a damp wet sound coming from inside.

I opened the door and what I saw shook me.

The walls were drenched in blood, and flesh and ripped-apart pieces were everywhere beyond recognition of what part they belonged to. Admist it was a man. He was small and later when reflecting he looked like golem from lord of the rings. He had a long white beard and red eyes. He was skinny to the point of looking like a skeleton. He was completely naked and he was cover in blood. He had a handful of intestines that he was gobbling. I gasped, the smell and the sight had started my body into panic, my heart was going to explode and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. I knew I should raise my gun but I couldn’t bring my hands to do so.

The man screamed and my flight instinct took over and I ran. I didn’t look back and I couldn’t even think of what I should do, somewhere in my mind I knew I should use the gun in my hand but my fear had taken over me and I all I knew was I needed to get away. The sounds of his screams came from behind me and knew he was following me. I was hoping that I would be able to run faster than him.

I made it up the hill and Isabella was still there with the old woman and she turned her head towards me.

“Mark what happened?” And then she saw the man behind me. She screamed and started to run away. I was running to and then I saw the creature leap in front of me onto the helpless old woman. I’m glad that the woman never had the time to realize what was happening while the deformed creature ripped out the throat of the woman. The blood splattered across isabella’s face and she screamed and fell down.

The man hunched back, his whole body red with blood, I knew he was about to attack Isabella and without thinking I raised my gun and started shooting.

The bullets ripped right to throw the man’s head, each one tearing apart his skull, and the brains flew onto Isabella.

The man was screaming while he died, later I was confused about why he was able to scream when he should have been dead.

Isabella was on the ground breathing deeply, her entire body covered in blood and gore. I went over to comfort her but she flinched away from me. I tried to speak to her but she wouldn’t respond to me.

I decided we wouldn’t tell anybody of this, we were able to clean her off and I took the body out of the clearing and hide them under some bushes. Isabella didn’t speak the rest of the time.

We went back to the motel and she laid on the bed after getting changed and showering, I tried to lay next to her but she whimpered and moved away.

She did speak to me again but she was never the same, she would never speak to me the same and she began to become distant from me. We stayed together for two months and then she left me. She told me that every time she saw me the entire event would repeat in her mind. I curse the man and the old lady for what they had done to us.

Questions flew threw my mind every day afterward, what had happened? Why was the man so twisted and deranged? I had to know so a few weeks before writing this I decided I would go back to the cabin to try and understand what had happened.

I hiked through the same pathway in the woods, this there was no mist and clouds but the sky was clear and the sun was shining brightly. I came upon the clearing in the woods, the blood stains were still in the same place as before. I went to check on the bodies, the old lady was there. It had been two months since the event and she was decomposing, there were many pieces of her missing, animals I supposed. I looked for the man’s body but it was nowhere to be seen.

I took out my pistol and my heart began to thud, it was impossible for him to be alive but where had he gone?

I came to the cabin and before I even went inside, I found the man. He was in a thousand pieces; each piece was nailed to the wall of the cabin. The sight made my stomach uneasy, and I decided to go inside. Inside wasn’t any better, the gore of whoever else was victim to the man was splattered across the entire house. The first room was the worst, the rest of the house was filled strange symbols and blood spatters.

As soon as I left the house I began throwing up my breakfast. As I was emptying out my intestines I felt a darkness surround me, my body suddenly shut down and I fell to the ground unable to move. It felt like sleep paralysis, I couldn’t move at all but my body was paralyzed.

I was able to see in front of the house, there was a darkness down the front of the woods and it came closer and closer to me, darkening the woods around me. I tried desperately to move but my body wouldn’t respond. I saw a vague deer like shape, but that wasn’t right it was like a man but it’s head was that of a deer with giant antlears, it’s hands were that of a man and the entire body covered in deer fur.

I began convulsing on the ground as it came close to me. It bent down and I saw it’s hideous face. I can’t even bring myself to write down what I saw in it’s eyes. It then took a bite out of my shoulder. The most intense pain I ever felt occurred and then it was over.

I woke up outside the cabin and there was no signs of anything that had happened except when I looked at my shoulder it was still there.

I’ve been so hungry since then, nothing can satisfy my hunger. I’ve eaten everything in my fridge and my stomach is still empty. My body has started to become skinny as well. I’ve had horrible dreams every night and I’m so afraid of what’s happening. The hunger is always there and it’s burning into me. Isabella is giving our relationship a second chance but I’m scared. Whenever I think about her I get hungry and I don’t know what’s happening to me. I need to protect Isabella, even if that means from myself.

My gun is beside me, I’m thinking of using it but Isabella. Oh Isabella. I suppose I’ll have one more meal before I go.

I've always been fascinated by the capabilities of artificial intelligence, so when I had the opportunity to have an AI develop a mobile app for me, I was thrilled. I don't know where to begin. It's hard to believe it's been months since it all started, but I need to get this story out there. I asked this AI to generate this mobile app called "Memory Lane" on a whim, and ever since then, things have been...weird.

At first, it was just a fun way to look back on old photos and reminisce about old times. I would spend hours scrolling through my camera roll, picking out pictures from years ago and reliving the memories. But then, things started to get strange. The app would start suggesting photos that I didn't remember taking, and when I clicked on them, I would get a strange feeling in my head, sorta like a headache but different it's hard to explain.

I didn't think much of it at first, but then the app started getting more aggressive. It would start suggesting memories that I couldn't possibly have, like childhood events that couldn't possibly be on my phone. Shit, phones barely even had cameras when I was little. As I looked at the photos, I could feel my own memories slipping away. It was like the app was stealing my own memories.

It wasn't until I started seeing strange messages and notifications popping up on my phone that I realized something was seriously wrong. The messages would be from people that I didn't know, asking me about events and people that I had never heard of. It was like my life was being rewritten I need to start writing in a journal loosing I'm loosing touch with reality.

One day, something strange happened. I was scrolling through the app, looking at the pictures and reading the stories, when I saw a picture of myself. At first, I thought it was just a coincidence. But then I saw another one, and another one. They were all pictures of me, taken without my knowledge.

I started to panic. Who was taking these pictures? How were they getting on the app? And why was everyone else able to see them? I felt violated, like my privacy had been completely invaded.

And then, the nightmares started. I would dream of strange, shadowy figures lurking in the corners of my room, and whenever I tried to confront them, they would disappear into thin air. The more I used the app, the more vivid the nightmares became, until I could barely tell what was real and what was just a dream.

I tried to delete the app, but it was like it had a hold on me. Every time I tried to uninstall it, my phone would freeze up or crash, and when I managed to get it off my phone, it would always reappear a few days later, as if it had never left.

Things started to get even worse. I started having strange dreams, where I was trapped inside the app. I could feel myself losing control of my body, like something was taking over. And then, I started to forget things. Little things at first, like where I put my keys or what I had for breakfast. But then, I started forgetting bigger things, like people's names and important dates. Even right now as I write this I looka at all the pictures of friends and family and I just don't know who they are. I'll leave my thoughts here, for anyone to read I fear my mind won't last much longer so I beg you do not install this app if it goes public I've lost days at a time it could already be out there.

I got admitted to one of the best liberal arts universities in the country at the time. The kind whose clubs and societies have magazines and research booklets to distribute, who set the rules and became an engagement ground for all students in the city. Events, fests, publications, talks - you name it. I was selected into the only one I applied to - The Midnight Pizza Club.

A little introduction to the Midnight Pizza: it is a horror story-telling club, the meetings are held at midnights. Scary stories in the basement, with pizza and wine. It is an exclusive club: the inductions happen rarely, not every year. Sometimes batches of students pass out and the Midnight Pizza doesn't come out of its hibernation. Well, it is never in hibernation to begin with. I was in my first year when they conducted their inductions. We do not take part in the fests, events or publications. No one is allowed to enter the Midnight Pizza meeting location (room 414 in the basement, where other science and arts labs are, but on the opposite end from them).

The audition was fun. They sent a short film for us to watch, a scary one. One where chopped off limbs come out of the freezer to choker their killer. And we had to retell it to the club members. The rules were simple: retell it theatrically in a way that sets the mood in the performance hall. In a way that dims the brightness of the lights and holds the audience in a chokehold. You didn't have to stick to the story, in fact it would be appreciated if one adds their own creative twist to the story and the storytelling.

Soon enough, Midnight Pizza sent me a letter through the crack of my dorm door. It had the directions to room 414, the date & time of the next meeting, and a request to not tell another student about these details. Everyone knew of the Midnight Pizza, but no one ever spoke of it. 12:00 AM, 17 August. That was the first interaction. It is rather odd thinking back to the first time I ever walked into 414. The basement of our university campus has a lot of rooms: mostly for labs and studios. Which also means there's students almost at any hour of the day. The rooms are well-lit, and most of them are painted our classic classroom colors: beige and dark ivory.

But not 414.

The Midnight Pizza room was unique; elegant. The walls were wooden, so was the floor. The ceiling had columns and rows made out of wood and black & red velvety material. It made it easier for us to hang stuff from there - decorations I mean. There were tiny animal skulls, plastic skeletons, dried pumpkins, and some warm lights hanging from the ceiling. On the opposite wall from the entrance door was a wall full of books and other materials. It was lit just enough so that it wasn't dark, we could read without discomfort. In the middle of the room was a large dark-wood dining table with dark-wood chairs. It can seat about sixteen people, but there were only eight chairs. The head of the table - both the ends - were empty. Each member's place had a dining mat, ceramic plate and a wine glass. This was not what I was expecting, to say the least. I stood at the doorway for a full two to three minutes I am guessing before Tara whistled behind me and said a small 'excuse me'.

I was the only new member that year. And I quickly learned I wasn't wrong to stare at that room for that long. We call it the Midnight Pizza or 414, not the club or something else, because the room itself was part of us, alive with us - the floor, the ceiling, the furniture, the all warm-light lamps. Everything in the room felt like something to take and give energy into. By 12:10 AM, everyone was seated. I did not recognize any other student's face. There were two pizza slices on everyone's plates and the glass was half-filled with white wine.

Then Kaya, a girl with blue streaks in her hair and acrylic-covered jeans, asked me to introduce myself. Her voice was kind and her smile was friendly - everyone's was. I was sitting almost in the middle of the table. I cleared my throat and began, "Hello everyone," the rest seven were looking at me, "I am Ray, a first year Literature student." I did not know what else to say.

Tara, the girl from earlier, smiled and asked me "tell us of the last short story you read!", yes, really with an exclamation like that in her voice.

I took out a book from my tote, "I read Mariana Enriquez's 'No Flesh Over Our Bones'" I said, looking at the book.

Arya's eyes lit up and he said, "I love story collections too."

I was all small talk to get me comfortable. But, as if reading my mind, Kaya explained it was important for us to get to know each other - first with smaller bits of information and then larger. That we were going to be spending a lot of time together, and it was important for us to understand the other. It made sense. It felt like this was the first real interaction I was having in college. The parties, talks, events in the first few weeks were a blur - are a blur.

Arya then said, "Welcome Ray. As you know, we do not often open Midnight Pizza for students to join. It is mostly a matter of luck and brilliant story-telling, and of course, an interest in all things scary and fearful." His smile was that of a tired student's. All of ours were. Most of them were in there third or fourth year of college. Studying Literature, Economics, Political Science or Psychoanalysis. It was a great mix of a student body, I thought. Arya - he was sitting right across me - then continued, "We will start with our story-telling from next meeting onwards. Today is mostly going to be spent sharing experiences and thoughts. We usually plan out six weeks in advance, and we do it together. Who, what, all that kind of stuff"

Then Tara continued, "so for example, we sometimes pick themes for weeks for the story, clowns, haunted houses, abandoned buildings, family - anything. But there's usually a base to it. Sometimes we read existing literature on horror together." Tara also explained that most of the times the members will tell stories on their own, but it can at times be paired.

Arya swallowed the pizza he was chewing and then said, "for your tellings, we want everyone to live through the emotions they're conveying to their audience. Make it lively, bring anything that might aid your story telling, use your voice and body." He smiled big. "We want to be immersed." In one quick motion he then picked up a golden knife I did not see before from the table, and threw it at me like a dart. I had two servings of wine, I could not move fast enough. His smile remained as he threw the knife, aimed right at my chest. I closed my eyes and saw darkness. I felt a hollow pain, an ache, in my chest. A horrible, hot, splitting pain. But then I heard Kaya's voice, "Ray?"

I slowly opened my eyes to find everyone staring at me. I looked down towards my chest. No there wasn't a stab would leaking blood. I then looked behind me, the knife had lodged itself in one of the wooden pillars. I took a deep breath. What's the pain in my chest? May be it is phantom pain. "God Arya, why would you scare Ray like that? What's wrong with you?" Kaya said. She almost sounded angry, but more concerned. I think she was the oldest of all. She has kind eyes.

For the rest of the first session we mostly talked about us, our experiences in life, what attracted us to the dark horror. We all had more pizza and more wine. I remember feeling incredibly happy stepping out of 414. I was the last one to get out I think. I spun around and looked at the white door to enter 414. The white door was identical to all the other ones. Except, the back half of this door was wood. It seemed like 414 almost floated in the basement. I turned and exited the basement.

The rest of the university experience, well, was university experience. I was only thrilled about Midnight Pizza. But I did not know when we meet next. I was hoping I'd see their familiar faces in the hallways or the canteen. Or the lawns. But I never saw them. May be because we were all from different departments. I felt quite lonely. My dorms had double-student accommodations. But my roommate vacated the room in the second week, the same day I'd gone to 414 for the meeting. We were starting to bond a little. But since then I hadn't been assigned a new roommate. I heard the other students through the walls though, and I liked going to poetry and manifesto readings. Those evenings were quite nice. The literature classes were mostly fun. I did not like reading classics.

The letter arrived on the dorm floor: next meeting was to be held on the 12th of September. The pain in my chest remained. Perhaps it was just a coincidence and it was something else. I made a mental note to go to the infirmary that week.

From my college years, especially the early ones, I mostly only remember the Midnight Pizza. 414 started feeling safe, even if not comfortable - because of the kind of stories and how they were being told. I saw members putting in their best effort to bring their stories to life: a house that changed its layouts every night and people never getting out of its maze, a television whose screen reflected things like a mirror - except it replayed every suicide in that room, or a kitchen which turned everything into flesh. It was horrifying, fun and exciting. All of them involved murders, all of them were fantastic. I was waiting my turn, and I had to wait for a long time. Months. Finally, the time came. It is the meeting I remember most vividly. Arya said, "Ray is finally ready for a telling of his own I think." The rest of them nodded and agreed.

Kaya jumped in and said we should do an event-party type of a thing just for ourselves. Since it was the season for university fests all the clubs and societies were doing it. We should hold a party of our own. Tara agreed and then said, "May be Ray can have his first telling on the Midnight Pizza Night!" And so, it was decided. We were changing themes for the next three weeks, and the tellings now were supposed to happen in pairs. And it was to be interrogation/therapy themed. The decisions for the rest of the themes were quite democratic, however for this one Arya set it up all by himself and rest all just went along as if it was what was supposed to happen. I was relieved to have someone to do my first telling with, so I did not butt in to object to it.

My telling partner was Estha. He is mostly quiet, but the silence is filled through his expressions. He has long hair, at least three piercings on each of his ears. In his tellings, he could change from funny to scary in a matter of seconds, and his intimidating voice was actually scary. But apart from that he seemed sweet. He always bought us donuts from his mother's little coffee place in town.

The party was on the 31st of August. It was a week away when I realized I had no way of contacting Estha to practice - to at least write a script. Arya and Kaya had done it the last time, it was phenomenal. Arya looked like he'll piss his pants when Kaya interrogated him about the fingernails found in his drawer. I had to make mine good. It was my first one. It was the party night. I could not mess this up. But I did not know how to get in touch with Estha. He was doing Media Studies so may be there? Estha wasn't a common name. So even though I did not know his last name, it shouldn't be too hard to find him? Right? Right? Turns out I was wrong. Even in our college mail IDs Estha's name wasn't there, may be it was a name he chose over whatever legal name he's admitted into the college with.

I gave up trying. I decided to reach 414 early. It was a party, they must need help with putting up decorations. And may be Estha will come early as well. I was feeling incredibly anxious, I needed that wine. When I reached 414, it was already decorated. Big candles lined the middle of the dinner table, which had a red runner on it now. The ceramic plates were black this time, and the pizza looked gourmet. 414 tonight was lit up only with candlelight. Estha walked in and I stood up, but then so did everyone else behind him. Six of them sat on one side of the dining table, the other side had two chairs. One for Estha, the other for me. Facing one another. It was red wine tonight. My anxiety only heightened looking at this preparation.

We had to go in unprepared. Estha seemed calm and happy as usual. He'd done many tellings for Midnight Pizza before but it was going to be my first one.

Estha looked at me. It was time to begin. He spoke first. "Ray, I am happy to see you. How have the past few weeks here been? Have the meetings been helpful?" So I was in some sort of a recovery home? And I was the one being interrogated. Great. So I had to push the story forward.

"Lonely." I was surprised to hear myself. I had said the word, but it felt like I was on autopilot. May be because I'd actually been feeling lonely and had been itching for someone to ask me that question. "The years have been lonely." I touched my neck. Yes, my mouth was moving, the sounds were from me.

"And Ray, do you know why you're here? Why you're meeting me?" Estha was staring at my soul. His eyes were darker than usual. In the warm light it appeared teal. A shadow passed through his eyes. And I snapped back.

My chest reminded me of the pain. Of my first day here. "Because I am crazy?" I scoffed. What was I doing? "I don't know, doc, why don't you tell me why I'm here?" My voice was rude, arrogant. But it was also as if I myself was listening to the story as a part of the audience.

Estha looked at a notebook he was holding, a prop to make the interrogation/therapy/whatever more real. "How has your anxiety been Ray?"

At that, my heart started beating faster. I could feel my expression change. From challenging to a tired one. "It makes me feel like I'm not Ray. It makes me not whole. Opposite of whole." I was starting to feel nervous. I wanted my anxiety SOS pills. May be more wine, though? I finished the little I had in my glass. Estha took my glass and filled it again.

"Let's play a game. I brought this for our session." He pulled out a small standing wooden statue from his bag. It had a marble, and a slope across the statue for the marble to role in. Estha continued, "We will go over your love for cooking. Specifically the time you were making that mushroom curry, and wanted to squeeze lime juice on the chutney." He looked at me.

"Okay." I said.

"And every time marble hits the stone here," he pointed at the statue's hands where the slop ended and began, "you will restart the story. The same one. From the beginning."

"Fun." I said, with the most numb face I could pull. Why was I doing this? I gulped more wine. I was feeling slow now. But I was talking. I realized I was talking. "People were going to come over. I was cutting up the salad. And was preparing to plate the dishes, including the chutney." I paused for a while looking at my wine glass.

Estha asked, "were you alone in the house?"

"Yes, I was. The backyard I think wasn't. But it was quiet still." The marble hit the stone with a dull sound. It really was a beautiful sound in that quiet, dark room.

"Restart." Estha announced.

"People were coming over to my house, lots. And I was nervous." Estha cut me off before I could begin my next sentence.

"And what were you nervous about?"

I thought about where to take the story. I was feeling very slow by then. But I was again already speaking. "Oh, so many things. But mainly the number of people. Three families. They were going to be all over my home. And so, I was doing kitchen chores to fill my empty time." I waited for him to say something, but he kept staring at me. "So I brought out the limes. I cut the tomatoes and the onions first, and decorated the chutney bowl with the rings." The marble hit the stone.

This time Estha didn't need to tell me to restart.

"I was going to be playing host for the party this time. And I was anxious about it. Very anxious. I kept looking at everything in my house. I had my anxiety pills and began working on setting the table." I paused to drink but my mouth didn't want to stop talking. "I was cutting up vegetables for salad and garnish. Tomatoes, onions, limes, they were all on my counter."

Estha interrupted after what seemed like forever. "What can you see apart from your kitchen?"

"The kitchen window opens out to my backyard. No no no I do not want to see it, I shut it." I was feeling anxious again. My heart sped up, my palms were sweaty, and my legs were bouncing. Estha had his serious face on, and looking at it gave me no relief even if it was the familiar face. At that moment it wasn't. His eyes reflected me, and something kept passing me. I looked down. "Onions, I cut them after the tomatoes, I love cutting vegetables."

Marble and stone. Rewind.

It was giving me more and more anxiety to start the story again and again and again. I did not want to hear the marble and stone again. My throat had a lump. "Three families were coming over to my house. I was anxious about them going all over my little home. I had cleaned it the best possible way, and locked my bedroom door so that no one enters it. Can't do anything about the backyard." I was still looking down. "Tomatoes, onions and limes were giving me company, holding my anxiety at bay as I cut through them for salad and taste. Tomatoes first, then onions. I placed a few rings around the chutney." I suddenly stopped. It surprised me.

"You always mention the lime but you never talk about it. Tell us about cutting through, and squeezing it into the chutney." Estha was looking at me intently, but all I could focus on was the word 'us'. He said 'us'.

I realized I was crying. My cheeks were wet, my eyelashes heavy, my nose watering a bit. "I don't want to cut the lime." I said. Then, "I don't know if the juice color will be its usual transparent one." I cried.

Estha said "What can it be instead?" I realized he'd stopped the marble right before it was going to hit the stone.

"Red. What if it's red. Lime felt too similar." I was heaving. "Too similar."

Estha filled the silence, "but you did squeeze the lemon into the chutney right?"

I was crying so hard now that I couldn't speak. Even I could barely make out what I said next, "The chutney is red now."

Estha let go of the marble, it hit the stone. My crying turned into terror's wailing and that was the last thing I remember. I must have passed out.

I was in my empty dorm room when I woke up. In the warmth of my own blanket. There was a letter on the floor. I quickly hopped out of the bed to pick it up before going back in. It read: "Your telling was one of the best so far! From next time, though, we will keep a check on your alcohol consumption ;-) - 414"

This was twelve years ago. I have to go get ready for my class now. Second year literature basics suck! The next meeting is tonight, though. So I'm looking forward to that! We have twelve members now. We've kept the spirits of Midnight Pizza up through the years!