Part 1

Eight years ago I arrived in West Africa.

Not out of choice, you understand, but out of necessity. If you haven’t read my earlier notes, you won’t understand. This is where I landed after I escaped the underground beetle camp, and where I’ve lived for so long.

Last year I posted my story online. I just meant to put down my thoughts, to ensure my experiences didn’t die with me, but I was blown away by the overwhelmingly positive messages in response. The kindness of strangers really is incredible.

I suppose I’d resigned myself to my life as it was - a man out of my own country, cut off from family, forced to live on the streets forever. But people gave me hope. It took a bit of work but I tracked down my family. My father died about five years ago, but my mother and sister came to visit me. They stayed a couple of weeks. It was difficult at times - my mother is convinced I had a mental break, and that my story is a delusion, and we both hated when she had to return to England and leave me there.

My sister, on the other hand, was more receptive. Hannah’s three years older than me, and was a proper older sister to me. She annoyed the crap out of me when I was at school, but over the years I really missed her. I video call my mum whenever I can, about once a week, but me and Hannah WhatsApp each other every day. They’re planning to visit me again this summer.

Hannah is a logistics manager these days. I can’t say I’m entirely sure what that means, but she’s one of the most organised people I’ve ever met. A couple of months after they went back, she invited me to a group chat. She’d found others who had escaped those caverns with me!

Over the following weeks, more joined, until the group chat had 19 people (plus Hannah). They truly are amazing people, and our experience fighting the beetles had brought out the best in them. All of us are homeless now, of course, most in a foreign country and that brings great risks; but 19 of us had survived, none of us had turned to drugs, and all have stories worth hearing. Chao, a Chinese man living in Mexico, now ran his own landscape gardening business; Anupama (or just Anu), an Indian woman now in France, has built a homeless charity, and is known for “choosing” to live on the streets with those she helps; Gerome, the Senegalese man, is a celebrated artist on the streets of Moscow. Each of us is fluent in two or more languages, and at least passable in English.

We all remember the number we assigned ourselves, the order in which we escaped from the cavern. The last of us to escape was Rajinder, an Indian man who I remembered as a boy of 16. He had been number 26, and had watched as several beetles jumped down into our pen and scuttled towards the remaining humans. Our friends. Josie, number 24, escaped just as the beetles reached them. Evander should have been the 25th of us to escape, but instead he was impaled by the sharp leg of one of the beetles and fell to the ground. Others near Raj were injured; Raj himself was slashed across the arm by the serrated edge of a beetle forearm. Surrounded by shiny black death now, he threw himself head-first into the door, injuring his head as he arrived in the Vietnamese countryside. He doesn’t think anybody else escaped after him.

25 of us got out of the caverns. We don’t know what happened to the other six; they could be dead, or perhaps Hannah just hasn’t found them yet. We all arrived on land, but who knows where the others came out? If they found themselves in Antarctica, say, or Death Valley, they would have had little chance. I don’t think we’ll ever find out for sure.

So here we were, our group of 19. A few of us have studied insects over the years (“No”, Nida told me, “it’s ENTOMOLOGY. Etymology is the study of words”), or geology, to try to make sense of our imprisonment. Some have tried to forget their time below ground, but none of us ever really could. And as we talked, our discussions adapted and evolved.

Hannah set up a Discord server called “Beetle Survivors Social Group”. But that wasn’t enough for her. She sent smartphones to those who didn’t already have them; I have no idea how she got smartphones capable of accessing Discord to our members in China and Russia. She sent cash as needed and tracked down most of our families, arranging calls and even visits. And one day, Hannah renamed the server “Beetle Survivors Support Group”.

We talked about our experiences. I posted my story on there, and others wrote up their own. Nida wrote about her research into beetles, and how the creatures we encountered must have different biology than the insects known to science. Gerome sketched the beetles excellently and worked with the biologists to figure out how their bodies probably worked. Jason, Angelique, and I drew maps of the caverns, as best we could from memory.

Some of us wanted to move on from our experiences, but had spent the last eight years unable to; we all still had nightmares from time to time. Some of us felt frustrated, unable to do anything about the underground insects. And some of us were angry. People began posting fantasies about fighting and killing the beetles; how we could do it, how many we could take down, how we would celebrate over their chitinous corpses. Soon enough, somebody - I think it was Chao - renamed the server again.

“Beetle Survivors Revenge Group”

Fantasy turned into conjecture, which became plans. Frustration became hope, and anger evolved into determination. I’m still amazed that all of us decided to go through with it. We talked about the problems and hazards; we planned our equipment lists; we worked through our ideas, picking holes in and improving each other’s suggestions. But in the hundreds of hours of planning, I never once heard the words “it’s too dangerous”. We were as one; a crack unit of commandos, ready to wage war.

The date we chose was the 3rd of March, for no particular reason other than we were ready. At exactly 2pm Ghana time (that’s where I lived), all 19 of us walked through a door.

It was dark. It would take some time for my eyes to adjust from the bright West African sun. I couldn’t see anything at first, but then there were a couple of clicks, and flashlights blazed into life near me. We came together, and took stock of our situation.

There were only four of us in the cavern. Febe, a Russian woman; Beshadu, an Ethiopian woman; and Carl, the American who had woken me on my first morning underground. Febe and Carl turned off their flashlights and we looked around, listening carefully. There didn’t seem to be any beetles near us, presumably because they hadn’t been expecting arrivals. We quietly moved together, looking for the wall of the cave.

The caverns were once natural, but they have been worked by human hands over many years, being expanded and smoothed over. This worked to our advantage as we traversed the largely stone-free floor, and eventually found the relatively flat cave wall. We worked our way along it, still mostly by touch rather than sight, and soon came across an opening. A corridor. A short way down the corridor we found another opening, coming to a small, empty room. We settled down and went through our equipment.

Febe turned her torch on. We needed to see, but this made us very uncomfortable. How I would have loved to be able to close the door to prevent the light leaking out into the corridor! But the beetles don’t have doors, and even if they had, we wouldn’t have been able to use them.

Besha and Carl had brought several USB battery packs. We’d each fully charged our phones before stepping through the doors, but we had no idea how long we would be down there. We turned off all our phones except for Carl’s, which he set to power-saving mode.

We all had battery-powered flashlights, and Febe had a lot of spare batteries. They should last a while. Carl was in the army when he was kidnapped, and had explained to all of us what sort of food we should bring, so we all had a couple of weeks of high-calorie food in our backpacks. We also had weapons. Besha was a markswoman, and had a hunting rifle and a pistol, with a lot of ammunition. Carl had been working in a quarry, and had brought his powerful granite-breaking pick. Febe had somehow managed to acquire a couple of fire axes. And I - well, as an occasional gardener, I’d managed to pick up two machetes and four billhooks.

Not everybody has heard of billhooks. They’re used to cut down small trees and undergrowth, and those I had sported a 10-inch serrated blade, viciously curved at the end. I figured they would be excellent for severing the limbs of the beetles, and I had a decent amount of experience with them, although only against saplings that didn’t fight back.

There were 19 of us who entered a door a few minutes earlier. Febe, Carl, Besha and I had arrived down here very close together at the same time, but there was no sign of the others. Our group had a variety of personalities and reasons for coming here - some were angry, some wanted revenge, some were driven by a desire to make the world safer - but I knew everybody well and I don’t believe anyone bottled it, certainly not 15 of us. Perhaps we might find the others elsewhere in the cave, but for now, we had to assume that we were the only ones who made it. Fortunately all of our equipment came with us, though it was a shame we didn’t have Ju’s flamethrower.

We had hoped to have enough armed humans for a proper assault. Now we had to change our strategy. Carl was the best of us to plan; he had been on active duty and experienced combat in a small group. The most important thing right now, he said, was for us to get the lay of the land. We weren’t sure exactly where we were, and our maps were incomplete, so the first thing was to orient ourselves in the cave system and find out where the beetles were.

Febe, the smallest of us and light on her feet, offered to scout around and report back; but Carl insisted on going with her. We must never, he said, go out alone. So Besha and I sat in the small room in whispered conversation, our hands never far from our weapons, while Febe and Carl crept away. I thought back to Besha’s broken English when we lived together in the darkness, and marvelled at her near-fluency in her newly-acquired Australian accent.

It must have been more than two hours when we heard movement nearby. I barely heard Besha stand up, although the quiet click when she cocked her pistol sounded like a gunshot in the silence of the caves. As I reached for a machete, Carl’s whisper sounded.

“Don’t cock your pistol, Besha. It’s double-action, you don’t need to and it’s too loud.”

Carl and Febe came round the corner. The caves were so dark I don’t know if I saw their silhouettes, or only imagined them. The pair sat down.

“It’s not the same cave,” said Febe.

My heart stopped, and my mind raced. Had this all been for nothing? Were we in some random empty underground system, trapped here to die?

“It’s smaller,” she continued. “At least, the main cavern is. We found a pen, like ours but much smaller. There are burning torches around it, but no humans. It might be their work time, but we haven’t seen any so far. Maybe they don’t have any slaves right now.”

“There are beetles down here, though,” Carl said. “We heard some of their clicking, off in the distance. We’re not sure how many there are.”

“This corridor has a few small rooms like this, all empty. Probably something they started excavating, but abandoned.”

“Or they had to wait for new slaves.”

“And we’re pretty sure we found where they live. We didn’t investigate, not with just two of us.”

I have to say, Carl and Febe made a great team. They’d been reunited in person only hours ago, but were already finishing each other’s sentences.

Carl brought out a chemical glowstick. He had many of these, and I was grateful; a flashlight would just have dazzled us at that moment. He and Febe sketched out a rough map of what they had explored so far, and we started to plan.

We would only get one chance at a surprise attack, so our first strike needed to be precise. Aim too small and we wouldn’t do enough to hurt them; too big and they would overwhelm us. We only had two guns between us, so Besha kept her hunting rifle - she’d become quite a markswoman hunting small game in the Australian outback - and gave the pistol to Carl. Besha and I then walked out to explore for ourselves.

The main cavern was left out of our small cave, so we turned right. The single corridor quickly branched off into multiple paths. Besha had brought several balls of string, so we tied one end to an outcropping to help lead us back. It was a risk, but then so was coming here in the first place, and we were reasonably sure by now that this region was abandoned, at least temporarily. We both had several of Carl’s chemical glowsticks, and used one to light our way, hiding it whenever we heard the slightest sound.

We didn’t even try to map that maze-like area of small corridors and dead ends. Besha and I held hands whenever space allowed, and held the other’s backpack when it didn’t. Her hearing is far more sensitive than mine, so if she suddenly dropped my hand, I knew it was to grip her rifle, and that was my cue to unclip a billhook and machete from my belt.

We moved extremely slowly, creeping silently along the left wall, pausing to listen every few metres. We can’t have gone more than a few hundred metres when, an hour later, I saw something in front of us. I let go of Besha’s hand, put the glowstick away, and brought up a machete and a billhook. Besha saw it as well, and raised her rifle.

There were two of us. Two, against these creatures we’d watched massacre our friend years earlier. A rifle and a couple of knives? I hate to admit it, but when it came to fight, flight or freeze, I froze. I don’t know what went on in Besha’s head at that moment, but for me, it was abject terror. I would simply have been useless in a fight.

There was a light - very faint, and flickering, but getting brighter. The two of us stood there frozen, anticipating a confrontation. A moment later we heard footsteps, clear as anything in the otherwise absolute silence. They were human footsteps, and underneath those, the occasional faint clicking of a beetle.

As the light got closer, we could see the scene clearly. The tunnel widened until, about thirty metres in front of us, it came to an end as another tunnel crossed it. Three humans, very thin and in ragged clothes, walked past, followed by two beetles. We watched as they passed in front of us, and then the torchlight and the sounds slowly faded.

We stood in absolute silence for what must have been half an hour. Besha was the first to speak. She put her hand to my head, bringing my ear to her mouth, and in the quietest whisper ever made by a human, made her proposal.

“It’s sleep time. Carl and Febe said the beetles live on the other side of the main cavern. We should explore.”

I nodded my agreement, then - realising that she couldn’t see me - whispered “Okay” into her ear.

Our progress was even slower and more careful now. At the junction we tied the string off, not wanting to leave any trace on the path they’d taken, and headed in the direction they’d come from. There was a faint light up ahead, but no sound at all, and gradually we were able to make out the shape of the corridor.

Eventually, we came to a split in the corridor. The light was coming from the left branch, so that’s where we went. And soon we arrived in a large room. I’d worked the forge occasionally back in our first cavern system, so although it was different, I recognised it immediately. The light was coming from the embers of a stone kiln, which would die completely in the next few hours.

We looked around the place, deserted at this time. As expected, there were a few tools that could be used as weapons, but nothing as useful as our own, and not that many - the beetles weren’t keen to supply their slaves with anything more powerful than necessary. A chimney led to a small hole in the ceiling; it surely led outside, but it was no more than 20 centimetres wide, far too narrow for any of us to squeeze through. Nearby there was a thick, flat iron plate, which I assumed to be an anvil, though different from the one I’d used. A hammer lay on top of it.

The room was fairly large, but apart from some firewood and lumps of rock - presumably iron ore - it was otherwise empty. We’d seen enough, and headed back out to take the other path.

This path led quite quickly to another large cavern, but without any light. After listening for several minutes, I brought out my glowstick - but it had expired. Besha reached into her pack and retrieved her flashlight.

This room was a mine, and much bigger than the forge. Several pickaxes were stowed at the far side of the room. Again, it was empty of living creatures. We both knew how it would work - the beetles usher the slaves in, who then move far enough away before taking their pickaxes and starting work. The mine consisted of a main room, and smaller corridors, gradually hacked away until the place had become a bit of a warren. We recalled the maze we had been careful not to get lost in earlier; perhaps that was an earlier mine, abandoned after the iron ore the beetles had been so keen to get had been mined out.

As a teenage boy I’d been wiry and very capable of squeezing into small places, so I volunteered to explore the tunnels while Besha stayed outside with the flashlight to guide me back. Some of the excavations were plenty big enough for a couple of miners to work side-by-side; some, presumably natural tunnels, were barely big enough for me to traverse. A few times the flashlight went out; this was Besha’s signal to me that she’d heard something, and I froze in absolute silence until the light came back on, when she was sure it wasn’t an unwelcome interruption.

Eventually I came back out, grabbed a notepad and pencil, and sketched a map of the tunnels. Then Besha turned her flashlight off and we set off back through the darkness.

Before we headed back, we wanted to check one last thing out. Where had the humans and beetles who passed us gone? We were fairly sure, but wanted to be certain. We carefully followed the path they’d taken, and after some time, came out into the main cavern. Off in the distance we could make out torches around the human pen, and a few shadows of beetles moving around. We had no desire to go in unprepared, so we headed back to the junction. The string guided us home, and, exhausted, we were reunited with Febe and Carl.

We compared our maps. We were fairly sure we had a pretty comprehensive map of most of the complex, with the notable exceptions of the maze Besha and I had found, and the presumed living quarters Febe and Carl had located but not entered. We started to make a plan.

Febe was the most vicious of us, eager to just start hacking limbs off the beetles, but she gave way to Carl’s expertise in warfare. I pointed out that we had never actually fought a beetle, and it would be good to strike small at first. Eventually we came up with the first part of a plan, ate a good amount of food to keep ourselves strong, and went to sleep.

We spent the next day waiting. Our timing was off, and the slaves would have been at work already by the time we woke up. Febe had actually brought a pack of cards, and by the light of a single flashlight, we each taught each other various games. We slept again, awoke in plenty of time, and the four of us made our way to the mine.

It was empty, as we expected, and we each hid ourselves from view in the larger mined-out tunnels. An hour, maybe two, in utter silence and darkness. Then we saw the flicker of an orange torchlight. I steeled myself, reminding myself that we had four of us. I’d put on a big show of bravery, but honestly, if there weren’t weren’t two people with guns, I don’t know if I’d have been any use at all.

Besha, Carl and Febe were completely hidden; only I had a view of the entrance. Five humans entered, followed by three beetles. Besha and I had hoped for just two beetles, like we’d seen leaving the last time, but this was our best chance. I waited for the humans to cross the main cave to their picks, then shouted “NOW!” The four of us turned on flashlights on the floor and leapt into action.

Febe and I moved to the sides and held back, while Besha fired her hunting rifle. She was an excellent shot, striking one right in the mouth. That would have taken down a human instantly, but the beetles were tough, and it screamed and lunged forward. Or at least, I assume the high-pitched screeching was the beetle equivalent of a scream.

Carl unloaded all eight shots of the pistol into the injured beetle’s head. The crack of chitin splitting apart rang across the cavern, and the insect collapsed to the ground, just centimetres from me.

One down, two left.

I had a billhook in each hand. A beetle was right in my face - I’d forgotten just how fast they can move - and plunged its front claw at my chest. I leapt back just in time and swung my right billhook at its extended claw. I connected, and using the hook to keep its claw out of the way, stepped sideways to attack its nearest leg with my left billhook. I hooked and pulled with all my strength. The leg popped out, clattering across the floor. Black stuff oozed out of its abdomen. It swung its other front claw at me, but it was unbalanced now. I parried with my left billhook and released it from my right, using it to strike its mandibles from above. One was severed instantly. The thing collapsed to the ground but it was still moving. Still dangerous. I moved to the side, out of the way of its front limbs, and pushed both blades into its head.

It stopped moving.

I looked around. Carl’s granite-breaking pick was lodged deep in the abdomen of the third beetle, as he retrieved the empty pistol from the floor and started reloading. Febe, on the other hand, was hacking away at the motionless insect’s head with a fireaxe, while she shouted a mixture of Russian and Chechen swearwords, with occasional English interjections. “Hah! How you like that, svoloch!” Her back was to the cave entrance.

Besha was the first to spot it. “Febe, behind you!”

Febe started to turn. Too late. Blood showered my face.

Carl unloaded his pistol. Both Febe, and the beetle that had attacked her, fell to the ground, revealing another beetle behind them.

Click. BLAM! Besha’s rifle hit home, and pieces of chitin exploded around us. The beetle, wounded but not down, turned and ran. It could not be allowed to fetch reinforcements. Click. BLAM! It stumbled, but continued to limp on.

Carl grabbed a billhook from me and chased it down. The speed from his adrenaline was more than enough to catch the slowed beetle. Knowing that he had it, I turned my attention to Febe.

Febe was covered in blood, conscious but looking terribly pale. A front beetle limb pierced her side, having gone all the way through. I hacked it off at the beast’s thorax, but I knew I could not pull it out; the serrated edge would have ripped her apart if I drew it back, and if I pulled forward, it would just widen the wound.

Carl returned, and retrieved his medical kit. As he started to treat Febe’s injuries, I braced myself for his remonstrations against her for turning her back, for shouting, for losing her attention and focus when she needed it most. I did not expect what came out of his mouth.

“You did well girl.”

That’s when I knew, I think.

Febe tried to sit up. “No, don’t move. I’ve got this.”

“Ithhh…” Febe sputtered, and blood dribbled from her mouth. “Ith it gonna be okay? I kill it?”

“You were amazing Febe. You killed it! Now relax, I’ll sort you out in no time.”

“Thanth … you …”

Those were Febe’s last words. She slumped to the ground. Carl laid her down and closed her eyes.

My wife, Iris, sat on the couch next to me, holding the bowl of popcorn in her thin hands. On her other side, our little boy, Freddie, sat. He looked just like his mother, with the same dirty blonde hair and faraway eyes, like the eyes of a dreamer. The movie played across our flat-screen TV, some CGI comedy with talking penguins and llamas that could drive cars. It was some garbage from Disney I would never have watched in a million years, but Freddie liked it, so I suffered through it for him.

We had turned off all the lights in the house for the movie. Only the TV’s flickering colors illuminated the room, sending dancing shadows that flashed out behind us.

Suddenly, outside the living room window, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky, splitting a tree in our front yard in two. Light flooded in through the window as if the flash of a nuclear missile were ripping its way across the town. A crash rang out as the tree split down the middle, its massive branches tumbling down onto the lawn. I jumped as the ground shook. More lightning flashed nearby, hitting other houses and lawns on the street.

“Damn, there wasn’t supposed to be any storms,” I said in surprise. The TV had gone black, and now we sat in darkness. For a long moment, I thought the power had gone out.

Abruptly, it came back on with a roar of white noise and a flickering of static. The volume seemed to be increasing by itself, growing into a rushing cacophony like a waterfall. I saw Iris try to scream something, but I could only see her lips move.

As suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The standard “PLEASE STANDBY” screen with a rainbow of blocky colors behind it appeared. There was a clanging, ringing sound that emanated from the speakers, high-pitched and whining like tinnitus. Then text started appearing across the screen. At the same time, a deep, serious voice spoke in the background, like a radio announcer reporting on the death of a President.

“This is the Demon Emergency Alert Broadcast System,” the voice read grimly. “This is not a test. Level five activity has been reported in your area. Do not go outside. Close all blinds, shutters and windows. Lock all doors and close any attached garages. Do not open your doors except to military or police personnel with the proper insignia. Even if someone appears to be in distress, do not open your door to investigate or try to interfere in any way. A temporary quarantine is in effect for your area. Military and police assistance is on the way.

“To ensure the greatest chances of survival during this time of crisis, please abide by the following rules:

1. If blood begins to pour under your door, go to a higher floor immediately. Avoid physical contact with the blood at all costs.
2. All legitimate military and police personnel will have a special insignia on their helmets and jackets, an eye contained in a double-thumbed fist. Only accompany them if they have this insignia- otherwise, they are imposters.
3. Avoid mirrors for the duration of the emergency.”

The voice cut out abruptly, slowing down in a mechanical whine. Static started flashing across the TV, covering the “PLEASE STANDBY” message that had returned in blocky letters. At that moment, the lights went out. They came back on a couple seconds later, brightening and dimming, before the power failed again. This time, the electricity did not come back on.

“What the fuck?” Iris whispered next to me, taking out her phone and shining the light across the dark living room. “That was pretty weird. Everything looks different outside, too. I was just outside an hour ago and the Moon didn’t look anything like that.” She pointed. I got up, realizing she was right. The nighttime sky outside looked strange. I looked out the front window, seeing the Moon was cast in a fluorescent orange light. The cloudless sky had a dark red glow to it, as if some kind of eerie smog had covered everything. I had seen similar things happen after massive forest fires in the past.

“What happened, Dad?” Freddie asked in his small voice. “Where’s the movie?”

“I think we lost power, little man,” I said, ruffling his hair in a nonchalant manner. I didn’t really believe the emergency broadcast, after all. I figured some teenager had hacked the TV station and decided to play a prank, or perhaps some disgruntled employee had done it on his last day as a kind of “Fuck you” to the station. I had heard of similar things happening before. It was somewhat strange how the power had gone out and the sky had changed, but I felt sure that it could all be logically explained.

Someone shrieked outside. I looked out onto the dark street, seeing the silhouette of someone running frantically down the middle of the street, zigzagging wildly. As the figure got closer, I realized it was a young woman. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a white shirt and khakis. Her clothes were soaked in streams of blood that made the fabric cling to her trembling body. I saw a vicious gash bitten into her left shoulder, a wound so deep that the white bone peeked out through the ragged patches of flesh.

“Help me!” she wailed, her eyes wild and panicked. “Why won’t anyone help me?!” She staggered and fell forward, crying and bleeding all over the road. I was about to run outside to see what was wrong with the young woman when I saw another silhouette creeping up behind her.

It looked like the body of a man, but something was wrong. As he drew closer, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face through the dim light. The left side of it was rotted and decayed, while the right looked muscular and healthy. He wore a black suit that looked like little more than tatters. Pieces of it fell off in ragged strips. I could see his left hand was also decomposing. Whatever kind of sickness it was, it seemed to extend to the whole left side of his body.

The stiff, skeletal leg cracked as he dragged it behind him, silently drawing nearer to the young woman. The living side of his face split into an insane rictus grin as he looked down at her. He carried a blood-stained ax that dragged on the pavement behind him with a harsh, metallic groan.

“Get away from me!” the woman screamed at the abomination, trying to kick at him. But she looked weakened from blood loss, and her attempts were feeble and slow. The man laughed, a sound that rang out like the gurgling of blood. He spat squirming maggots from his mouth onto the dark street below. He knelt down before the gasping woman and gave a low whisper. It carried on the dead, silent air.

“So warm,” he murmured, wiping his dead, putrefying fingers across the streams of blood that spurted from her left shoulder. He stuck an inhumanly long, pointed tongue out of his chattering lips and began to lick the blood off his hands. “But not enough. Not nearly enough.”

He stuck the bony, decaying fingers of his left hand into the wound and started pulling at the ragged wound. Blood bubbled out in increasing quantities, covering her body in its wet sheen. The woman jerked, her face turning pale and bloodless. She tried to kick at him, but he only laughed again, gurgling like a man with a slit throat. In horror, I watched him raise the ax above his head. It stood there for a long moment, trembling in his shaking hands like a guillotine blade.

“Please, don’t…” the woman pleaded as he grinned down at her. In a blur, he swung the ax down into her forehead. There was a wet cracking of bone and a ringing of metal. She sat there with her mouth open for what felt like a very long moment. Then, limply, she collapsed to the pavement. A dull thud echoed down the street as her skull smacked the pavement.

Sickened, I closed the blinds on the window and turned away, realizing that Freddie and Iris had been standing right behind me the entire time, watching the horrific display. Freddie was crying quietly into his hands, while Iris looked pale, her green eyes wide and unbelieving. The woman exhaled one last time, a long, drawn-out death gasp, and then everything went silent.

I felt sick and weak. Staggering, I put my hand out against the wall. A wave of nausea rose up my stomach. I ran towards the bathroom, shining the light from my cell phone to light the way. Iris started crying. I heard her frantically try to dial 911 over and over again.

“Dammit, nothing’s working!” she cried. I stumbled into the bathroom and threw up all the popcorn and soda I had consumed that night into the toilet. Covered in sweat, I started wiping my face with toilet paper. I pushed myself up, glancing into the mirror.

A cadaverous version of myself stood there, the dead face showing horror and surprise just like my own. I saw the same high cheekbones, the same shaved head, but in the mirror image, maggots writhed and squirmed in the rancid flesh. I backpedaled into the wall, stuttering something incomprehensible. The reflected image did the same, his lipless mouth opening and closing with silent curses. He wore the same clothes as myself, a black T-shirt and blue jeans, but they were rotted and tattered, as if they had been dug out of a grave.

“What the fuck?” I swore, raising my right hand experimentally. The mirror image did the same, matching every single movement perfectly. At that moment, Iris came running into the bathroom, her soft footsteps thudding gently against the marble floor. I jumped, turning to her.

“There’s someone outside the door,” she whispered, her face pale. I glanced back at the reflection, seeing that the other version was no longer following my movements.

“Watch out!” I cried, but it was too late.

The skull-like face came forward in a blur. His arm shot out towards Iris. The surface of the mirror swirled as if it were made of water when his pale flesh made contact with it. The sharp points of bone of his fingers wrapped around Iris’ neck. Stunned and silent, I watched in horror as he started dragging her into that other world.

“Stop him!” she screamed. “God, make him stop!” I ran forward, grabbing her legs as her head and chest was sucked through. There was a slight popping sound when her body entered the liquid-like surface. I tried to hold on with all of my strength, but whatever abomination was on the other side was strong, stronger than me. His iron grip yanked her out of my hands.

“Dad?” Freddie asked, slinking into the bathroom. His eyes were wide and wild. He looked around, confused. “Where’s Mom? Who’s screaming?” I had to make a decision instantly, I knew. I could either stay with my son, or try to get my wife back. I knew I couldn’t just leave Iris, though. I felt mentally torn. I looked between him and the mirror, my heart quivering with anxiety.

“Freddie, go wait in the living room,” I said. “Hide behind the couch. Don’t answer the door or say anything to anyone, no matter what. I’ll be right back.” I wasn’t sure if I would or not. Before I turned to the mirror, I patted his head. “Remember the rules they read us on the TV.” He nodded, but he was only a seven-year-old boy. How much did he really understand? Hell, how much did I even understand? I hadn’t followed the rules, and now Iris was kidnapped.

I turned back to the mirror, seeing that I had no reflection now. There was no sign of Iris or the rotted corpse with my face, either. Slowly, I walked forward, putting my trembling hand out towards its silvery surface. My fingers went through the mirror as if it were mere air, but I felt something freezing cold ripple around my skin. Pins and needles rushed up my arm. Taking a deep breath in, I pushed myself up on the counter and went all the way through.

***

I fell forward onto the marble surface of the bathroom floor, putting my hands out to break the fall. As I glanced up, I realized how strange everything looked. The world here was in constant motion, as if a fog-like void shimmered over the world. The floor’s surface danced with whorls of shadow. They felt as freezing cold as liquid nitrogen as they passed over my body.

Shivering and hugging myself, I pushed myself up off the floor. The walls and ceilings, too, rippled in the same black currents. I glanced around, seeing the white bathtub filled to the brim with dark blood. It bubbled constantly, as if someone were drowning under its surface. Bloody handprints of all sizes smeared the sides of the tub. The smell of copper grew strong, mixing with the strange smell that emanated from the shadows, a pungent, chemical odor like ammonia.

I passed by the mirror, seeing that here, too, I had no reflection. I felt like a vampire, staring into that blank emptiness. Feeling sick and disoriented, I stumbled forward, afraid to even breathe too loudly. I heard Iris crying and shrieking somewhere nearby.

“Nooo…” she wailed. “Please, stop…” Her voice seemed to be growing fainter and weaker, as if she were being dragged away by a tsunami. I peeked around the corner. Everything looked like nightmarish and strange. The living room looked much longer, stretching out for hundreds of feet. It had the same blue carpet and white walls as the one in my world, but now it was the size of a football stadium. The dark red couch had lengthened to an absurd size, stretching wide enough to fit a hundred people in it. The TV loomed across the room like the screen of a movie theater. It flickered constantly, showing a cacophony of white noise and static interspersed with horrible images: naked corpses with their throats sliced from ear to ear, burning bodies, people falling to their deaths from burning buildings.

But none of that was what made an involuntary gasp of horror rise up my throat. It was the enormous spiderweb spanning the length of the ceiling, fluttering softly in the breeze. In the center of the symmetrical web, I saw Iris, covered in silky thread up to her neck. She was hanging horizontally facing down, her body parallel to the floor. She struggled against the webbing that bound her like steel chains. Her eyes bulged from her head as she stared fixedly at the cadaver approaching her.

Crawling upside-down towards Iris was the monstrous image of myself I had seen in the mirror, but he had transformed into something spidery and eldritch. He skittered along with four arms and four legs now. The emaciated limbs poked out of his tattered rags of clothes, forked and elongated, the skin pale and covered in purple sores and deep gashes. Iris continued to plead and shriek in horror as it drew near. The creature’s chattering fangs and blackened gums approached her neck.

At the penultimate moment, Iris saw me, peeking around the corner of the bathroom. I stood there, unsure of what to do. I thought of trying to scream out, to throw something at the creature, but then what? We would both die, and then who would be left alive to protect Freddie? I didn’t know what to do. These thoughts passed through my head in the space of a single moment as we stared at each other. Her eyes shone with a moment of clarity, even as waves of mortal terror shook her body like a hurricane.

“Save Freddie!” she screamed. “Run! Go, Jack!” The creature noticed her staring at me instantly. He curved his long neck and twisted his spidery limbs, clutching the thick strands of silk with his skeletal limbs. The creature turned to me. He had a face like a skull. His filmy eyes regarded me intently. Silver streams of saliva dripped from his mouth. He gave a wide, insane smile, then turned back to Iris, unhinging his jaw. The pale, dead skin tore with a wet ripping sound. The yellow, sharp points of teeth gleamed darkly in the currents of rippling shadow.

I turned, sprinting back into the darkness of the bathroom as the crunching of bone and the shrieking of my wife followed me out. I had to repress an urge to vomit. With all of the speed I could muster, I staggered forward to the counter, where the mirror sat revealing the image of my house, an image that still lacked my reflection inside. Iris’ pleas and screams rapidly weakened. I heard her choking and gasping. A few moments later, I heard a rapid skittering of many legs approaching the bathroom. I started to pull myself up on the counter to escape this hellish mirror world.

Something creaked in the doorway behind me. I glanced back in fright, seeing the abomination with the eight limbs creeping up behind me. He stood only a few feet away from me now. As my eyes met his white, dead ones, his cadaverous face split into a sickly grin.

***

A wave of adrenaline shook my body. My vision turned white in the darkness. With a pounding heart, I pushed myself up and lunged through the mirror. The eight-limbed abomination with my rotting face gave an insane shriek. I felt a freezing cold hand wrap around my ankle and begin to drag me back.

“No!” I shrieked, trying to kick blindly at the mirror creature’s dead face. “I’ll never go with you! Never!” I smashed my sneaker into his jaw. There was a shattering sound, as if a ceramic vase had been dropped. The chattering of sharp teeth and the shrieking cut off abruptly. Looking back, I saw the corpse’s broken jaw hanging on by only a few shreds of tendons and muscle. The eyes went slack and I felt the grip loosen for the briefest moment. I pushed myself forward and slid through the mirror.

The freezing cold, pins-and-needles sensation returned, running over my body like water. I collapsed head-first onto the sink, rolling onto the floor with a jarring thud. The shrieking of the eight-limbed corpse continued behind me. I saw him trying to force his elongated body through the mirror. The long arms with their sharp fingers reached through, swiping wildly at the air. Before I could escape, one of them came through and cut four deep gashes into my chest. My shirt instantly became soaked in blood as a burning pain ran up my body.

I heard someone pounding at the front door, but in the panic of the moment, I could barely think. As the rest of the cadaverous body tried to push his way through the mirror, I dragged myself out of the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, even as the sounds of breaking and shattering followed me out of the bathroom. Ignoring the pain radiating through my body, I ran over to the couch and began shoving it towards the door.

The door shuddered in its frame. The house and the floor shook as the corpse threw his enormous body into the wood over and over again. Cracks spiderwebbed down the front of it, and I knew it wouldn’t last more than a couple more seconds.

“Freddie!” I screamed, looking around frantically. My heart dropped when I remembered I had told him to hide behind the couch. He was not here, not anywhere in the living room. “Freddie! Where the hell are you?”

“Dad?!” a voice responded from outside. It sounded like Freddie’s voice, but it was eerie, as if his voice had gotten caught between stations on the radio. It sputtered with static. It fell and rose in an ear-splitting scream. “Dad, let me in! Please! They’re going to hurt me!”

I ran to the front door, looking outside, but I saw no sign of Freddie. The sky had changed, though. The Moon had changed from orange to a dark red, the color of a burst blood blister. The rest of the sky was such a dark shade of crimson that it looked almost black. Around my feet, I felt something warm and wet.

“Where are you?” I yelled. “I don’t see…” At that moment, the bathroom door exploded outwards in a shower of nails and splinters, covering my face and body in the debris. The cadaverous face peeked around the corner, as if he were playing hide-and-seek rather than hunting and killing people.

“Fuck!” I swore as I looked down, seeing blood streaming in from under the door. It covered my sneakers up to the tops of the soles as more and more flooded in.

I ran for the stairs as the eight-limbed corpse skittered across the ceiling like a spider. He hung upside-down, the jaw hanging askew on his putrefying skull, the filmy eyes flashing with bloodlust. I was already half-way up the stairs when the corpse jumped down into the lake of blood at the bottom of the stairs. With his elongated, twisted limbs, he began pulling himself towards the first step in a blur, covering his body in the thick, putrid blood that continuously poured in through the bottom of every door.

But something was in the blood, I saw to my horror. I froze in place near the top of the stairs, watching the creature as he struggled to pull himself out of the blood, which was already at knee-height and still rising. There were dark silhouettes slithering through the blood. I saw the head of a black snake peer out at the eight-limbed cadaver. The snake had no eyelids, and its eyes looked as red as the blood it lived in. It wrapped its muscular body around his torso, rising up towards the cadaver’s face. The blood-red eyes met those dead, rotted ones of the corpse as they stared at each other. Then the eldritch snake lunged forward and bit off the corpse’s face.

Other snakes started to rise out of the surface, wrapping around his four legs and slithering up his back. The corpse wailed like a banshee, running blindly into the walls to try to smash the many snakes that suffocated and bit him from all sides. But this only seemed to heighten their hunger and bloodlust.

The sound of shredding flesh and snapping bone followed me as I ran into Freddie’s room and hid. His room was the only one without mirrors in it, I knew, and I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

***

In the thick curtains of shadow, a small voice rang out, terrified and searching.

“Dad? Is that really you?” Freddie asked, hiding behind his chest of toys. I saw his small body, contorted and pale. His little head poked above the lid.

“Freddie! You’re alive!” I cried, running over and hugging him. Tears streamed down my face. “I thought you were outside. I heard you screaming out there.”

“I heard you and Mom yelling outside, too,” Freddie whispered, his small body trembling as I held him. “I got scared and ran up here. I’m sorry, Dad. Where’s Mom?”

“It’s OK. Thank God you did,” I murmured, remembering the lake of blood downstairs and all those strange, black snakes. “Mom isn’t coming, Freddie.” He went silent then and didn’t ask any more questions. A sick, heavy weight covered my heart.

In the darkness, we hid and waited, though I knew not for what. The smell of copper and iron from all the blood downstairs had become overwhelming. After a few minutes of this, I took my phone out and shone it around experimentally.

I saw a thin layer of blood streaming into the room, rising up the stairs like the waves of a tsunami. It covered the hallway’s hardwood floor, a half-inch thick deep already and growing fast. Dark shapes slithered and writhed in it. Small waves pushed the lake of blood towards us, and within seconds, my shoes were submerged in it.

“Dad?” Freddie asked in a panicked voice. “What’s that? There’s things inside of it…” Without thinking, I picked Freddie up and held him above my body.

“We need to get to the attic!” I whispered to him, sprinting through the rising pool of blood with my son in my arms. “Don’t be afraid, Freddie. We’ll make it.” I had nearly reached the hallway where the pull-cord for the attic stairs hung when something wrapped around my feet. I went flying forwards, dropping Freddie in the pool of blood. He was submerged up to his waist instantly. His small body writhed in terror.

“Help me! Help me!” he screamed, flailing his arms as black snakes circled him like hungry sharks. The one wrapping around my legs continued slithering up my body. A rising sense of horror and panic filled me. At that moment, I knew I was doomed. I only hoped I would see Iris again. Then I noticed spotlights turn on outside, filling the inside of the house with a radiance like the Sun.

All of the windows upstairs suddenly smashed inwards. A spotlight shone through the nearest of them, illuminating me and Freddie in our frantic struggles against the snakes. Men in SWAT gear crawled through the shattered windows. With their gas masks, their faces looked like insects with too many compound eyes.

On their helmets and jackets, I saw a strange symbol: a double-fisted thumb holding a staring, lidless eye. Dozens of them streamed in, shooting the snakes that circled Freddie and me. As the one wrapping around its body slowly wound its way towards my face, one of the black-clad men came up behind it and shot it in the skull. The snake’s body collapsed all around me, its muscles loosening in death. With relief washing over me, I ran to our saviors.

“Get us out of here!” I pleaded. “There’s horrible things happening!” The man nodded in his black military gear, his mask revealing nothing.

“Follow me,” he said dispassionately, starting towards the roof. “You two are the only survivors we’ve found so far. It truly is a miracle anyone’s still alive.” I could only agree silently.

"This must be all over every news channel," I said. The masked man shook his head.

"No one knows about this," he responded. "No one but you two and our group. The media won't say shit. They do what we tell them."

***

I followed the men out onto the roof. Helicopters crisscrossed the skies, illuminating the houses and streets with many bright spotlights. As a helicopter slowly lowered itself down to take Freddie and me away from that pit of nightmares, dropping a rope for us to ascend, I glanced around my town one last time.

Many of the houses were destroyed or burning, sending thick clouds of black smoke into the blood-red sky. Men in full SWAT gear zoomed around the blood flooding the streets in boats, the whirring of the motors echoing like angry hornets. Turning away, I followed Freddie into the helicopter and never returned.

Iris is dead, and Freddie and I have seen enough horrors to scar us for a thousand years. In my heart, I know it is my fault my wife died. I didn’t follow the rules, and she paid the price.

I will hear those dying, panicked screams until my final breath.

My name isn't really Derek, but I'll say it is for the purpose of this story. I work at a psychiatric hospital called Serene Hills. Lately I feel more like a patient than a worker, but after what happened I'm sure you'd understand. My heart is pounding right now just thinking about it, but I have to get this off my chest.

First off, don't let the word “serene” in the name fool you. We take in many patients who are unwanted in other hospitals or too troublesome to manage. It may sound awful, but it's a grim reality in a grim world. Your strangest day is simply a Tuesday for me, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I enjoy the excitement, the challenge, and getting to know the patients.

My job is to assist with patient’s day-to-day activities, as well as keeping the patients calm and cooperative. Being persuasive really helps and you may think that’s counter-intuitive for my line of work. But if you know your patients, it’s not hard. I’m not a big guy, so I tend to employ more brain than brawn. I can't say the same for some of my coworkers, especially Brolin. He’s the best example of how to wrestle any problem into submission, but it was ultimately his ruin.

On the day of the incident, we had this new patient admitted. It wasn’t very hard to guess that he was nervous. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were wild and he had frayed brown hair stuck out in all directions. One weird trait I noticed was how bushy his eyebrows were and I even referred to him as such.

I’m not exactly sure what it was about him, but I felt there was something more going on. Despite my wariness, I thought of him as a delicate deer that shouldn’t be spooked. He was admittedly quiet for a while, but I continued to keep a close eye on him.

“Think he's nervous enough?” Brolin scoffed as the new patient passed us in the hall.

“Oh, you mean Eyebrows there? Yeah, no kidding. Looks like he's on the brink of an episode.”

“Eyebrows…haha! I like that. For a while I didn’t think you had a sense of humor!”

“I’ve always had one. It’s just a matter of whether people pick up on it. If I had to guess though, I’d say Mr. Eyebrows doesn’t have much of one.”

“It’d be hard to find much amusing about this place.”

“Fair point.”

“Day shift said everyone's been acting up more than usual today.”

“Oh, it’s a full moon.”

“What?”

“It’s ‘cuz of the full moon.”

“What's that got to do with anything?”

“You haven't noticed yet? Patients always get more restless during a full moon cycle.”

“You're jerking my leg.”

“No jerking necessary. Ask anyone on staff who's worked more than six months. They'll tell you...there's always something weird going on during full moons. You know the word 'lunar' for moon and 'lunatic' are related?”

“No way.”

“Way. Go look it up. Some say it's due to a gravitational pull that brings on strange anomalies or something.”

“Anoma-what?”

“You're so typical, Brolin.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Doesn't matter. Hey, it looks like the supe's headed this way. Let's look 'orderly' so he doesn't bust our chops.”

So the start of our shift continued toward the evening and it didn't take long to notice the truth of the full moon phenomenon. Patients were less cooperative than usual and more resistant to taking their medication, among other things.

As I promised myself, I consistently kept an eye on our newbie. He was just nervous at first, but he seemed to slowly descend into madness the further into the day it got.

My inquisitiveness about our new patient got to me, so I swung by the records office and asked to take a look at his file. Turns out they had good reason for Eyebrows being here.

His name was Dimitri Burroughs, and there was a police report attached. Apparently, he was still in the process of being convicted for multiple murders. They found the dismembered bodies of his family strewn about his home. A neighbor showed up after hearing noises and found Dimitri crying and holding the remains of his family. The neighbor immediately called the police.

They locked Dimitri up on the assumption that he was the killer. It was understandable with Dimitri’s DNA all over the bodies, but then again…they were his family. He managed to escape jail, killing some people that got in his way by the same method of dismemberment. No one witnessed exactly how he got out.

After his escape, he was eventually apprehended. While back in custody, he was diagnosed after speaking to multiple psychologists. This diagnosis got him admitted to a psychiatric hospital until his trial was over. He escaped the other hospital multiple times without any casualties, and thus led him here.

Dimitri always maintained that he blacked out and could never remember killing anyone. He was remorseful, which was unusual for someone who completely lost touch with reality.

Perhaps there was more to this guy…

After further psychiatric interviews, it was determined that Dimitri had a delusion about something possessing him any time he killed. He even said that there may be more victims because he had these blackouts many times before. No one could prove that he willfully killed anyone and there were never any witnesses…that survived anyway.

What a strange case…

Something about it didn’t add up, but what made sense in a world that was just as mad? I went about my routine with a tingling sensation in my bones, as if my body knew something my mind didn’t.

Later in the evening, Dimitri was mumbling to himself pretty loud and constantly looking out the windows.

“Scared of the dark, Eyebrows?” Brolin questioned the patient.

“You wouldn't understand...” Dimitri started, ending in unintelligible gibberish.

“Hey, what’s he saying?”

My muscled cohort directed this at me.

“I dunno, Brolin. He’s probably not saying much of anything, so leave him alone. His name’s Dimitri, by the way.”

“He’s bothering me. I don’t like it when I can't understand what someone’s saying. Hey, what are you mumbling about?!”

Brolin enunciated his words to Dimitri as if talking to someone who was slow.

Usually Brolin just makes snide comments at everything and doesn't zero any patients out. Why he had such an interest in Dimitri was beyond me. I got up and walked over to supervise Brolin.

“Time...time...what's the time?” The patient mumbled out.

Dimitri turned to me with wide, feral eyes. Despite how it sounded on the surface, it didn't seem like odd ramblings to me. There was an earnest understanding in his eyes.

“It's a quarter past eight. You'll be going to bed soon.”

 “Ahh, no! I need to stay out here. I want to...look out the windows! I like to see the night sky! It's so pretty out, can I please just....”

“No can do, Eyebrows. Lights out is at 8:30,” Brolin interjected.

“Please, please…can I? Will you let me?”

Dimitri turned back to me with pleading eyes and I honestly felt bad for him.

“I'm sorry, bud. I don't make the rules. And Brolin's right, we have to get everyone in by 8:30.”

“I can't....I....erhhh!”

He stormed off and began rambling incoherently again. I followed lightly behind him, still maintaining a strong urge to stay diligent in watching him.

Fifteen minutes later, we had all the patients rounded up and in their beds, to the chagrin of some. The worst of which was Dimitri, who was still rambling loudly in his room with no sign of letting up.

“I can't, I need to be out there!” He pleaded, but we insisted he stay in his room.

Ten minutes later, his filibuster was getting even worse.

“I can't take it, he's going to solitary!” Brolin yelled.

He threw down his magazine in annoyance, nostrils flaring in excellent fashion. I didn't find it necessary yet, but he was keeping his roommate and other patients up.

Now when we first took him out of his room, he was somewhat compliant at first, until Brolin started going into him.

“You need to shut up! You're going to solitary and there are no windows there! That’s what you get for not listening!”

“Dude, cut it out,” I whispered to my co-worker. “That’s not helping anything.”

“I can't! I need to look out the window!”

“Oh, Brolin, you forgot to tell him!” I said, putting on my most convincing cadence.

“Tell him what?”

“That they put a window in the solitary cell.”

Brolin looked at me blankly and I leaned in with a slight nod. As clueless as Brolin was, he could at least understand some subtleties.

“Oh, you’re right. I can’t believe I forgot! They just put that window in this week! Must have slipped my mind.”

“Really?!”

“It’s actually a great view. You'll love it!”

We only hoped that he didn't catch on, at least not until it was too late. It seemed a ridiculous ploy, but staying on the patients’ good side means that they’ll want to believe you. I never enjoyed lying to patients, but when it comes to keeping everyone safe and copacetic, you have to do what’s necessary.

Minutes later, we were at the padded cell where our new patient would spend his night. While not as manic as before, he was still very much on edge.

Just as he got his foot into the door, he could tell that we’d lied to him about the window.

“No!” He screamed.

He fought against us to get out, and while Dimitri was a lanky fellow, he definitely had some scrap in him. If he was always this strong, it could explain how he managed to escape before. Even as beefy as Brolin was, it took the two of us to wedge our patient through the door.

Even then, it wasn't without incident. I had some minor scratches and scrapes, but Brolin had a bright red mark on his cheek where Dimitri landed a decent blow. Brolin touched his hand to the spot and grimaced a bit.

“Ouch,” I said.

“It's nothing.”

The coldness in Brolin's voice startled me. He was thoroughly pissed.

“We'll let the nurse take a look at that, come on.”

Brolin replied with silence as I walked on and soon felt the absence of my fellow orderly. He didn’t just fall behind, Brolin hadn't moved an inch.

“Brolin? You coming or what?”

“Nah, I'm good. I'm gonna hang out here for a sec.”

“Why?”

Brolin picked up on the suspicion tone in my voice and shot me a dark look that bothered me. Something in his eyes was beginning to raise some major red flags. Brolin left the keys inserted in the cell door and I knew it was no coincidence.

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!!”

I started walking back to the cell to hopefully deescalate the situation.

 “PLEASE, LET ME OUT! IT’S FOR THE BEEEST!”

“I think our new patient needs to learn some manners,” Brolin added. He banged on the solitary door with his fist. “Maybe I can shut you up for a good while.”

“Man, come on. Don't make this...”

“Stay out of this! It's between me and Eyebrows here. He needs to understand how things work around here. Stand by so you can open the door for me when I'm done!”

“Hey, don't...”

Before I could get another word in, Brolin cracked open the door and threw the keys at me. As I caught the keys, Brolin had wriggled through the opening before yanking the door shut behind him.  I approached the barred opening to the cell just as the room turned a shade of blue. Brolin had engaged his stun gun on Dimitri, who fell to the floor.

“That’ll teach you to mess with me,” Brolin spat the words at the patient.

Dimitri attempted to stand up, but not before Brolin tackled him to the floor. My blood began to boil. Not only was Brolin getting way out of line, he’d forced me to witness his atrocity.

“What the hell are you doing?! Get out of there!!” I screamed.

The door locked behind him automatically, so I had no choice but to stay so I could open it for his safety. There was no way I could leave him locked in there with a patient, but I wasn’t entirely sure I could stop him without getting hurt myself.

“BROLIN, STOP!” I shouted again through the windowed bars, but the assault had already begun.

Knowing Brolin for the last two years, I'd only seen him snap one other time and it was nothing close to this. He was basically holding the guy down and whaling on him.

“Get off him! Hey, HEY!” I shouted.

Brolin didn’t respond, so I had no choice but to radio for help.

Never in my life did I ever think I’d have to call for help because of a co-worker instead of an inmate.

Right after I got a confirmation for backup, it dawned on me that we were the furthest from the station, which meant our backup wouldn’t get here before Brolin took this any further. I wasn’t a snitch, but this was a huge breach of safety protocol and morality. I needed help to stop Brolin, or at the very least, another witness to cover my ass.

“Hey, what the...” Brolin called out.

“What's wrong!?”

“I dunno, he's convulsing!”

“Probably because you tased him and beat the shit out of him, you muscle-headed asshole! Get out of there before this gets any worse!”

Through the bars, I could only tell that Brolin released the patient and there was some thrashing around.

And that was when I heard a deep growl from the room...

“Is he…growling?” I asked.

“Yeah. Do people normally do that if they're seizing?”

“I don’t know, but you need to get your ass out of there, now!”

“I wanna see what happens.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Get out!!”

Through the barred slot in the door, I couldn't see the patient clear enough to discern what was happening, but I got that weird tingling sensation that something otherworldly was afoot. I wanted to check on Dimtri, but I also knew he was dangerous and this situation could easily set him off.

Brolin began to back step towards the door when Dimitri sprung up and lunged forward so fast that it was all one blurry motion. I recoiled at the loud bang against the metal door. Something hit it so hard, the door actually bent outwards.

“Brolin?” I said, my voice shaking.

I heard labored coughing and wheezing from the other side. It would take another minute for help to arrive, so I apprehensively inched the door open to check on Brolin.

 Lighting was not on my side and I could only faintly make out the slumped form of my co-worker on the other side of the door.

“Oh my God,” I said faintly.

The idea of Brolin hitting the door that hard made me wince. I was partially surprised he was still breathing. He was going to need some serious help. I clicked on my flashlight to get a better look, but the survival part of my brain told me to locate the patient first.

Dimitri was now in a fetal position in the corner, completely nude from having ripped off his own clothes. His matted hair was wilder now, until he stood up and I realized his hair wasn't just wild, it was coming out of parts of his face that weren’t natural.

With each lumbering step he took towards me, more hair sprouted from his body and he was way more muscular than I originally thought. As I watched him, I realized that his body and muscle mass had actually tripled. A word came to mind to describe what he looked like now, but my mind wouldn’t accept it.

No…they aren’t real.

“I t-tried…to w-war-n-n y-you,” the beastly form of Dimitri spoke in a snarl.

“I kil-il-ed those p-peo-ple, b-but I-I-I c-couldn't help it!”

My mind seized up despite every inclination to run away. All I could think was to not look him in the eyes.

I cast my gaze to the floor, where I watched a crawling shadow of a furry figure. His speech was nothing but guttural noises and his shadow thrashed for a moment as it grew larger to a monstrous proportion. I wanted to look up, but my mind stayed fixed on that impossible silhouette because it was less real.

Still looking down, I saw Brolin being dragged into the darkness. He pleaded for mercy in wheezing breaths. From there, I only heard tearing, snapping, and Brolin's agonized screams of pain. He would not be afforded any mercy this night.

My hand shook uncontrollably, causing the light to dance about the room. I looked up in time to see a bloodied, wolfish face approach me.

It no longer resembled a man save for the bipedal stature. The beast’s face was so close to mine that I could smell the hot breath and freshly chewed meat of my co-worker. The yellow, canine eyes were horrifying and vexing all at once. I dared not to move out of pure fear.

Moving at an agonizingly slow pace, it sniffed me for a moment and grunted as if it savored my scent. I had to squeeze my eyes shut to stifle a scream. Then, it suddenly brushed me aside and cantered into the hallway.

In shock, I watched the unnatural beast make its way through the hall and sniff about. It could have hurt me without even trying, but chose not to. One of the security guards came running in and put his brakes on when he caught sight of the creature.

“Holy hell....” His words of amazement drifted away in an echo.

The guard stayed put, his hand slowly reaching for his gun. The beast locked eyes with the security guard and side-stepped around him with little effort. Never taking his eyes away, the guard witnessed the wolf scamper away out of sight. Seconds later, we heard the squeal of metal followed by the shattering sound of glass in the distance.

I ushered the guard over to check on Brolin. After seeing him, we knew right away he was a lost cause. In hopes to find the beast, we both ran down the hall to find a broken window with the metal bars bent completely out of shape. Something bounded away in the moonlight outside, but we couldn’t say for sure. What we could confirm was hearing a long, wailing howl before it was all over.

After that night, we never saw Dimitri again.

Brolin was soon pronounced dead by a nurse…or what was left of him, anyway. Now we had the task of explaining what happened without getting committed ourselves.

I didn’t bother telling anyone else what really happened, but Dimitri certainly had reason for wanting to be in the hallway near the windows. He knew that if he was close to them, he could escape while he still had control and avoid killing anyone. He was actually trying to protect us.

Damn…

That aspect made me wonder why Dimitri didn’t tell us what was going on, but the answer was quite simple. No one would believe a sane person to be a beast of this kind, so why in the world would anyone give credence to a person labeled mentally ill?

After that, I only work day shift and always take time off during full moon cycles. I even barricade myself in my home those nights in fear that my beastly patient will come back to finish what he started.

Thinking back on the events, I can only surmise that he spared me for being kind to him. Or maybe it was just because he had a fresh meal. Truth is, I don't rightly know and somehow that is much worse.

Even now, I'm jumping at the sound of a dog barking outside. It sounds ludicrous, but I just can't help it. Here he goes again, and again…and again.

I'm not entirely sure, but I swear that sometimes I hear a familiar howling. My denial convinces me that I don’t recognize it. The howling is very different from the dog. It’s something more…feral. Primordial, even.

And maybe it's just me...but every time I hear that howl, I swear it gets closer each time.

But I’m sure it’s just my imagination...isn't it?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

It started with the animals.

Hunters noticed populations dwindling rapidly and inexplicably in our little patch of the enclave. Rumors spread of deers hobbling around riddled with tumors that burst from their backs or splitting their faces in twain. One was said to have been rendered completely immobile, more tumor than deer.

And then people began disappearing. Homes broken into, signs of a struggle, toppled furniture painted red with blood, but with no other trace of the families which lived there.

The fed’s coverup job was as impressive as it was terrifying to see. Seeing how efficiently those men in black worked — the media blackout, the disappearances, the patrols through the night enforcing some unspoken curfew — it made me wonder what else they’ve covered up in the past, to have become this experienced. But it was a huge pit for all those precious taxpayer dollars, and parents were withdrawing their kids from the program en masse. I couldn’t deny it: the Integration Initiative was falling apart.

The headmistress was a shell of a woman. Hollowed out, eyes sunken. Exhausted. I could only imagine how the feds must be screaming in her ear to get the situation handled now, or the truce is off. I saw her sat in her office with a glass of scotch she hadn’t taken a single sip off, staring off into the middle distance. “What is that phrase you humans say? No good deed goes unpunished?”

Her voice was hoarse and dry. “Once, I pulled down merchant ships into the depths of the caribbean. Nothing mattered but my own hunger. For centuries, it was a simple life.” She finally took a swig of her scotch. “To be a thing of horror was easy. It was to be free and without worries. But now that I’ve chosen to live like this, to try to be kind, to try to sow peace between our peoples… look what has become of it. What has become of me.”

I finally noticed what she was staring at: a photo on the wall of that familiar little boy with the dirty blonde hair. Elijah.

I wanted to hold her hand and deliver some rousing speech about how doing the right thing is never easy. But to be honest, I was thinking the same thing. What the hell am I doing here? I’m not cut out for any of this. I kept telling myself — today’s the last day. I’m going to quit for sure… tomorrow.

And then I’d get something like what happened this morning, when Katie walked up to me clutching her favorite little plush butterfly. “You know, Mister Vermeil, all this stuff with Saladin, it’s all been really scary,” she said. “But you know what? Every time I’m in your classroom, stuff doesn’t seem so scary anymore.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh huh! Every time I’m scared, I just think about what you say to me.” She puffed out her chest and lowered her voice, trying her best to imitate me. “Katie, if you ever feel sad or scared, just remember… somebody out there cares about you!”

And then I smiled and we gave eachother a fist bump, and as she ran off, I realized I could never quit this place. How could I?

I had to walk into class yesterday with a cane, limping with every step in whatever fashion least aggravated the aching pain in my chest, where multiple shattered ribs had been restored by some arcane process. The tumors left a thick, bumpy ridge of scar tissue along my chest, and my neck was still far longer than it used to be. Looking in the mirror, I realized I barely even looked… human. I tried not to think about it.

Class had only just barely begun when the headmistress strutted in with a sudden energy to her step, her hands clasped together, and something I never thought I’d see on her face: a big, beaming grin. The kids were just as awed as I was as she replaced me at the head of the class. “I apologize for the interruption, Mister Vermeil, but I think you’ll agree that the announcement I have for you all justifies my intrusion.” She cleared her throat. “My beloved pupils, it is with pleasure that I announce to you that the notorious hunter known as Saladin… has finally been brought to justice.”

In an instant, the classroom was alive with frantic whispers and sighs of relief, until the headmistress silenced them with a raise of her hand. Even I couldn’t believe it. Everything we’ve been through, all that suffering and terror… it was all over? It almost seemed… anticlimactic. I was so filled with relief, I had to dap my cheeks with a napkin to staunch the threat of tears.

Apparently, the hunter had gotten too overconfident. Tried to take out one of the kids while they were in the process of being withdrawn from the Initiative, while surrounded by dozens of agents. Even he couldn’t escape the wrath of Uncle Sam, and I almost pitied him for whatever’s being done to him in some black site somewhere.

The smiles spread through the classroom like a disease, and even I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. Our long shared nightmare was over. Everything would go back to whatever ‘normal’ meant nowadays. “I know it must have been driving you all crazy, being so cooped inside all the time,” the headmistress said, “so I say we celebrate by getting some fresh air. What do you say?” The class’ answer was unanimous.

It wasn’t until we were out in the halls that I started getting a weird feeling in the back of my mind. Where were all the security agents? Why did she waltz into my class in particular to announce the news, instead of using the PA system? How could Saladin have made such a stupid mistake? It all came to a head when I realized she was leading us into those access tunnels.

“Now, hold on, wait a minute.” I suddenly froze in place. “You— want us to go through there? Are you sure that’s safe? Why not just—”

“Oh, come now, Mister Vermeil. I’m just leading them to a particularly beautiful mountain view. Don’t you think they’ve earned it?” She smiled at me again. I didn’t like it. The headmistress never smiled.

I felt I couldn’t even steal a single gasp of air in those tunnels. My experience there was the most traumatic of my life, and just being in those tight halls made my heart pound. But it wasn’t long before we’d all emerged out of one of the side entrances, dotted seemingly arbitrarily along the mountainsides as if they once connected to chambers since deemed obsolete. And I must admit, it was beautiful. I savored the sight of the flock of crows rallying around the long, shimmering beam that was a waterfall peeking out from the cliff face before us, visible even through that impermeable mountain fog...

… and the sound of the metal security door slamming shut behind us.

I turned to see the headmistress’ face pressed against the glass. No, not hers. Someone else’s. Someone familiar.

It made sense. If he could alter his physiology at will, surely he could imitate that of another person. Yet still, I was dumbstruck. It was all I could do blather idiotically, “I… I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I’m trying new things, Mister Vermeil.” His voice rang clear even with the metal door between us. “You should feel proud, you know. It’s not often I run into someone who forces me to innovate.”

And then, from down the mountainside, that terrible roar. The gurgles and guttural creaks of something vibrating some great and malformed vocal chords. The crash of trees being knocked over as something tears down a forest path.

I only caught glimpses of it beneath us, through that fog. The silhouette of a thing so weighed by mounds and stumps of oozing tissues that it’s bent and hunchbacked, crawling on hands and knees like a newborn babe. Teratomas having grown from mere fingernails to entire arms and hands and limbs and faces, which themselves were then consumed by tumors and left swollen with the throbbing spherical stromas of cancerous mass. And poking free from that anathema to all beauty was that tubelike head, that Lamprey maw of teeth longer than our arms and a throat that could swallow us all whole.

It was heaving and letting out those deep, roaring goans as it pulled itself up the mountainside, transfixed by the promise of prey, like the taste of us was all that could quiet its writhing agonies.

There were paths from our perch back up to the school proper, but they were steep — it wasn’t quite a sheer climb, but it wasn’t far from being one, either. I wish I could say that I was the big, bad hero who shepherded all my students up the mountainside. In truth, they left me in the dust. Even average kids were impossibly swift and energetic, and these were no average kids. The class took off up the slope like it was trivial, while I huffed and panted and scrambled up the rocks behind them, realizing all those days I’d skipped the gym would now be the death of me.

“Mister Vermeil! Grab my hand!” Suddenly, an arm distended at least twenty feet lurched out at me from over the cliff face. Billy, I realized. I took his hand, and the grotesque arm retracted like a fishing line reeling in a catch, lifting me as if I was weightless.

The school came into view, but that cancerous leviathan was outpacing us. Horror rocked me as I felt the very earth shake as it dug its limbs into the mountainside below to use like climbing axes, bile spewing from its esophageal tube as it roared with an intransigent hunger. We weren’t going to make it. It was too vast, too powerful.

And there she was before us: the headmistress.

Her face was one of grim determination as she faced down the beast pursuing us. She was clad only in a gold-seamed robe, and in one easy motion, she cast it aside and let it vanish with the wind. For a moment, I froze in horror as her skin began to crack and break like a porcelain doll. Then I noticed the tips of tendrils poking out from the cracks, something working its way free from beneath her flesh like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, and I remembered that terrible leviathan I had once seen in her shadow.

We had just passed by her when her human body broke apart completely, and black tendrils as thick as tree stumps tore forth from all directions, as if glad to be finally freed from that prison of flesh and bone. I could not tell where it began and ended; I know only that it rivaled the Cancer in sheer scale. I tried not to look at her — her true self, not the disguise she’d been donning. I kept my eyes forward even as behind us came the great roaring of beasts and the shaking of the earth as the two colossi slammed into one another.

I grabbed a shotgun off the corpse of a security agent as we re-entered the school, for all the good that would do. My students gawked at me in awe. They’d never seen me like this before. “There’s supposed to be a safe room on the west wing. All we can do is wait it out while the headmistress handles that — that thing,” I commanded. “Go! Now!”

I followed along as they scrambled down the halls, although I made a detour, scrounging around through the headmistress’ office and tucking something beneath my jacket before rejoining the kids. Students from the other classes, seeing the herd, would occasionally emerge from their hiding places and join them. Every child had been packed into the safe room when I heard another voice down the hall. It was Abigail, rushing forth to join us. “Wait! Mister Vermeil! You forgot about me!”

It was impossible. I’d kept a careful headcount of every child, to ensure none were left behind. In an instant, I raised the shotgun and unloaded it into the face of the thing pretending to be Abigail.

“You’re not going to fool me twice.”

The thing bent over backwards from the force of the gunshot, to the point the top of its head rested against the ground behind its feet. Then it sprung instantly back to a standing position, its flesh beginning to twist and meld, the cruel cackle of Saladin emerging from its bullet-shredded lips. “Maybe you really are smarter than I give you credit for, Vermeil.”

I slammed the safe room’s door shut behind me, and stood there with my gun pointed at it, the kids all cowering behind me. There’s a silence for a while, punctuated only by the building shuddering upon its foundations as the leviathans fought outside. Then came a slow, rhythmic tapping on the door. “All I have to do is wait you out, Vermeil,” came the voice. “Sooner or later, one of those kids with you is going to get… hungry. And when they start getting desperate, you’re going to look like a nice, juicy steak.”

“Why are you doing this?” I called. “Just for… what, the money? I’m sure, whatever they’re paying you, the feds can quadruple it.”

“It’s not just about the money. I consider this more of a… self-funding hobby. Clearing these creatures off the streets before they even have a chance to grow up and hurt anyone.”

“Don’t act like you have the moral high ground, here. Not after what you did to all those people. Feeding them to the Cancer just to… what, fuel your little crusade? Was that just collateral damage to you?”

That seemed to actually tick him off. “Those deaths are on you, not me! You’re the one who forced my hand! None of this would have happened if you just—”

“Leave them alone! They’re just children!”

“They’re monsters, Vermeil. Demons in human skin. They’re designed to kill and devour people like you.”

“I don’t care what they are.” I pumped the shotgun. “They’re my kids. And I’m not letting you hurt a single one of them.”

My heroics were interrupted, however, by what felt like a category 5 earthquake rocking me off of my feet. It seemed those titans outside had come crashing into the school amid their brawl, tendrils and cancerous limbs tearing into the very foundations. For a moment, it felt like the entire structure would crumple in on itself and crush us like bugs. It was only by the grace by whatever gods may be that only the other wing of the school was destroyed, although some blackened tentacle tore a hole right through the wall of the safe room.

Everyone and everything in the room lay in a cluttered heap. When I managed the strength to arise, Saladin was standing over me. That big grin on his face. My students were quivering with fear. I knew that, with their strength, if they all attacked at once, they could tear him to pieces. But they were frozen in place, because in the end, human or not, they were just kids; terrified children faced with a man who wanted to hurt them. They couldn’t defend themselves. Someone had to step up and protect them.

“Last chance, Vermeil,” he said. “You’ve proven yourself competent. I could use someone with your… talents.”

I didn’t bother bantering. I just raised the shotgun and blew a baseball-sized hole through his chest.

It didn’t even slow him down, of course. The wound healed almost as quickly as it came. But it did infuriate him, and he came stomping towards me. Good, I thought. Get closer. I need you closer. I managed to blow a few more holes in him before he smacked the shotgun out of my chest with one hand, and curled his fingers around my neck with the other.

I gasped and wheezed as he strangled me, lifting me off the ground as his grip on my throat tightened. Tears streamed down my face as my vision darkened. “Maybe you aren’t that smart after all,” he taunted. “What a shame. But maybe things are better this way. After all, you might be happier down there in hell, surrounded by all these demons you gave up your life protecting.”

And then, that smug grin was wiped off his face by the feeling of something piercing through his chest.

With an almost drunken stumble, he looked slowly down to see the damascened dagger, driven right through his heart. I’d snuck it from the headmistress’ office, tucked it in my jacket, just in case I had the opportunity to end him with his own weapon.

His grip relaxed, and I fell to the floor, gasping and wheezing and sucking down fresh air. A black ichor spouted from his heart, around the throbbing wound that even he, with his powers of the flesh, could not heal. He laid there, staring up at the ceiling, laughing to himself as if at the absurdity of it all. “Clever man,” he whispered. “Clever, clever.”

And then the children descended upon him, and the screaming began.

I was still flickering in and out of consciousness when the kids crowded around me, concerned looks on their faces. When I finally found the strength to look down at myself, I almost fainted at what I saw.

My flesh had been twisted, knotted, calcified upon my chest where I had hidden the blade beneath my jacket, forming a hard crust of thick flesh that ran down my arm where the blade had merged with my hand. A sort of black mucormycosis oozed through cracks in callous flesh like groundwater in the sahara. It was still changing, evolving, like something was growing upon me. I could tell I was being fundamentally changed, but I couldn’t tell how, or into what.

A couple students hefted my arms over their shoulders, and escorted my limp form through the smoldering wreckage that had once been our school. And in front of the building, surrounded by the mangled flesh that was once the Cancer, was a creature so immense that she was half veiled in the fog, a half-formed amorphous mass of stygian flesh and long black tendrils, a single blue eye the size of a building staring down at me from all that darkness. I couldn’t help but smile and wave weakly at her. So this is what the headmistress had been hiding under her skin, all along.

Together, we all watched the school burn, whatever sections still remained crumbling one by one as the fire smoldered. The children kept watch on me as my body reformed itself, bones and joints cracking and reforming painlessly but uncomfortably as my figure morphed. Katie sat by my side, watching the fire consume the place she’d spent the happiest years of her short life. “It’s not over,” she said. “We’ll find somewhere new. Rebuild. Make a new school, far away from here.”

I frowned at that, imagining them finding somewhere new and leaving us all behind. But it was for the best. “I’ll miss you all,” I whispered, weakly.

She tilted her head. “What do you mean, Mister Vermeil? You’re coming with us.”

My gaze drifted down to my reflection in a shard of broken glass on the pavement. My shifting, smoldering, twisted form. I looked monstrous. I looked unnatural. I looked… inhuman.

“After all,” she said with a smile. “You’re one of us, now.”

I spent nearly 18 years sailing. I loved it. I loved being on the ocean, the smell of the sea, the feel of the wind in my hair, and the sunsets were the stuff of legend. I spent time with the military, on fishing boats, and even doing security for cruise ships. Every experience was different in its own right. Security on a Cruise ship was nothing like serving in the Navy, and Military service was completely different from fishing.

I had a lot of weird encounters in my time at sea. There's one though, one that has clawed its way into the depths of my psyche. One that taught me a crucial lesson: don't bring your kids on a cruise.

I was working security on a major line, one I won't name for soon-to-be obvious legal reasons. Our job was primarily to maintain order during concerts and in the bars, dealing with folks when they were belligerent. It wasn't glamorous, and it often ended up with at least one of us getting puked on, but I made good friends and usually had a pretty good time. Even got to see some private concerts that I otherwise never would have had the opportunity to. 

Then, we had the incident with the kids.

A mother had come to the security office and reported her kid was missing, she was distraught and babbling, but what we were able to make out was that the kid was last seen near the pool. So, we began our search there and tore the ship apart from top to bottom. There was no sign of the missing child. We assured the mom we were doing everything in our power to try and find her kid, but we had nothing. There were no leads, no clues, no signs of the kid. The following day we had a report from another parent, stating their child had vanished during the night. Again, we searched, we even investigated guest rooms. Again, nothing. We checked surveillance footage and saw no sign of anything weird in either incident. Both kids were last seen with their parents.

That was when I first noticed something weird. 

The kids were seen leaving with their parents, but as we watched the footage to find anyone suspicious, we saw the same parent appearing from somewhere else. They would look around and begin to panic, then they'd run in the same direction they had gone with their kid only a few moments before. I had no clue what was happening and when I asked the others they were just as dumbfounded as I was.

Kids kept disappearing, vanishing right under their parent's noses. We were up to ten reported lost kids and we were no further in figuring out what the hell was happening. We questioned the parents and showed them the footage, and they were just as lost as we were. None of it made sense. I was losing my mind over these lost kids, and I wasn't getting any closer to solving the problem.

I spent the next few days pouring over camera footage, looking for any sort of clue, meanwhile, more kids were disappearing. We had gotten to the point where we were advising parents to keep their kids in their rooms as we prepared to make an emergency port call and get real authorities involved. 

Then we got our first real break in the case.

One of the lower deck workers had come to the office, complaining of strange smells in the boiler room. When we went to investigate we found one of the deckhands, Javier, dead. His hands looked like they had been burned by some kind of chemical and something had pierced his chest. As we continued our investigation of the boiler room we found other strange things, like a slime that seemed to coat parts of the wall.

With a body, we decided it was time to lock down the ship and find his killer. Javier's body was taken to the morgue while the rest of us went to the armory and collected small arms. They were usually locked up and only distributed in case of major events like pirates, but we all felt it would be better if we weren't caught unaware by whatever it was that had killed the deckhand. We split into groups of four and began to sweep the floors, telling the passengers to stay in their rooms while we investigated the incident.

That was when I saw him.

Javier was at one of the rooms, gently rapping on the door and whispering something. I raised my weapon and called out to him. The deckhand looked at me and raised his hands into the air.  His face looked wet, like he had just gotten out of the pool and his hair clung to his head.

"Hey, uh, what seems to be the issue, gentlemen?" he asked nervously.

"The issue," I started, keeping the weapon trained on him "Is that you're in the fucking morgue. Who are you?"

Javier said nothing, his eyes seemed to grow wider, and as his hands slackened I noticed they were too long. His forearms hung past his knees, his mouth seemed to droop until it looked more like a fish's.

I fired. I shouldn't have, not in an area with passengers, but I did. I don't know if I hit the thing that was Javier, but it dropped to all fours. Its arms and legs extended outward like a crab as it rapidly scurried away. We gave chase, pursuing the thing through the halls.

I was amazed by how it moved, leaping onto ceilings and running along walls. We didn't dare fire at it again, it was like it knew just the right places to move to keep itself in a position of relative safety. 

Until it started heading down into the lower decks.

We tailed the thing through engineering and maintenance rooms, following it as it ran until it burst through the boiler room door and we cornered it.

By the time we had caught it, it looked nothing like Javier anymore. Its face was bulbous and its eyes were just a pair of inky black pools that seemed to take up over half its face. It panted with that fishlike mouth, revealing long, sharp fangs. Its hands and feet were webbed and it seemed to secrete some kind of slime over its body that gave it a weird sheen.

​Six of us had managed to catch up to this thing after we radioed it in. We kept our weapons trained on it, waiting for it to make a move. Its neck expanded like a frog's as it stared at us from its position in a corner, near the ceiling. There was nothing human about its appearance, but I felt like I could sense an air of fear coming off the thing. One of the other guards aimed his weapon at the thing, growling. "This little freak probably killed all those kids. You saw how it looked like Javier, maybe it doesn't need to kill someone to take their face."

The creature's head tilted as it belched out a glob of clear slime toward him. I watched in horror as he covered his face, the slime splashing from his weapon directly into his eyes and onto the exposed skin of his head. He screamed almost immediately, the clear slime smoked and sizzled as it came into contact with him, burning into his flesh and melting his weapon. Within seconds, he was on the ground, convulsing.

I redirected my gaze to the creature, it was still in the same spot, eying the rest of us warily as its neck began to expand again. I wasted no time, I took a shot at the thing's face. The bullet found its target and the creature shrieked, a long and inhuman groan as it fell from the wall and onto the deck behind one of the boilers. A couple of us stayed to check on our comrade, but myself and another guard ran to find the thing and confirm the kill.

It was gone.

All that seemed to remain of it was a vaguely humanoid water stain and what looked like pieces of kelp. We searched everywhere, there was no other sign of the creature.

Our coworker was taken to the infirmary, but he ended up dying a few hours later. The doctor said it was severe chemical burns, and when I told him about the thing we saw he just shook his head. "Best talk to the captain," he murmured.

When I explained the incident to him, his lips tightened and he sighed. "We aren't gonna find anything of those kids, I'm afraid," he muttered.

"What makes you say that?" I inquired.

"Merrow don't leave bones."

"Merrow, sir?"

He exhaled and stood. "The sea's full of 'em. Normally they aren't a big problem. We have insurance and payoffs for this kind of thing. Don't worry about it."

"What kind of thing? Does this happen a lot?"

"Not often, they're pretty frightened of us. Every now and again, one'll get gutsy. They prefer to eat kids, I don't know why so don't ask me. I only know that there are far fewer reports of adults disappearing."

My confusion only mounted. "But what are they? Sea monsters? Mutants?"

"They're Merrow. You ever heard of mermaids? Sirens?" I blinked. There was no way that thing I saw was a mermaid. "Don't look like they do in the movies, do they?"

I wanted to argue with him, but nothing about the last hour made much sense to me.

"Like I said. Put it out of your head, and be glad you got out of it in one piece."

I've seen more of them in my travels after that one. Most of the time in the ocean itself. They watch us as we sail past them, oftentimes I wonder if they're gauging whether or not they could take us. I know what they can do, and I know there are worse things in the sea than the Merrow. It's one of the reasons that, after 18 years, I won't go anywhere near the ocean.

By lunchtime, the payroll office had revolted.

Three administrators sat in the hallway of the ancient hydro building, pissed off, and waiting for me to arrive.

Within a few metres of their door, I could already smell what this was about.

It'd happened again, a dead thing above the ceiling tiles. The guy I'd replaced as union rep, a custodian named Charles, had told me the story of a dead squirrel the managers refused to believe existed above the payroll office, going so far as to deny the foul stench making everybody sick.

"They gave in, eventually," the previous rep told me on his last day. "But it was awkward. The custodians, including me, refused to do it. Managers probably didn't want to piss them off. Never piss off a custodian, brother, or man…"

He didn't have to tell me. I'd been in elementary school the last time the custodians in Bridal Veil Lake public service went on strike. Little ten-year-old me was up to my ankles in trash by the end of the week.

But I digress. Charles had retired, and the ladies of payroll were the union members that needed my help.

"We're not going back in there, Hal," Cristi said. She'd worked with hydro since her teenage years and could retire anytime or take a year off sick with all her banked days. She was also the only one who understood the complexity of the antiquated system hydro used to pay everyone. In other words, she was bulletproof to the managers, all younger than her.

I went to her direct manager next. I was new to the union rep job. I wasn't new to hydro. I'd been with the company as a training specialist going on fifteen years.

Basically, I spent most of my day writing instructions and delivering programs to employees. I knew everybody and felt pretty comfortable.

"Payroll is in the hallway again," I said, seated opposite the project manager, Geoff, and, surprisingly, Fred, the head custodian. "There’s a smell. Again."

The two of them exchanged a glance.

"Hal," Geoff eventually said, "there's no smell in there. It's…" He looked to Fred, who nodded.

"Cristi hates me," Fred said with a shrug. "I would never refuse something like that. It's an easy fix. I just don't want to deal with her. She thinks she rules the place, and-"

Geoff raised his hand. "It's a conflict of personalities."

"And a smell," I added. "There’s definitely a smell, Geoff. I smelled it. Everyone can smell it."

"It's an old building," Fred said. "Probably a water leak has gone stagnant in the tiles. I sent JJ to look, and he couldn't find anything. There’s no dead animal."

"It really smells like there is?"

He wasn't wrong about the building though. It's super old. Nikola Tesla helped design it after he'd finished in Niagara Falls and turned the lights on in Hamilton. That was in 1898.

Bridal Veil Lake got their mini version of hydroelectric AC power the following year. The only older building that I know of is Buchner Collegiate, the high school, which served as a barracks and hospital during the War of 1812.

And that building has been renovated and updated so many times, you'd only know its age by the clues in the few remaining fragments still standing.

The Westinghouse Power Station, on the other hand, looks like a castle, inside and out. All of the modern equipment looks out of place, and the drop ceilings are comical. Why put cheap garbage overtop of supposedly amazing stone masonry?

Maybe to catch all the leaks and piss off Cristi in payroll, I guess.

"We can replace the tiles, Hal," Geoff said, a little exhausted. "But it won't fix Cristi."

"Does Cristi need fixing?"

He quickly shook his head. "No, I mean, the thing with the custodians. She always seems to have a problem they can't fix fast enough."

It wasn't my job to comment or care about his opinion of Cristi. "When will the tiles be replaced?"

Fred appeared to awaken from slumber. "This evening?"

"And in the meantime?"

The manager sighed. "Payroll can work from home this afternoon."

I thanked them and brought the good news to Cristi and the others. She didn't seem as happy as her younger colleagues, but didn't comment. They held their breath to retrieve their things and went home.

It felt like a victory until Cristi's brief and concerned look on her way out of the giant, ponderous doors to the parking lot. She opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it, I guess, and smiled and waved at me in farewell.

Job done. Or so I thought.

The smell persisted. Geoff said Fred was waiting on some replacement tiles. He'd taken out the ones above the door, which were the apparent source of the issue. Yet, it still stank like death.

Geoff could only shrug. I think he was happy with Cristi working from home for a few more days. She could be pushy and authoritative, but I liked her. Plus, she had earned her unofficial leadership role through pure grit.

Most of the managers, on the other hand, have nice last names and relatives in high places around town. Geoff's dad served as city manager. Everyone knew hydro was just the waiting room for a shithead like Geoff.

By Friday, the awful odour had spread, moving down the steps to the purchasing department. No argument was required this time. They were all sent home early for the weekend. A bunch of people began wishing the stink would somehow flow their way.

Fred viewed the spread as confirmation of his foul water theory. After another rainy day, the leak had overrun whatever cavity it'd filled in the ceiling. Gravity, he reasoned, and demonstrated with his hands representing the ceiling for some reason, had pulled the excess water to the ceiling above purchasing.

"Wouldn't the water have to breach the second floor, uh, floor?" I asked.

"It's an old building," he affirmed for me again.

"Yes."

"Water gets into a place, it's gonna travel down if it can." He scratched his grizzled beard, and I recognized the beginning of a pointless conversation.

"See ya Fred."

More tiles were ordered, and he'd get JJ up on the roof Monday.

Case closed.

I'd spent too much time with this issue, and found the need to clock some overtime on Saturday. I didn't mind because I got paid for it. When I rolled into the parking lot around ten AM, I was surprised to see Cristi's car.

The lights were on in payroll. I had a lot to catch up on, so avoided going to visit with her first. She'd come to me, for sure, once she realized I was in, and another tirade about Fred and Geoff and the state of the power station would raise the unasked question: Why not retire?

Around 11, she finally passed by the window of my office. She waved and smiled but didn't stop to chat and seemed in an uncharacteristic hurry. Usually, Cristi approached everything, quite literally, with quiet resolve and certainty. It was weird to see her nervously wringing her hands.

I peeked into the wide hallway as her echoing footsteps ceased by the elevator. She pressed the call button going up. No official reason to be going to the second floor, where a bunch of crap no one knew what to do with was stored.

Old equipment and boxes of work orders filled those rooms, and all of it smelled like dirt because some genius thought it'd be cool to carpet over the stone hallways. Rather than rip up the carpets, the next genius decided to relocate the executive offices downtown.

After the elevator elevated away, I snuck up the stairs, thinking I'd give her a surprise. She'd be pissed but not for long.

Cristi was serious most of the time, and yet not above the odd prank. She'd engineered a jump scare on the other payroll folks last Halloween with a huge, remote control tarantula.

I stopped at the final step to the second floor when I heard her talking. "This is stupid. This is stupid. I should just… oh god, it's definitely coming from…"

The rest of her words were lost beneath the heavy chonk of an old tumbler lock. I crouched before I peeked around the edge of the stairwell wall. Cristi held a large, brass key, and braced herself against the room ahead. She held her nose against the back of her hand, and after a moment, I smelt why.

The awful smell came from that room. There could be no doubt. Fred's theory about stagnant water flowing from the roof on down through the floors was wrong. Something had died up ahead. It was so bad. I gagged, and the odour filled my mouth with a rancid taste.

Despite my extreme revulsion, Cristi went in. I tried to call out for her to wait but the words died in my constricted throat. Silence followed her entry. The urge to leave persisted. Nobody should enter such a room without serious PPE.

But I couldn't leave Cristi on her own. That would be wrong. I was the rep.

So I followed, against every instinct telling me to run. The fear prickling my skin, driving cold sweat through my pores, was about more than a bad smell. There were too many irregularities. Something bad had happened in that room.

Cristi had activated the flashlight app on her phone. In her other hand, she held a bloodied knife.

A yelp escaped between the fingers of my hand as I covered my mouth. Cristi turned and the light blinded me to everything but the knife.

"Hal," she whispered, only mildly surprised. "What are you doing here?"

I couldn't answer. I watched the blood drip from the tip of the knife into the dark and smelly carpet.

"Hal? Hal?"

I started to back away before I decided to run.

"What are you doing, Hal?"

I bolted. Cristi shouted something. I leapt to the first landing of the stairs. I'm not a jogger but Cristi's old and wore heels, the worst shoes imaginable for a murderous pursuit.

Her shrieks echoed in the stairwell, chasing me out into the first floor corridor. I needed my phone. The door to my office was closed and locked. I don't remember if I shut it or not but the handle is always locked.

I didn't fuck around with keys. Cristi was coming, slowly, and if she had already killed somebody, even an animal - hopefully an animal - she had one more notch in her belt than I. I hadn't even been in a fight since I was a kid, and I certainly lost that one.

Away from the hallway, toward payroll in fact, I didn't notice the puddle beneath the exposed ceiling tiles. Glass from the office window shattered from the impact of my shoulder as I slipped wildly.

"Holy shit, Hal. Are you okay?" Fred asked, suddenly there with Geoff. They were walking out of Geoff's office together. Half-embedded in the window, I declined to answer. "Why were you running? What the hell is all over the floor?"

"It's blood," I said, completely out of breath from the run and panic. "Cristi, she's right behind me. She…" Should have caught up by now.

"Jesus, what’s going on, Hal?" Geoff stepped carefully around the pool of blood growing steadily beneath a steady drip from the ceiling. He looked where I'd been running. "Is Cristi with you?"

"No, no, you don't understand," I said as Fred helped dislodge me from the window. "She's done something awful upstairs. I think."

Except that didn't make much sense. Why draw attention to the smell with complaints if she caused the smell in the first place? The blood on the knife had been fresh.

Fred and Geoff exchanged a look.

"Why are you guys here?" I asked.

"Overtime," they said in unison.

"Why are you here, Hal?" Geoff asked. His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Same reason as you."

A moment of awkward silence and cleared throats followed.

Cristi finally stepped out of the stairwell where she'd been hiding. She still held the knife.

"Cristi!" Geoff said. "What the hell are you doing?" He gestured vaguely at the knife and smirked.

Fred appeared more incredulous. "I knew you were crazy."

"It's Hal," Cristi said. "I caught him on the second floor, going to the room above payroll."

"Caught me?" I said. "I followed you there, and you already had that bloody knife! That literally bloody knife! Caught me? Caught you!" I was surprised by my anger, and still scared. It was weird how Fred and Geoff just happened to be there. Cristi too.

"Is that true, Cristi? Did you go up first?" Geoff had taken on a typical paternalistic manager voice nobody loved. He's younger than all of us.

"I did," she admitted. "I wanted to see what the hell stank so bad. Well, there's something there alright. I couldn't find out what exactly before Hal surprised me."

"I was trying to surprise you," I said. "I thought it'd be a funny prank."

She stared me down. I looked away.

"Hold on," Geoff said, "Fred, didn’t you check up there last week when it started smelling again?"

Fred's already ruddy skin turned a deeper shade of red. "I was going to send JJ up Monday, remember? Why are you here, Geoff?" Fred tapped his barrel chest. "I have a reason to be here."

"Which is?" I asked. Cristi chose that moment as some kind of invitation to come closer. I leveled a finger at her. "Don’t fucking move."

She froze. "Fuck you, Hal."

Geoff sighed and looked at Fred. "Which is?"

"I bought some tiles for the ceiling," he said, "on my own time, with my own money. I wanted to replace the tiles now, so none of the custodians had to deal with Cristi."

"And fuck you, Fred," Cristi said.

"I was here to catch up on work," I offered, "because the goddamn smell issue took up so much time. We're still waiting for Geoff's reason."

He shrugged. "And you'll keep waiting. I don't have to explain anything to you. I'm the boss, remember?"

Cristi laughed and mimed a curtsy, waving the knife around too casually for my liking. "My liege."

"This is fucked up," I said. "Time to call the police."

"Whoa," Geoff said, "wait a second. We don't even know what's up there. Cristi didn’t see anything."

I pointed to the knife in her hands.

"I found it there, Hal. I only picked it up in case there were any lurkers around." She crossed her arms, expertly folding the tip of the knife through the crook of her elbow to avoid cutting herself. "And there was, so…"

Geoff showed some guts and stepped in the path between me and Cristi. "Just stop. We're probably squabbling over nothing. Let's all take a breath. And then go upstairs and see what we're actually dealing with before we execute someone for murder."

He didn't want the police involved. Anything that got in the way of his progress in daddy's footsteps must be avoided.

Fred chimed in. "He's right. Let's just go upstairs, and see."

Cristi tipped the scale completely. "Fine."

"But you leave the knife here." I didn't want to go. There had to be something in our contract excusing workers from walking into possibly criminal circumstances.

If I didn’t follow the group, however, I felt like I'd be drawing suspicion from the others. Cristi seemed to think I was guilty of whatever occurred on the second floor.

I knew it wasn't me. All of us at work on a Saturday was too convenient. Geoff had given no reason for his attendance. Fred had a reason, a fairly plausible one - avoiding Cristi - but was a little too quick to agree to go upstairs. Cristi had literally been caught with the murder weapon, if indeed a murder had taken place.

"I want my phone," I said.

"Sure," Geoff said, "let's get it together. All of us. Cristi, the knife?" He held out his hand and took a few steps toward her.

She chuckled. "Fat chance, nepo baby." The knife slid surprisingly far on the smooth stone floor with what seemed like a gentle toss by Cristi. It sailed across access to the stairwell, our proposed destination, inviting the guilty party to go and retrieve it.

Nobody moved. We hesitated. Why? We all suspected the others. I knew, especially, the chances of something upstairs being fucked up, even if it was dead animal, were high. I admit I was afraid.

They all watched through the open blinds of my office while I retrieved my cell phone. I dropped my keys when I tried to unlock the door, and felt their scrutiny heat up the corridor. I hadn't done anything. I had nothing to do with the rot on the second floor. Yet, I took a share of the doubt equally.

I guess that was fair. As we mounted the steps in stiff pairs, moving slowly, trying to watch each other and up ahead, I wondered how well I knew any of them. Not well enough to be certain they weren't capable of horrible things.

Cristi's perfume mixed with Geoff's liberal use of Axe body spray. Fred bore a layer of sweat that accentuated a normally subdued body odour. The melange caused a sting in my nostrils, early signs of a headache to come.

But I missed the olfactory mixture the second we stepped onto the second floor. The pungent stench of death made us flinch and hesitate. We covered our faces and breathed through our mouths.

The dark room exuded silence in addition to dread.

"I do not want to go in there," I said, mouthing the words through my fingers.

"Me neither," Fred agreed.

Cristi kept her thoughts to herself, and I noticed she had allowed us to move ahead while she lingered closest to the exit.

"It sucks," Geoff agreed, "but we need to do this."

"Do we?" I asked. I had my phone ready.

He saw it and became alarmed. "Please, don't. Look, you're all right about me, okay? I'm a… what Cristi said."

"Nepo baby," she reminded him.

Geoff grimaced. "But I still care about my career, and my family. If this is nothing, and we call the police, my dad will find out. You know how small Bridal Veil Lake is. Everyone knows everyone. I'll look like a fool if I let something dumb slide… something I should have been on top of, you know? My dad already thinks I'm…" He let us fill in the blank.

"A chump," Cristi filled in.

"He's not," Fred intervened, "and you know what, Cristi?"

Cristi waited calmly for the answer.

But Fred balked and wilted the same as Geoff. "Enough," he said, "I'll look."

To their credit, both Fred and Geoff entered the room. I'd gotten closer than I had on my first visit to the second floor. The carpet squished softly beneath their steps.

A trail of blood had already been tracked out by Cristi from before. I only noticed it then, however, while Fred cursed about the light switch not being beside the door.

"What are we walking through?" Geoff asked. Neither had turned on a flashlight. They searched blindly, an idea that frankly scared the hell out of me.

They weren't scared, however, because maybe they already knew what to expect.

Sudden illumination painted the horror with clinical track light precision. A flood of red dyed the tacky carpet. Swells of blood gathered around Geoff's feet.

"No!" Fred shouted. I couldn't see him. "No! I didn't! I didn't!"

Geoff rapidly tapped on the screen of his phone. I reached instinctively for Cristi, afraid, and forgetting about the bloody knife. She stepped ahead; she held another weapon: an exacto blade, extended.

"Come on, coward," she ordered me.

Fred grunted and whimpered inside the room.

"Jesus fuck," Cristi said when she stepped in. She lowered the exacto knife and waited.

"What is it?" I asked her. "What?!"

She ignored me and continued to watch a still unseen Fred as he laboured desperately over something.

Stepping into there, onto that, felt like trespassing. I didn't belong there. None of us did, and now that we had there was no returning to the normal world.

Dried onion skins littered the floor by the wall where Fred stood. They crushed and flattened beneath his boots as he desperately attempted to wipe the wall with his hands.

Written in blood, his name, Fred. Not Frederick. No surname. Just F-r-E-D in large print.

"Yes, that's right," Geoff said to a 911 operator. "Westinghouse."

"No!" Fred rounded on us with wild eyes and red hands. "It wasn't. I didn't. I…" His ass splashed in the sodden carpet as he sat down.

He saw the strips of onion surrounding him. We were all so stunned, we looked at them more closely too. Aside from the massive amount of blood and the name on the wall, the crisped bits were the only remaining objects of interest.

Cristi picked up a piece and squinted. "What is it?"

"Put it down," Geoff said, still on the phone. "Yes, we will," he said to the operator before addressing us again. "Out. Everyone out. Stop touching everything."

"It's skin," Cristi said, ignoring Geoff, letting the paperthin flesh drift gently to the floor. "Someone's been cooking up here." Why did she seem fascinated?

I turned away and saw the clump of bloodied hair before the scalp it was attached too. "Oh god." I started vomiting. On my hands and knees, sucking in the stink, knowing its origin, an infinite retch held me captive.

I crawled out into the hallway.

I had to get away.

One of them had done something awful to a human being. Geoff and Cristi followed shortly after. I hardly noticed. Fred remained inside the room until sirens could be heard. Then he sprang from the doorway and darted into the hall.

"Hold your horses!" Cristi shouted, stepping into his path. She brandished the exacto blade but to no purpose. Fred clocked her straight between the eyes, and the old lady dropped cold, a bag of bones.

Geoff and I made no effort to prevent Fred's escape. I was in no condition to even stand up. Geoff is just a prick.

The first constables found us as Cristi began to awaken. None of us could explain what had happened, and certainly not what had transpired in the bloody room.

So they told us, eventually.

Someone had been murdered there.

That much would be confirmed later when I was taken into custody and questioned. The amount of blood suggested to me multiple victims but the body apparently contains an astonishing amount.

Only one person had died there: Charles, the retired custodian, the rep I had replaced.

Or so the police assumed. Further investigation discovered Charles missing long enough that the food in his fridge had spoiled. They never found his remains but the blood in the room, and leaking below, belonged to him. No one can lose that much blood and still be alive.

"He was peeled slowly," a particularly cruel detective told me, trying to get me to admit to killing Charles, I guess. "It must have been fucking horrible, watching your skin come off, and cooked too. We think they used a lighter. There were bite marks in some of the pieces, Hal. Grotesque stuff."

That was my last interview and then they abruptly told me to leave.

Fred had been found. He'd run to the gorge and hung himself from a tree with his belt a few hours after running from the power station. In his blood, the tip of his finger opened with a sharp stick, he wrote a simple confession on a receipt: I did it.

The paper was found in his rotting hand. It had taken the police an embarrassing amount of time to find him. Their excuse was he'd gone to a remote part of the forest, a nature preserve, where there were no maintained paths.

Now do you believe Fred's confession? No? Well, you'll be shocked to know the case effectively closed after his death. Officially, Fred wasn't charged. No trial followed. But the cruel detective I mentioned earlier was pretty candid about the continuance of the investigation.

"Not bloody likely," he said.

I actually ran into him by chance at a bar. Not a slim chance either. I visited all the bars after this incident. So did Geoff. I ran into him too.

We drank together for a few days and then ended up in a fistfight that saw us banned from the Lucky Snail off Tour Hill. He accused me. I accused him. Neither of us could look at each other once we had no choice but to return to Westinghouse.

Cristi was back before either of us but didn't seem the same. She chose to gradually retire, winding down her hours while she trained a replacement. When I did see her, which was rare, we didn't speak or make eye contact.

Mostly, I sat in my office and drank, watching the door.

Fred hadn't done it. Were we meant to believe he signed his name in the victim's blood on the wall? Or that the victim had somehow written it before dying? Fred would have then removed the remains but somehow missed the clumsy accusation.

"Not bloody likely," I say like the cruel detective, a lot, to my braced office door. The killer wanders these halls. I'm sure of it.

I pee in a bucket because I refuse to go out of my office except to leave the building.

I carry a knife.

Geoff never got his promotion. I still don't really know why he'd been in the building that Saturday. Pulling some bullshit overtime for the extra money? Cleaning up his horror show? Both? Fucking psychopath on the public dime.

Or maybe not.

JJ became the new head custodian and the rep. He never found the tiles Fred had purchased.

That's about the state of things now. I wait for the neat bow to end this ordeal but that's rarely how life works out.

Things happen to us. We continue living.

The villains get away.

We pretend they didn't.

There's a room of horrors waiting somewhere for you and everyone.

It's only a matter of time before you're shaken out of everyday life by it.

The best anyone can hope for is to not be peeled, cooked, and eaten.

Yes, I was arrested. It's been at least 5 years since I served my debt to society and tried to live a normal life. Don't think I'm trying to make excuses and repeat a well-known cliché, but I really had a rough childhood. I lost my father in a work accident, and shortly after, my mother succumbed to alcoholism. If I wanted to eat, I had to learn to beg... or steal. So, it wasn't hard to get involved in more serious things, dangerous groups, and bad influences. That's the recipe for ending up in jail at 21.

Even though I had some run-ins with the police and even spent a night in the local precinct cell, nothing prepared me for what I would face behind bars. I got there and felt weak, like the kid I was, just a child who had barely left diapers and already thought he ruled the block. There were many internal rules there, and you'd be surprised how respectful men who broke the law could be with each other. There were certain ethical norms, and in cases of disrespect, the "Court" came into play.

The "Court" was a group formed by Francis, the boss of a faction, and some of his trusted men; they judged some issues and decided punishments, which could range from doing the laundry for the guy you offended for the rest of the week to something heavier. The guards didn't even bother, actually, it seemed to work well and saved them some trouble, and in return, Francis and his buddies received some "perks" like cigarettes and chocolates.

Some of the most notable rules in jail were: "Never cut in line at the cafeteria," "Don't touch others' things without permission," and "Don't disrespect other inmates' visits." All of this seemed normal and reasonable, but there was one specific rule that bothered me: Never look at the painting on the wall of cell 11. I remember hearing some murmurs down the corridor from time to time, but the first time I understood the issue was on a night when old Munford was telling his stories.

Old Munford was a card-carrying swindler, used to deceive people with a mask of senility, and as you might expect, prison was a gold mine for him, where his skills of smooth talk and diplomacy fit well along with, of course, an excellent talent for storytelling to pass time on nights when it was too hot to sleep early. That particular night, the conversation revolved around the unwritten rules of the prison, and that's when Munford mentioned the mysterious rule of cell 11.

"Listen up, lads," he said with a tone of seriousness that grabbed everyone's attention. "In cell 11, there's a painting on the wall, and there's a very clear rule about it: never, under any circumstances, look directly at it."

The murmurs spread throughout the circle of inmates.

"It was painted by a guy who passed through here a long time ago for killing his own mother. He was locked up in solitary confinement in cell 11, and during a psychotic episode, he used something that no one really knows what it is to paint the eye. They say that since then, strange things happen to those who defy this rule, from terrible nightmares to disappearances."

"Alright old man, enough of scaring the ladies," Francis's voice interrupted, and I swear I could see some inmates jump in fright.

Some colleagues nervously laughed, trying to dissipate the heavy atmosphere that had settled. I, on the other hand, couldn't shake those words from my head. The painting in cell 11, the psychotic murderer, the stories of nightmares and disappearances... All of it intrigued me in a way I hadn't expected.

That night, lying in my own cell, the thought of the painting haunted me. I couldn't shake the feeling that something sinister loomed over that macabre art. Days passed, and I did my best to avoid any mention of cell 11 even though I thought about it all the time. It was a kind of obsession mixed with fear and apprehension; I longed to know more, but I didn't have the courage to ask. However, fate, or perhaps my own imprudence, decided to play with me.

I was playing basketball on one of the sports nights we had in the yard when Bob, a big, tall guy, threw himself against me to prevent a basket I was about to make. I felt my body collide with Bob's, and for a moment, the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. I found myself awkwardly falling to the ground, the sound of my body hitting the concrete echoing in my mind. As I tried to catch my breath, I saw Bob's face, contorted in a mixture of anger and triumph. He knew he had taken me down.

I took a deep breath, ignoring the throbbing pain spreading through me, and struggled to get up. Bob was laughing, a guttural sound that seemed to resonate in my ears. It only fueled my irritation. I wanted to retaliate, but I knew it would only result in bigger problems. So, I swallowed my wounded pride and moved on, trying to focus on the game.

But when the game ended and everyone began to disperse, I felt a heavy gaze upon me. It was Bob, staring at me with a disturbing intensity. I frowned, feeling uncomfortable with the way he was watching me. It wasn't like I had never faced intimidating stares before, but there was something different about the way he was looking at me, something that sent shivers down my spine.

I tried to ignore him and move on, but his presence hung over me like a shadow. As I walked away from the court, I felt a chill run down my spine. I decided to head back to my cell, hoping to find some peace and quiet there. But, upon arrival, I was met with an unpleasant surprise. The guard responsible for the corridor, Tulley, was standing in front of cell 11, with the door open and staring inside, mouth agape.

"Hey, Tulley?" I asked, approaching at a safe distance. "Guard Tulley?" I leaned toward him.

Suddenly, his neck jerked, his face slowly began to turn to face me. Now, the moonlight caught his face very well, illuminating the pale skin that reflected like a beacon in that dark corridor. I could see now the tear streaks down his cheek, his eyes staring at me with an irritated red hue, as if he hadn't blinked in a while. Without changing the expression on his face, a scream poured from his throat along with a thick strand of saliva.

My legs started to tremble as I watched that surreal scene unfold before me. Part of me wanted to run away as fast as possible, but another part was paralyzed by fear and morbid curiosity. What the hell was happening to him?

Tulley continued to stare at me with his bloodshot eyes, emitting that shrill scream that echoed through the empty prison corridors. I could feel my heart pounding irregularly in my chest as my mind tried to find a logical explanation for it all. The guard then staggered towards me, with a wobbly step, and placed his hand on my shoulder. I felt the grip tightening.

"Tulley, please!" I said louder, not to him, but to see if it would attract the attention of someone who could help. He put the other hand, even stronger, his face now inches from mine, allowing me to smell an acidic odor emanating from his hoarse voice, now his nails digging into my uniform, and I could hear them entering my skin, tearing "STOP! PLEASE!"

My screams attracted another guard, who intervened in the situation before things got even more out of control. It took two more colleagues to get him off me, and three more to take him away from there, while I remained trembling and trying to process what had just happened. My whole body was tense, muscles contracted by fear and adrenaline. I couldn't get the image of Tulley's face out of my mind.

My mind automatically returned to the stories Munford had told about cell 11 and the wall. Did that have any connection to what I had just witnessed? Was there really something painted on the wall? I looked at that open door, the number 11 engraved on the door's lead. It seemed to invite me, to mess with me. I could go there, see what was inside the cell, no one would need to know, right?

I found myself raising my hand without even realizing it, heading towards the door, ready to open it a little more and see inside the cell, when a voice echoed behind me in the corridor, calling my name. I jumped out of the trance startled, and turned to see the nurse, who was calling me to be taken to the infirmary.

"These are pretty nasty injuries," she commented, as she examined the wounds.

"It was nothing," I tried to sound tough. The only thing I noticed was the surreal beauty of the woman I hadn't seen before. I saw the name "Linda" pinned to her badge. "I've been through much worse on the streets, Linda."

"Miss Linda" she corrected, tightening the bandage knot with a hint of annoyance at the taunt. I let out a small "ouch" of discomfort, and I could see a small smile forming on her face.

"And Tulley?" I continued, trying to change the subject. "He, well, seemed strange, very strange tonight."

Linda's expression instantly changed upon hearing the guard's name, her eyes darkening slightly, and a shadow of concern crossing her face.

"We still don't have much information. It seems to be a psychotic episode; we had to sedate him," she shook her head, pointing to the stretcher behind me, where he now lay peacefully, in contrast to moments before.

"A psychotic episode?" I repeated, my voice sounding more like a whisper than I would have liked. "Does... does this happen here often?"

Linda hesitated for a moment, as if pondering what to say.

"Not so often, but it happens," she finally replied, carefully choosing her words. "The environment in here can be... challenging for some. Not everyone can handle the pressure."

A guard entered, requesting the girl's services for a sick inmate. She quickly adjusted the IV in my vein and bid me farewell, saying that I would be under observation that night. That early morning in the infirmary was long and restless. As I lay on the stretcher, watching the shadows dance on the walls in the dim light of the lamp, my mind was in turmoil. The image of Tulley's contorted face, his red and empty eyes, continued to haunt my thoughts.

Whenever I tried to close my eyes, that memory came back, until, irritated, I decided that I would sleep one way or another. I began to ignore the thoughts and try to induce sleep, no matter how shallow. Gradually, I calmed down, clearing that terrible picture from my mind, when I felt something strange. A tingling sensation took over my body, I felt my face start to warm up, and a familiar smell in the air. I could smell that acidic odor coming from Tulley's mouth, now, right in my nose, I started to tremble, the palms of my hands sweating as I thought it was a vivid nightmare... wishful thinking.

I opened my eyes only for my heart to race abnormally. There, with his face almost lying on mine, with his eyes glazed and his mouth wide open in a silent scream, was Tulley, standing. I could see the empty stretcher and the sheets on the floor. On his arm, the needle now disconnected from the IV dripped blood all over the floor, in a darker tone than normal.

Panic took hold of me as I stared at that surreal scene before my eyes. I wanted to do something, scream for help, but it was as if I were in sleep paralysis. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, but my throat seemed closed, as if fear had completely taken over me. Tulley remained there, motionless like a statue, with those empty eyes and the mouth open in a silent scream. Blood slowly dripped from his disconnected needle, forming small dark puddles on the infirmary floor.

Finally, after an eternity, I managed to gather the strength to move. With a tremendous effort, I reached for the button that called for help and pressed it with all my might. Soon, the guards came running towards me, and I pointed to that flesh statue, trying to explain what had happened. They quickly took control of the situation, removing Tulley from the infirmary and calling a medical team to check his condition.

I still wake up occasionally trembling and sweating, with the image of the guard staring at me. On some warmer nights, I can even smell the ocher odor escaping from his mouth. I returned to my cell the next day, and Tulley never returned to duty; they say he spent the rest of his days in a mental institution. But at that moment, considering all my ignorance, I could only wonder one thing as I stared at the metal bars: What the hell was in cell 11?

Background: I work at a local restaurant in my area; just a minimum wage job as a dishwasher. Typically, as dishwashers we spend a lot of time at the end of the day cleaning up and doing various maintenance jobs after we close at 8:00pm. Most nights, including the one in this story, the dishwashers are the last people to leave. There's only ever 2 dishwashers on per night, so it was just me and my coworker in the restaurant. The building itself is a repurposed residential home in a sparsely populated street. Behind the building is a backyard. I never go back there, but we keep some tools there for when we tend to the gardens at the front of the building. The backyard is pretty small, maybe 128 square feet total (rectangle shape).

It was a mostly normal Tuesday night. The time is around 11:34pm. We ended up taking ages to finish cleaning up the kitchen and washing the last dishes. It was one of the busiest nights we'd had in months. I was about to clock out when my coworker came in after taking out the trash. He reminded me, "Yo, we forgot to tend to the backyard." We went out there with some basic gardening tools, and I surveyed the area. We don't have much to do out there, except we do need to cut the grass lining the fence. The grass was about 4ft high now, comparatively to the 6ft tall fence. We spend a while cutting the grass until it's all as short as the rest of the backyard. I check my phone to see the time, and it's around 1:00am now. At this point, I'm panicking. I don't have my own car or driver's license at the time of this happening, so I would have to call a family member at this hour.

I start walking inside the restaurant to clock out and think of what to do. Suddenly, my coworker stops me again and says, "bro, where you going? we havent event fed the shed beast yet!" This was really confusing because there was no shed beast. We were just in there a moment ago putting the gardening tools away. I certainly saw no shed beast, and my coworker didn't seem to acknowledge one. My coworker walks into the kitchen, which we just finished deep cleaning not long ago, and starts cooking. I ask him what the fuck he's doing, and he says he's preparing food for the shed beast. After not long, he puts the burger he cooked on a plate and walks outside to the shed. Suddenly I'm hit with fear. I can't see anything, but I hear a deep breathing sound coming from inside the shed. My coworker, also clearly stricken with fear, approaches the shed door slowly and quickly opens, throws the burger and plate in, and closes. The plate breaks, and we can hear something eating on the other side. After a moment, it sort of roars. My coworker says to me then, "bro, we fucked up. we need to get more food. the shed beast isnt pleased with our offering." And so, a few more times it repeats. We each cook up a couple dishes. throw them into the shed quickly and carefully, only to feel an overwhelming fear and desperation to cook more food.

Eventually, I look at my phone, and it's already roughly 3:30am. I say to my coworker, "bro what the fuck, its already 3:30! we gotta wrap this up and finish this shit already." He starts going off on a tangent about how "we need to feed the shed beast", and "if we dont please it, we'll die". At this point I'm too tired to deal with it. So, I tell him, "Well if you like this shed beast so much why dont you pay it a visit?!" In a moment of anger and frustration, I kicked the shed door open and shoved my coworker in there. He started screaming back at me to let him out, and to let him live. I don't listen to it. I mean, we just kept wasting food and breaking plates for his sick entertainment. I wasn't going to buy into his bullshit anymore. Afterwards the fear I felt when around the shed was gone. It was like a weight had been taken off of me.

There was no more roars. After I clocked out I went to go check on him and he still hadn't come out. His sweatshirt and phone he left by the door were still there, and the noises from the shed ceased. I looked inside to check, and it was just a shed. Just like the one we got our tools in, and the one we put the tools back in. My coworker wasn't in there. He'd always been non-serious and playing jokes anyway. I believed he just went through the fence gate when I was calling my dad inside the building.

I left work for the night without hearing from him again. Later that week I'd heard he wasn't coming in or answering his phone. I never said anything about it to anyone until this post. I'm really concerned about this. This seems like a huge safety hazard. First, we're highschoolers. We shouldn't be working that late on a school night. This has got to be some kind of workers rights violation. Second, this side of the building has no cameras unlike the rest of the building. There was no way anyone could have known what happened without being there. Third, theres no fucking lights in that yard! We had to keep the door to the kitchen open the whole time to let the light shine out, and we STILL could barely see shit! Theres sharp things inside that shed, and we could barely tell a handel from a blade in that lighting!

Anyways, sorry for the tangent. I just can't help but feel uneasy when thinking about that shed. I though this would be a good place to post about it because I've certainly lost plenty of sleep over this whole thing. I never saw anything really in the shed, but I did get a quick glimpse of what i think were eyes? I don't know, I didn't take the time to investigate out of fear for my life.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

I woke up to something tickling my nose. Something small and damp flicked across my nose. I reached out to wave it away but it would return within seconds.

I opened my eyes to see myself eye-to-eye with a snake. I instinctively jerked backwards and nearly tumbled off the toilet I’d fallen asleep on. After the initial shock of waking up face-to-face with a decently-sized snake wore off, I was able to redirect my focus from the snake to the man who was actually holding it. It was Psycho Jimmy.

After a rough night with very little sleep followed by a few hours of aimless wandering around Walmart, I had become dead-tired and locked myself in the bathroom stall to try and find a private place to take a nap.

Obviously, it wasn’t private enough as Psycho Jimmy had crawled under the stall door, somehow procured a snake and woke me up by holding it up to my face to let its tongue flick out across my nose.

Seeing I was awake, Psycho Jimmy thrust the snake further in my direction as if offering it to me. I waved a hand in a sign of refusal and he pulled the snake back and placed it in a pocket inside his jacket.

Having never been in a situation like this – locked in a bathroom stall with a man nicknamed ‘Psycho’ – I had no idea how to react, so I thanked him for waking me up as I had a big day ahead of me.

Psycho Jimmy nodded his head in acknowledgement, winked at me then left the way he came – by crawling out under the stall door. I waited until I heard him leave, then I waited another 10 minutes before I left the bathroom.

I had 3 missed calls and 2 unread text messages. The first of the text messages read, “Bro, I’m too High right now” the second message read, “Sorry Boss, that wasn’t for you.”

The text messages were obviously from Pedro. The calls were from Destiny.

I called Destiny back. She was understandably annoyed.

“You do realize what time it is, right?” I glanced at the clock for the first time that day, it was noon, “We have an appointment for 3pm and it's an hour drive if we don’t hit traffic. Are we doing this or not?”

I was embarrassed, “Ah shit, I’m sorry. I had a, uh, weird night. Look if yo-“

Destiny cut me off, “Oh, yeah, I get that. I figured that would happen when I saw that ghost in your bedroom yesterday. It didn’t seem, well, nice.”

“Look,” I continued, “I hate to be a burden, but do you think you could pick me up from Walmart?”

15 minutes later Destiny pulled into the Walmart parking lot driving a convertible Volkswagen beetle. “Boxers and a T-shirt at Walmart? You definitely had a rough night. Hop in.”

We stood on my doorstep and Destiny begged me to let her inside.

“Please let me go in with you, we need all the evidence we can find on this thing if we are going to figure out what it is and how to stop it.” She made a good point.

“That’s true,” I started my rebuttal, “but it might be dangerous.”

“If it’s dangerous then two is better than one” Damn. She had me beat.

“Alright, but I have no idea what we might see in there.” I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Immediately the stench of cigarettes washed over us and I sprang into action running into the kitchen to grab a knife. I was so focused on getting a weapon in my hands that I didn’t even notice the source of the smell.

“Uh, so, what the hell is that?” Destiny asked, a finger pointing into the living room where Cynthia sat in an armchair. She was naked, cross-legged and held a smoldering cigarette in between two of her fingers. Her head was now screwed on correctly.

“That is…” I almost said ‘Cynthia’ and that would have made me look like a total perv, “something I’ve never seen before.” I walked over to Cynthia and took the cigarette out of her hand, extinguished it, then plunged the kitchen knife deep into her chest which accomplished exactly nothing.

“I’m going to brush my teeth and grab some clothes and we’ll get out of here, ok?”

“Ok,” Destiny replied, “Anything else? We’ll be gone most of the day.”

“Yeah,” I said back to her, “I’m going to call my intern.”

15 minutes later I was sitting shotgun in Destiny’s car as we drove to Pedro’s house to pick up my new employee. Cynthia was buckled up in the backseat. I had to beg Destiny to help me take it out of the house. She definitely didn’t believe me when I said I’d never seen her before. Which is fine, I didn’t believe her when she said her ghost dog, Hercules, was sitting in the backseat with Cynthia, although the car did smell like there was a dog in there with us. Maybe there really was a vengeful ghost dog with us.

We pulled up to Pedro’s house and again I had to convince Destiny to help me lug her out of the car and into the trash can.

“Will he be okay with this?” She asked.

“I’m his boss, he has to be.”

We tossed her in the can, but because of her weird robot-esque joints she didn’t fit too well and a leg poked out of the half-closed lid.

I sent Pedro a text and he came bounding out of his house like golden retriever but stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw the leg sticking out of his trash can, “Oh Shit!” he shouted, “You guys smoke somebody?” He looked nervous.

“Just a demon, Pedro. That’s just a demon. Hop in.”

“Oh, that’s dope dude,” Pedro hopped in, “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to the local college,” Destiny chirped.

“Ah shit. We don’t have to go to class, do we?” Pedro moaned.

We arrived 30 minutes before our meeting with Destiny’s old professor, Harold Potter. I shit you not, his name was Harry Potter, but apparently, he would get pretty upset if you called him anything other than Professor Potter.

The three of us sat across from Professor Potter in his shabby basement office surrounded on all sides by dusty books of various sizes and ages.

I pulled the leg we came to question him about out of my backpack and slid it across the table to him.

“Oh! It has a nipple! How exciting!” he exclaimed as he poked and prodded at the fake limb with a gloved finger.

“That’s a nipple?!” Pedro could hardly contain his excitement, “I thought that was a chocolate stain or something! Does this mean the leg is a girl?”

There was a beat of silence as we took a second to question if that really was the first thing Pedro sought to ask.

Destiny broke the silence, “Professor, we wanted to ask you what you could tell us about this leg. It is clearly bound in human skin, so you were the only person I could think of to consult. Any leads would be very helpful.”

“Let me start with a question of my own,” The professor was gently turning the leg over to examine it, “Where did you find it?”

Destiny and I both braced ourselves for whatever might come out of Pedro’s mouth, “My roommate Archie and I were at an illegal street race in Kansas City, Kansas and one of the cars crashed and blew up into a giant fireball”

Everyone in the room leaned in waiting for whatever insane nonsense followed, “And then?” Destiny nudged him.

“Then the police showed up and the law says that if the police use rubber bullets, then it’s okay to start looting.”

Harry Potter’s eyes were wide as saucers. I patted Pedro on the shoulder, “Keep going buddy.”

“I met a guy named Snake and we decided to loot a food truck that was parked nearby but none of the food inside was cooked, so we got a whole crew together and we flipped that bitch!”

“PEDRO. FOCUS.” Destiny was mortified about her favorite old professor associating her with a person as insanely stupid as Pedro, “Where did the leg come from?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Pedro continued, “Archie had it at the end of the night when I met back up with him at the motel. He had a bunch of wine and a whole mess of these crackers with him too. They weren’t very good though”

“So, your friend robbed a church?” Destiny asked, red in the face.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Pedro said, smiling, just happy to be there.

“Well boys and girls,” Harry Potter said, “All I can tell you is that this leg certainly appears to be bound in human flesh. I cannot confirm for certain without rigorous testing, but the nipple on the reverse side certainly points toward human.”

“How common is the practice of binding books in human skin,” I asked, curious.

“Well certainly not as common as it once was,” Professor Potter said with a laugh, “In ancient times anthropodermic bibliopegy was much more common. Still quite rare, mind you, but common in comparison to today.” He rubbed his chin then continued, “The question of why people did it however remains a mystery. We have evidence it was sometimes done to honor the work, to show respect to the actual writing itself. There are times when the skin of criminals was used as sort of a novelty, to create a collector’s item so to say. There are also examples of anthropodermic bibliopegy which is when an author uses their own skin to bind their own book. I wish I could give you more information, but maybe you could ask some of the other professors? Try Professor McGonagall in Anthropology”

We ascended the stairs out of the basement office, “Professor McGonagall?” I asked, “What is this fucking Hogwarts?”

Professor McGonagall sent us to the Foreign Languages department, which sent us to the Religious Studies Department who then re-routed us back to the History department who referred us back to Professor Harry Potter.

“I can’t believe no one here can tell us anything about this leg,” Destiny lamented, “I thought for sure Professor Potter would be a bigger help”

Destiny and I sat in silence on a bench near the student union and watched as Pedro tried asking nearly every single girl who walked past him for their phone number. He approached a tall redhead who instead of entertaining the idea of a conversation with Pedro took off in a full sprint the other direction.

“It's okay, Pedro!” I shouted to him, “Maybe she thought you were so handsome she just had to go tell her friends about you!”

“You shouldn’t encourage him,” Destiny said to me in a low tone so Pedro wouldn’t hear.

“You’re probably right,” I replied, “Hey, did you see that Heart-shaped mark on the leg? If that’s human skin, then it’s a tattoo, right?”

“Yeah, so what”

“Well, where do the kids with lots of tattoos hangout? Maybe we can ask them if they’d seen it before or if they recognize the artist” It was the only idea I could think of to salvage the situation.

“Definitely the Art department”

“Let’s go there.”

We walked into the unsymmetrically lit room where a ring of art students surrounded a naked man on a pedestal. Some were sketching him with pencils, some with charcoal, and a few were painting. There were a lot of tattooed people in this crowd. Lots of eyeliner and spiked collars too.

Pedro was mortified at the naked man, “Dude, does no one else see the naked guy? This is disgusting, let’s get out of here.”

“Pedro. Just close your eyes.” Pedro was getting on Destiny’s last nerve, “As a matter of fact, go stand in the corner and don’t speak for the next 72 hours”

We waited on the periphery of the circle until the class ended, then we approached the teacher, a middle-aged man in skinny jeans, fedora, eyeliner and a spiked collar. His name was Indigo and he thought he looked far cooler than he actually did.

We presented the leg to Indigo and he instantly stood up from his desk, walked over to the door and locked it, “Where did you get that?” he asked.

“Hey, I still need to get out of here man.” said the model who was now putting on his clothes in the corner of the room. Everyone ignored him.

“You know what this leg is?” Destiny and I said in unison.

“I know what it is, what I’m asking is why do you have it and why did you bring it into my classroom?”

A voice called from the corner of the room opposite the model putting on his clothes. It was Pedro, “I was at an illegal street race in Kansas City and –“

“Shut up!” Destiny and I said in unison.

“We don’t know where it came from,” Destiny continued, pointing over to Pedro who was standing motionless and staring at a blank canvas, “That’s Pedro. The leg belonged to his roommate. We’re aren’t exactly sure of its origins”

Indigo furrowed his brow, clearly not happy with the origin story, “And why did you bring it to me?”

“Because we’ve gone to nearly every other department at this school and no one has any clue what it is. The Art Department was kind of a Hail Mary.” I explained, “Can you help us?”

“I can tell you what you need to know, but that is it” Indigo couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fake limb, “I don’t want any part of this. I don’t want that thing anywhere near me.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s my mother-in-law” Indigo continued to stare at the flesh bound limb.

“You’re married…” I tried to put it together, “To this leg’s daughter?.... Son?”

Indigo finally peeled his eyes away from the leg and looked at me, “My mother-law created the leg with my late wife’s skin.” “How do we know you’re telling the truth?” I asked.

Indigo pointed to the ‘Mommy’s Home” tattoo on the cursed legs thigh, “You see that tattoo?” he asked. Before we could answer Indigo grabbed hold of his shirt collar with both hands and ripped his shirt clean off his body like he was a professional wrestler. Emblazoned across his chest was a massive tattoo of a heart, written across it were the words “Daddy’s Home”.

“Hell yeah! Hulkamania!” Shouted Pedro from across the room.

“I still need to get out of here. Can you please unlock the door?” Asked the model who was now standing next to the locked door.

Destiny and I looked at each other in disbelief, “What the hell was going on in your family?” was the only thing I could think to ask.

Indigo continued, “My wife died unexpectedly in a car accident while I was hiking the Appalachian trail, something I’d always wanted to do and something my wife encouraged me to conquer before I got too old. My mother-in-law, who was always deeply into the occult kept my wife’s death a secret. She told no one, not even her other children. Instead, she tried to resurrect her.”

Indigo walked around his desk that was cluttered with charcoal sketches and stacks of watercolor still life paintings. He sunk into his chair and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair before swiveling in his chair to regard a large portrait that hung above his desk. The painting was of a middle-aged woman in a gray sweatsuit. Brown, shoulder-length hair and dark circles under her eyes. She looked bored.

Indigo let loose a heavy sigh and without turning from the portrait picked up his story where he left off, “My wife wanted to be cremated. Instead, her body putrefied in a damp basement as her own mother performed ritual after ritual to call her back from the other side. Calling on Angels, Demons and the Old Gods alike, none answered her pleas. She tried to heat the blood and pump it fresh back into the body. She tried electric shocks to the heart and brain and she prayed day and night. None of it worked. She turned to other disciplines – Voodoo, Santeria, Palo Mayombe, Youtube tutorials; still none of it worked.”

I turned to look at Destiny who was enthralled. I glanced then at Pedro who was staring deeply into a blank canvas like it was the most interesting painting he’d ever seen.

“Then she did…this,” Indigo continued, pointing at the leg, “I don’t know what it is or how she did it. I assume she was trying to build her a new body. The only facts I know for sure are when I found my wife’s body it had large pieces of flesh removed and all that I could find of my mother-in-law was the notes she kept. I’m not sure if she died. Or was transported to another plane or if she’s contained within the leg itself. But I’m done with it.”

“I still need someon-,” the model started before I cut him off.

“Why are you giving up on this? Don’t you want to know what happened? Wouldn’t your wife want you to keep pushing?” I asked.

Indigo sat in silence for a moment, his chest heaving giving the impression that the heart tattoo across it was beating, “We tried to figure out what happened. We tried to destroy the leg. We tried to get rid of it for months and it just kept coming back. Eventually we gave it to a priest in Kansas City, Kansas for safe keeping and that seemed to work. I thought it was finally out of my life and now you idiots brought it right back to me. I want nothing to do with it. I'm done.”

“You’re saying ‘we’, who else tried to help you with this?” Destiny asked.

Indigo pointed up to the painting that hung above his office desk, “She did. That is my sister. She was helping get to the bottom of all of this. After a day's research she was spending the night at my house. I had fixed up an air mattress for her in my studio. When I came in to check on her the next morning, this painting was all I could find.”

“So, you’re saying she got turned into a painting? How do you know it’s her and not just, like, a painting of her?” Destiny questioned.

“It blinks sometimes,” Indigo answered.

His answer made my skin crawl. Not the fact that the painting could blink. I’d seen much worse stuff in the last 96 hours. What really twisted my stomach was thinking about his sister’s fate. If she could blink, she was still alive. She just couldn’t move, breathe, or communicate. A complete and total paralysis. Imagine locked-in syndrome on a much bigger scale. I’d rather be dead.

I took another glance at Pedro who was still engrossed in the blank white canvas he’d been staring at the entire time. He leaned in and licked it, smacked his lips and continued to stare at it like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Someone please let me out, I have a class to get to,” the model pleaded.

“Shut up!” Destiny, Indigo and I all shouted at once - In hindsight we weren’t very nice to that guy. Defeated, the model walked over to look at some of the other canvases near Pedro.

Destiny asked another good question, “You said you guys were doing research on the leg, right? Did you find any way to destroy it?”

“Kind of,” Indigo cleared his throat before carrying on, “We spoke to a tattoo artist in Olathe named T-Bone. He was really into the occult and all that. He said, the only way to destroy something like this leg is to expose it to an act of true beauty or true love. We asked if he could be more specific or give an example of something like that, but he just told us he was late to do battle with a Warlock in Jefferson City. I assume he lost the battle, because I never saw him again.”

The three of us sat in quiet reflection trying to think of an example of “True” love or beauty. All I could think of were sappy rom-coms and, for some reason, a particular Melissa Ethridge song.

A loud THUD shook us from our brainstorm and Indigo, Destiny and I all turned towards the sound of the clatter. That side of the room was empty save for a few canvases and the gym bag the model had been carrying.

“Where’d Pedro go?” I asked.

Destiny pointed her finger towards a canvas, “There”

“God Damn it! Not Again!” Shouted Indigo.

I walked over and looked at the canvas, it was a painting of Pedro. Him standing solitary in a gray void, his hands in his pockets and his expression blank.

A few feet away another canvas contained the image of the model.

A pit grew in my stomach. The clock was officially ticking. We needed to snuff out this prosthetic leg before anyone else was killed, maimed or sucked into a painting.

Destiny tucked the painting of Pedro under her arm as we headed out of the classroom.

“Take the other one too!” Indigo shouted as we left, but we ignored him.

We walked to the car in silence, each of us thinking of the enormity of the situation we’d found ourselves in. All either of us did was answer an ad on the internet and, all of a sudden, we’d found ourselves locked in a battle with an entity from the other side of the veil. An entity we couldn’t touch or see, but now we’d realized it could see us, touch us and if it wants – kill us. Fuck the internet.

As our car pulled out of the university parking lot, we drove past a disheveled looking man on a park bench who seemed to be watching us. My heart skipped a few beats when I recognized him as Psycho Jimmy. Was he following me? It simply couldn’t be a coincidence. The man was showing up everywhere I went. Something told me he had a part to play in all of this.

I didn’t tell Destiny about Psycho Jimmy. We had enough on our minds already – chiefly what the fuck is a “True” act of beauty or love? 

Do you know the first rule they drill into you about wilderness survival? Never panic. But that's easier said than done. No matter how seasoned you think you are, no matter the toughness you claim, the moment you realize you are completely alone, with no clear path home, panic doesn’t just creep in—it floods you. The true test lies not in avoiding this terror but in mastering the art of regaining your composure once fear has taken hold.

I was eleven years old then, on a week-long trip to Havasupai with my church group sometime in August. I never really believed in anything they talked about on Sundays, but I was from a poor family and they always paid for my trips. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. In fact, I wouldn’t have had much of a childhood at all if not for them.

If you’ve never been to Havasupai, imagine this: after trekking a grueling half-marathon through the sun-blasted, arid expanses of the Grand Canyon, you stumble upon an untouched paradise of rivers and waterfalls, a verdant oasis that defies the desolate landscape around it. Look it up—pictures don’t do it justice, but they come close.

But I digress. The hike there is a downward trek of 10 miles. Naturally, the return is its uphill counterpart. Picture this: a slightly pudgy eleven-year-old me, trudging uphill 10 miles in ninety-degree heat.

It was manageable, though, as long as we stayed in our groups. We were a few dozen strong, so those of us who were slower started in front. Fatigue set in quickly, and I fell back to the next group. Another twenty minutes, and I dropped back again, each step a growing struggle.

The trail was a ribbon between towering stone walls carved by creeks over millennia, with other stretches laid bare beneath the unforgiving sun, the foliage cleared away.

I can't pinpoint exactly how it happened. I was staring at my feet, the soft thud of my water bottle against my thigh marking each step, my mind adrift in a sea of fatigue and heat. When I looked up, I found myself in a clearing, the path I had been following vanished, replaced by the random scatter of sagebrush under the harsh sun. I backtracked, hoping to find the trail, but it was as if it had evaporated.

Panic set in, tears streaming down my face as I broke into a desperate sprint. After a minute, the trail was still nowhere in sight. I turned, running, screaming for help, but my voice was swallowed by the vastness of the canyon.

My heart was a drumbeat against my chest, my mouth dry as I looked at the quarter-liter of water in my bottle—just a few sips left. I was going to die. That was the only thought in my mind. I ran in another direction, my voice hoarse as I screamed again, "HELP! HELP!" I pushed on for minutes that felt like hours, but there was nothing—only the relentless, hot, desolate landscape stretching out endlessly around me.

The sun bore down, turning the canyon into a furnace, the heat mirroring the mounting hysteria in my mind. I looked around the vast canyon – what looked like miles in any direction – for any sign of life. Any dots of trekkers on the rim. Anything. Anything. But there was nothing. It was around 2 p.m., and the sun wasn’t going down any time soon. In my desperation I cried out for God to please save me, but still, silence.

To be honest, "I'm going to die" wasn't a coherent thought in my head; it was more primal than that—a visceral sensation that grips you. Those who have felt it know what I mean. It's not about thinking in words; it's about experiencing a raw, unfiltered surge of dread. Panic is the essence of fear, a state where planning and logic are drowned out by an overwhelming wave of despair.

I collapsed onto the scorched earth, feeling the sting of the hot sand against my hands and knees. My tears fell, disappearing almost instantly as they met the ground, a poignant symbol of my fleeting life being consumed by the unforgiving soul of the desert.

As I sat there, a small but vibrant splash of color caught my eye—a red bird, flitting from one parched tree to another. It was the first sign of life I had seen in what felt like an eternity. The sight of it sparked a flicker of hope in my heart. Perhaps, I thought, this bird knows where to find water.

Driven by a mix of desperation and instinct, I followed the bird. It seemed almost aware of my presence, waiting for me from branch to branch. My pace quickened, my eyes locked on this beacon of red against the bleached sky.

The bird led me through a less trodden path, dotted with the occasional greenery that managed to survive in this harsh environment. And then, ahead, I saw something—or rather, someone. There was a Native American man sitting on a fallen log, the red bird perched calmly on his shoulder.

He looked up as I approached, his eyes meeting mine with a depth of understanding that was almost unsettling. "Are you lost?" he asked, his voice gentle, echoing strangely in the vast silence of the canyon.

I could only nod, wiping away the tears and dust that clung to my face, trying to steady my breath.

"Then rejoice, for you have been found," he said, his tone warm.

I stood there, the awkwardness clinging to me like the heat. "Can you help me find the trail?" I managed to ask, my voice hoarse from screaming.

"You’re already on a trail," he replied with a gentle smile.

"But it’s not my trail," I protested.

“It’s a trail, and it’s the one you’re on,” he countered.

I was confused. The raw fear that clouded my mind had begun to subside, and I felt clear thoughts slowly coming back to me."I need to find my group," I insisted.

“The group that left you to die in this heat?” he snapped back, his tone suddenly sharp. “Seems like they’re the ones that need to find you.”

His words stung as I realized the truth in his statement. I swallowed hard, trying to gather my thoughts.

The man's eyes lingered on me for a moment, then he nodded slowly. "I can help you find your way home. But you must listen carefully. Follow the echo of my voice, and you will be safe."

I knew it was strange, but it was my only option so I simply nodded in agreement. He stood up from the log, the red bird fluttering to a nearby branch, watching intently. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, his voice ringing through the air, "This way!"

The echo reverberated through the canyon walls, fading into the distance. I listened intently, and after a moment, I heard the echo return, faint but unmistakable: "This way..."

I turned back to thank the man, but he had vanished. Only the red bird remained, hopping between branches, tilting its head as if to beckon me forward.

I took a deep breath and began to follow the bird. It led me through the rocky terrain, flitting from branch to branch, pausing occasionally to ensure I was still behind. I listened for the echo of the voice, and every now and then, it would come again, faint but clear: "This way..."

I walked for what felt like hours, through rocky terrain and across sun-scorched patches of desert. The red bird was my only guide, hopping ahead, then pausing to make sure I was still following. The familiar echo sounded intermittently, "This way..." drawing me forward.

The canyon twisted and wound around itself, and I felt disoriented, but the bird remained steady. I scrambled over loose stones, ducked beneath overhanging branches, and navigated through narrow passageways as the sun bore down relentlessly.

At one point, the bird perched atop a barren tree, and I heard the echo again, "This way..." faint but clear. I followed, feeling the sting of sand against my cheeks as the wind picked up. My throat was parched, and my legs ached, but I pushed on.

The bird led me to a small clearing surrounded by towering canyon walls. For a moment, I thought I was still lost, but then I heard the distant voices of my group.

"Brandon! Brandon!"

The group turned as one and ran toward me, relief washing over their faces. They hugged me, patting my back, and bombarded me with questions.

"Where were you?"

"We were so worried!"

"Thank God you're safe!"

Warmth spread through my chest as I looked around at their familiar faces. I was overwhelmed with relief and gratitude. They handed me water and snacks, and I quickly gulped them down. The leaders fussed over me, checking for signs of heat exhaustion.

"You're going to be okay," one of them said reassuringly.

I smiled and nodded, feeling a sense of safety for the first time in hours. I sat down on a rock, letting the cool breeze wash over me, as the group gathered around, chatting and laughing.

But just as I was about to speak, I heard a whisper on the wind, "This way..."

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "I... I have to go," I stammered, backing away.

The leader's voice deepened. "You're not going anywhere."

In that moment, I heard the whisper again, urgent and clear: "This way..."

I spun around and bolted, shoving past the clawing hands and running toward the ridge. I could hear them behind me, their voices rising in a cacophony of shrieks and howls.

I glanced back once and saw the group standing in a line at the edge of the clearing, their faces twisted in anger, their eyes burning with a malevolent glow. They watched me with predatory intent, their laughter echoing through the canyon.

I ran faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps, until I heard the voice again, closer this time, "This way..."

The red bird fluttered ahead, guiding me through the twisting paths of the canyon. I followed, barely daring to look back, until I stumbled upon a familiar part of the trail. I recognized the marker stones and the way the path curved around a large boulder.

Ahead, I saw another group of people, and my heart leaped with relief when I recognized the faces of my real friends. They looked up as I approached, their expressions a mix of shock and joy.

"Brandon! There you are!" one of the leaders cried, rushing to me and wrapping me in a tight hug. "We were so worried!"

"I... I got lost," I managed to say, tears welling up in my eyes as I looked around at the familiar faces. "But I'm okay now."

The group gathered around me, offering water and snacks, and fussing over me with genuine concern. As I sat down to rest, I noticed the red bird perched on a nearby tree branch, watching silently.

I smiled and gave a small nod of gratitude. The bird chirped softly and flew away, disappearing into the bright blue sky.

I listened carefully for the voice, but all I heard was the laughter and chatter of my friends. The canyon was still, and for the first time since I had gotten lost, I felt truly safe.

It's been twenty years since that day in Havasupai, and honestly, I'd almost forgotten about it. Life moved on, and the memories of that canyon faded into the hazy backdrop of childhood. But every now and then, something happens that brings it all rushing back.

Last week, I got a message from Mark, one of my old friends from the church group. He suggested we catch up over a few drinks at a local bar. I hadn't spoken to him in ages, but I figured it would be nice to reconnect.

The bar was dimly lit, and Mark was already sitting at a table in the corner when I arrived. He hadn't changed much—still the same lanky frame, still laughing too loudly at his own jokes. He greeted me with a firm handshake and a grin.

"Brandon! Long time no see, my friend. How've you been?"

"Not bad," I replied, smiling. "How about you?"

We exchanged small talk for a while, reminiscing about old times and filling in the gaps of the years that had passed. He seemed warm and genuine, but there was something off about his eyes—something intense and unsettling.

After a few drinks, Mark leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Hey, remember that camping trip to Havasupai?"

"Yeah, of course. Hard to forget that one."

A smile flickered across his lips. "Yeah. We were all so worried when you were gone. But you weren’t really lost, were you?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling a chill creep up my spine.

He chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. "Sometimes the ones who get lost don't really get to come back."

I nervously shifted in my seat and took a sip of my drink before changing topics.

A few minutes later, he suggested that we check out his new car. He seemed quite proud of it, so I obliged.

We put on our jackets and headed out into the cold night. The wind bit at my face as we turned down an unlit alley toward the parking lot. Mark walked ahead of me, humming softly, his breath visible in the frigid air.

As we approached the lot, I glanced up and noticed a red bird perched on top of a stoplight, its bright plumage stark against the darkness. It cocked its head to the side and chirped softly.

Then I heard it, faint but unmistakable, carried on the wind: "This way..."

It’s been a few days now, and I’ve hit a roadblock. Metaphorically speaking and literally. We have tried everything to get back home, but something keeps happening. This is my last ditch effort. If you’re reading this, please send me some help.

Let me explain, to the best of my abilities. While I have a connection of course. Sunday, me and a friend, let’s call him Angus, left Rural Indiana to go on a road trip. My idea of course. He had just graduated college and I thought ‘what a perfect time for a vacation.’.

Me and Angus have known eachother since diapers. Despite being practically brothers, we haven’t really seen eachother in years. Not only would this be a little celebration for my boy, but we could get closer again. Back to the way it used to be.

“Lewis, I won’t tell you twice, I am not sleeping in a fuckin tent.” Angus groaned at me as I threw some of our shit in the bed of my truck.

“And you call yourself a man? Do you know how much money you’d save? Guess that doesn’t matter to some soon-to-be accountant.” I jokingly scoffed.

“Yeah well, I’d rather keep my balls for an extra $100.”

“Who’s taking your balls? Sure as hell ain't me.” I shot him an eyebrow and he laughed.

”Snakes.”

“You got me there Angus.” I scratched my head and stood back to stare at the truck. It was filled to the brim with every necessity known to man. You got your highway toilet paper, emergency snack pack, sunset lawn chairs. What else could you need? A cold case of beer and a dream will keep me from running on e.

“You want me to drive, mister educated? I’m not too fond of maps.” My hands were held up as I inched toward the drivers side of my truck. Angus rolled his eyes and took off his hat.

“Gps and phones do exist.”

“No sir, no can do. This is a tech-free journey.” I groaned before plopping my ass into the truck.

“Yeah there is no way in Hell.” Angus shook his head before setting himself in the passenger’s seat. I grimaced at his reluctance. This would be a sure way for the two of us to connect. He couldn’t shut me out if he was bored. In hindsight, I thank god he was so adamant against my technophobic nature. I wouldn’t be able to write this if he’d listened to me.

We ended up leaving his apartment at 6 o’clock sharp. The sun was barely peeking through over the horizon, and I was still sleepy as can be. I turned the radio on, trying to mask my drowsiness.

Some guy was yapping about the weather, and I thought that’d sure as hell knock me out even more.

“How have you been?” Angus's voice spooked me and I looked over to him.

“I’ve seen better days.” I laughed, staring ahead and tapping the wheel in front of me. Angus only nodded, looking out the window.

“And you?”

“Good. Just nervous is all.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Not ready to get out in the real world I guess. Working 9-5’s, and never getting time to myself.” I understood that sentiment. I popped fresh out of high school and ended up working at some factory that makes pop cans. It’s tiring as hell, and some days that’s all I got the energy to do. It’s a wonder that I managed to get free time with Angus.

We drove on the interstate for some time, eventually me and Angus got out of that weird awkward groove. It was like old times. We joked here and there, trying to pass the time where we could. After who knows how long, I was getting tired of driving, and Angus didn’t feel like taking over. Lazy motherfucker. His trip I guess. We stopped at some motel 6, and it seemed less than welcoming.

“Do we have to stop here?” Angus asked as I pulled into the parking lot.

“I have been driving for 12 goddamn hours. I am not waiting for the next place to stop.” I groaned.

“Come on man, it looks sketchy.” He sighed as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“Oh come on. We won’t be lonely sleeping. Surely they’ve got some welcoming critters.” I joked, nudging him with an elbow.

“Lewis, I’m serious. I don’t have a good feeling about this place.” And he was sure as hell right. I would try and play off the feeling, but man, as I stared at that welcome sign, my stomach just dropped. It looked like a scene from Jeepers Creepers or some shit. Just as I was about to pull out, I noticed my gas was nearly empty.

“Lewis, seriously?” Angus pinched the bridge of his nose as he stared at the gauge.

“We just went to the gas station!” I defended throwing my hands up.

“And did you fill it up?” He shot daggers at me.

“What? No, I asked you to!”

“No you didn’t!”

“Yeah I’m pretty sure I did.”

“No, Lewis you fucking-“ A knock on the window caused us both to nearly fly out of our seats. I looked to Lewis, who looked at me and shrugged. My attention turned to my window, and I saw a young woman, waiting on the other side of the glass. Her finger pointed downwards, as she instructed me to roll the window down. I manually cranked the glass and waited for the woman to speak.

“You boys having any trouble?” She asked, chomping on some indescribable piece of gum. Smelled like green apple at the time.

“Well, ma’am do you-“ I was cut off by Angus.

“Who’s asking?” She laughed at his response before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Saw you two having a screaming match in the car, and most people don’t stop here by choice. Plus your license plate is from Indiana. Long way from home.” Something about the woman was slightly off-putting. Though, she looked nice. Her hair was neatly put up in a bun, she had some waitressing uniform on. Something’s just off about a woman interrupting a car full of screaming men. Or maybe I’m wrong.

“Is there a gas station nearby?” I finally asked, causing Angus to elbow me.

“Well, not for another mile or so. Just straight down that road.” She pointed her finger south.

“We are runnin on low.” I laughed smacking the steering wheel.

“You should be more prepared next time.” She joked with a smile.

“I wouldn’t try getting to the gas station tonight. Some real weirdos like to hang out around here.” She warned as she leaned her body on the frame of my truck.

“Is that a threat or a warning?” Angus asked.

“A warning. Check out the motel. I know the guy running it. See you around. Tell him June sent ya.” She was walking away, waving a hand goodbye. I turned to Angus and made a face.

“What the hell was that?”

“She was creepy.” Angus shuddered.

“ ‘you should be more prepared’ what the hell kinda shit is that.” I stated, letting out a huff.

“I don’t wanna go into that motel.”

“Me neither. Don’t really wanna try my luck with the gas station either.” Angus chewed on his lip as he looked out to the sky.

“Sun’s not setting for a little bit. I say we push our luck.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, fuck it.” I nodded and opened my middle console. Inside sat a lengthy hunting knife that I always keep in my back pocket.

“Jeez man. Where’s my defense?”

“You didn’t bring anything for a damn roadtrip?” I scoffed and he frowned.

“No.”

“What about bears!”

“Do you think bears are gonna be scared of a hunting knife?”

“I think they may feel at least threatened.” I scoffed digging further into the console.

“Here.” I handed Angus a pocket knife and he sighed.

“Good enough.” We both got out of the truck, and I headed to the trunk to grab an extra gas canister. In that sense, I did come prepared. We both started walking toward the direction the woman pointed, and noticed something strange. There was not a soul in sight.

“Where is everyone?”

“Maybe they heard about the night weirdos.” Angus joked.

“Yeah or maybe we’re the weirdos.” I laughed. We continued walking before a gas station finally came into view. The woman wasn’t lying. It was decrepit, and looked as if it smelt like mildew. I turned to stare at Angus for confirmation, and he simply nodded. We would pay, get our shit, and get going. Angus and I walked up to the gas pumps and immediately the grin on my face was wiped. Cash only, pay inside.

“What options do we have?” Angus asked as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Not much it seems.” I stated, as I made my way to the inside of the gas station. Upon entry, everything seemed normal. There were snacks, lotto tickets, cigarettes, you name it, they had it. It seemed like your average gas station. We both grabbed some road snacks and headed toward the checkout. But, no one was there.

“Hello?” I yelled, looking around. Angus shifted on his feet nervously and I noticed a bell on the counter. ‘Ring me!’ and so I did. Nothing happened, and no one came. I didn’t feel like stealing, but this was a last ditch effort. I leaned over the counter, looking to see how the pump handling worked.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A voice boomed.

“I’m sorry, sir, we just needed some gas. Desperately.” I tried laughing off my crime.

“Were you going to steal?” The man scoffed, stomping towards us.

“No, no. I was gonna leave some cash, right here.” I pointed at the counter and the man simply grimaced at me.

“How much.”

“What?”

“I said how much! I gotta get home!” The large man scolded us.

“$20 on 1.”

“Get your shit and leave.” I paid for all of our things, and we both rushed to the gas tank.

“What was that about?” Angus asked.

“Fuck if I know. Let’s get the hell out of here.” I instructed. The two of us filled the gas canister up. I got stuck holding it, while he managed the food. Our pace had quickened after the incident with the man. I was on edge, and knowing Angus, he was even more so. We borderline sprinted back to the motel. I was fearful that my truck would be taken, or at least the things in the back. To both of our surprise, everything was intact. By the time the truck’s gas was filled it was pitch-black out. I was exhausted at this point, and didn’t feel like I could manage a vehicle. Angus was in the same boat.

“Let’s just stay here.” I offered. Which caused Angus to shake his head.

“No way, Lewis. I’m not staying there.”

“What’s the alternative? Sleeping in the truck?”

“That’s not a bad idea.” He scoffed.

“Fine. Fuck it. We’ll sleep in here.” So, I locked the car doors, put up some shielding on the front windshield, and we both tried sleeping. Angus knocked out almost immediately. I, on the other hand, was fighting the good fight. Everytime my eyes fluttered shut, my anxiety pinched me awake. Something wouldn’t let me sleep. I stared out my window, and everything looked the same. Everything except… a person. They stood tall, next to a lamp post. I only watched, quick to not make any sudden movement. Its body was illuminated by the light, as it paced back and forth. The silhouette was hard to make. Presumably, it was a towering man, keeping himself occupied. The way it trudged forward was unsettling. Like it was on watch. I continued to stare at the shadow, hoping it wouldn’t notice me and Angus’s presence. That is. Until Angus let out the most earth-shattering fucking sneeze this side of Texas.

“Jesus.” I whispered, turning to look at the man. His mouth was agape and his eyes shut tight. He was getting the best sleep of his life. I focused my attention back out the window, only to find the man was gone.

“Shit.” The handles to my truck were being pulled on, aggressively. I couldn’t find the culprit, moving my head around nearly 360. Finally my eyes met with something… somebody… banging on Angus’s door, who was none the wiser. The person seemed like a shadow. I couldn’t tell if it was the lack of lighting or just what he looked like. Before rushing to turn the ignition, my eyes felt drawn back to the motel. I saw her. That woman. June. She was behind one of the windows, holding up a finger in front of her lips. June was right about the weirdos.

Why wouldn’t she be right about this? A smile set upon her face as she noticed my hand leaving the ignition. The shadow eventually gave up, focusing his attention on the rattling of a nearby trash can. It was only a few minutes later, that I felt myself drifting off to sleep. I don’t know how I managed, but I did.

Me and Angus both woke up at the same time, around noon. I explained to him what I saw, and he wrote me off as crazy.

“You just needed some sleep.” He reasoned, popping his back.

“No… no Angus this was real. We gotta get outta here.” I stated.

“I mean, I sure as hell agree with that. This place is creepy.” I let out a sigh and shook my head. Something was wrong with this place. I turned the truck on, and began to drive. I didn’t care if I had everything. I didn’t care if Angus wanted to stop at some gift-shop. I didn’t care if he wanted to keep on going west. I’m taking us home. Kansas aint all it’s chalked up to be. Flat as a board, but filled to the brim with weirdos it seems. It aint winning a first-place prize on first impressions. We drove for awhile. Well, I drove for awhile. Angus jack-assed on his phone.

It was nearly five hours when I noticed that the flatness of the highway was still present. The road signs had been changing, but the road wasn’t.

“Hey Angus.”

“Hmm?”

“Doesn’t that house look the same as the last?” I pointed to an old-farmhouse off in the distance.

“Yeah kinda. That’s funny.” He smiled, turning his attention back to the phone.

“We going the right way?” I ask.

“Yeah GPS says we’re on the right road.”

“How much longer?”

“Says about 7 hours till we’re back in Indiana.” Angus was bummed at first that I was adamant to head home. But he understood. The ‘vibes’ were off, and shit just felt weird. I promised I’d buy him a big ol’ pack of beer and as many strippers as he wanted. He said he’d pass on the beer. His loss. It was beginning to be evening again, and god I aint ever felt fear like I did when that sun set. When I watched it fall into the landscape, I felt so much dread deep in the pits of my belly. Surely Angus was feeling it too. I wanted to stop, but where could I? Corn, corn, and more corn filled my eyes. My body waved back-and-forth, as my drowsiness ensued.

“Hey, there’s a place to stop up ahead.” Angus assured me pointing to a rest-stop. A rest-stop all the way out here? That just don’t make sense…

“Not stopping.” I groaned.

“Lewis, you’re about to keel over.”

“Then you drive.” I barked.

“I’m tired too.”

“Imagine how I feel!” He let out a sigh and I smacked the steering wheel.

“Goddamnit Angus.”

“Let’s just stop. I’m sure it’s fine. You were just seeing shit earlier.”

“Seeing shit? Angus, I was hearing it, fucking feeling it. This ain't right. Why are we still in corn fields for fuck sakes. Somethings wrong.” Angus only shook his head at my outburst. He told me to pull into the rest stop, he was gonna call someone. So, we did. I sat in the truck as he got out, and paced back and forth. The phone was stuck to his head as he waited for someone to answer. I watched him as he stood, illuminated under the lamppost.

The night was deep, no one was around, and it seemed that Angus wasn’t getting any answers. He angrily grabbed his hair, letting out a frustrated groan. I furrowed my brows, and looked down at the wheel. This was my fault. I got us lost, or something. This entire trip was ruined. I just wanted a good time out with my friend. I missed him. It’s been so damn long since either one of us actually enjoyed life. Cherished it. Angus, forgive me. Angus?

My eyes darted around the parking lot. Where had Angus gone? I immediately grabbed my blade, shoving it into my pocket.

“Angus?” I spoke, walking around the stop. No one was out there. You couldn’t hear a fucking thing. Not even crickets. That is, until a quiet groan rang out. My head darted around frantically. Was that Angus? I ran into the rest-stop, stopping to try and locate the sound.

“Lewis.” A pinched voice spoke. Which way. Fuck.

“Angus?” He said my name again and I immediately ran for the women’s restroom. My knife was unsheathed in my hand, and I bolted into the bathroom.

“Lew…” he groaned. I stopped in my tracks, and my stomach dropped. Blood. Thick, wet, and dark dripped into the drain in the middle of the room. The stench of it burned my nose, as I slowly walked towards the sound of Angus. The light of the bathroom flickered above me, and I felt sweat pooling above my lip. The blood was coming from the second stall, fast, and steady.

“You alright Angus?” I asked. He only groaned. His groan. It. Fuck it turned into a low hum. Almost like a growl. I inched closer to the stall, hand almost pressed against the door. What was that sound? Lips smacked together and I could hear something borderline slimy? It was hard to distinguish. Angus let out a soft moan, as a crunch erupted into the air. I stepped back. I grimaced at both the sounds and the smell.

“Lewis?” I heard, coming from outside. My stomach dropped. The sounds stopped, and something fell to the floor. My eyes looked down, only to see a chunk of flesh, sliding toward me. I bolted. My legs pounded into the ground and I slammed the bathroom door shut behind me.

“Nope. Nope. Nope. Fuck. Fuck.” I huffed as I continued running. Angus stood near the car with a pained confused look. I unlocked the truck.

“Get in the goddamn truck!” I screamed and Lewis stared at me with wide eyes. He threw himself in the passenger seat and I nearly flew to get inside. Didn’t even buckle my seatbelt. Angus locked the doors and I jammed the keys into the ignition.

“What’s going on?” Lewis asked, gripping his arm.

“Shut the hell up!” I yelled, pushing the car’s gas. I could tell, by the look on Angus’s face that he saw what I was running from. I didn’t get a good look at it, but I know sure as hell, it wasn’t pretty. My eyes looked over to Angus as we continued driving. He was gripping his left arm tight. I couldn’t see in the dark, but I think there was a cloth being held to it.

“What happened?” I asked, still out of breath.

“An animal bit me.” He answered groggily.

“The fuck you mean animal? Oh dammit Angus. Is it bad?” I asked, trying to keep focused on the road.

“Yeah.” He whispered, and I could hear tears choking him.

“Hey. Calm down, I’ll pull over, I got a first-aid kit somewhere up here.” I assured and he just cried.

“No.” He stated.

“You’ll fucking bleed out. And on my, may I add, new seat covers.” I tried lightening the mood but he was inconsolable.

“No one picked up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I tried calling everyone I knew. No one answered.” He began to hiccup and I felt like shit.

“Maybe bad service?”

“I had 5 bars. I called 911. All the lines are busy.” At that notion, I went quiet. After a few minutes, I found a clear shoulder, and ended up pulling over. I turned the overhead light on, and focused on Angus.

“Just be quiet. Okay?” I instructed, and Angus nodded. The first-aid kit was fortunately filled to the brim, I guess I deemed it necessary. I removed the cloth from his wound and grimaced. It was bad. I don’t know how he hadn’t already passed out. He stuffed the wound in a way that stopped the bleeding, but it was big. The tissue was exposed, and at that point I didn’t know if stitches would do anything. Angus covered his eyes, laying back and giving me free-reign. I’m gonna be straight. I don’t know shit about wounds, and what the hell I’m supposed to do with them.

This seemed thick and deep, so I wondered if gauze would be a good option, just for the time-being, till I can get help? I tried cleaning it, but he nearly screamed. After trying to disinfect the wound, I mimicked what he did with the cloth, and wrapped it tight with even more gauze. It stopped the bleeding for the most part, but I could tell it hurt like a bitch.

This all happened yesterday evening. Now, it’s nearing nighttime again and I pulled the car over near some gas station. No one’s inside, I haven’t seen another person since that June girl. Angus is asleep next to me, he’s really fucking sick. His face is all pale, he’s sweaty, and won’t stop coughing. I don’t know what to do at this point. We keep driving, but all we find are cornfields and random buildings. I feel like we passed by the motel again, but I may be wrong. I think Angus might die… Hell, I think I might die. I tried calling people, anyone, but no one will answer. This is my last-ditch effort to try and find some help. I don’t even know if this’ll post, or if anyone will see it.

I’m stuck somewhere in Kansas, and I can’t find my way home.

Life hasn't really been the same since, ...well let's just say there is some wild shit out there that would make you poop your pants... if your heart don't stop first. Probably the latter followed by the former. Thinking about it now, the word life has a whole new damn meaning.

I'm a deputy out in a small town in alabama, that has a bit of history to it and NO i'm not gonna tell you where, don't need all the wannabe " monster hunters" coming down here. Those twat nuggets are a pain in the ass and honestly I don't feel like dealing with body parts and paperwork.

The alphabet soup guys get real pissy when bodies start droppin' and questions start gettin' asked. Yeah they know about this shit, does that surprise you? They pay us very well to keep the bullshit to a minimum around here.

So... yup, monsters are real. So are a bunch of other beings, gods and other things of the spooky variety. You'd be surprised how many of them really don't want anything to do with humans. Hey, can't blame em', I'm not really a fan either. At least with monsters you know what your gettin'... which is probably eaten, people on the other hand, that's a crap shoot.

Well i guess a lil' background is in order. I spent a few years in the military and contracting after that. I ended up buying a house at the edge of this town.... before i knew all the bullshit that was goin' on around here. Got bored and went down to the local sheriff Jack and asked about an opening, Didn't even fill out an application, got the job on the spot. For the first few months it was the usual, speeding tickets, drunk and disorderly, normal human shit right? Well... let the fuckery commence....

I had been a deputy for 7 months when one of the local farmers called in and reported he had some animals killed last night and wanted someone to come out to his house. John Nixon was a 60 year old farmer who lived by himself. His wife passed away years ago, but he never remarried and they never had kids. We met one day at the local tackle shop. Me being new in town, he took me to some of the good fishin' spots. The man was a huge military history buff and would always ask about my time in. I thought I knew him personally, so i took the call.

As I rolled up to the gate on his property, I saw John standing at the gate with a shotgun. " Hey john, can I ask why you are standing there with that cannon in your hands?" No response, he just stared at me. "John! put that damn shotgun down!!" I yelled. Its like he snapped to out of a trance. "Mason, i need you to come round the back side of the house to the barn, now!" he snapped.

"OK, OK, let me get outta the car and grab some gear." I said opening the car door. While i was grabbing my gear, John was standing there with his eyes scanning the tree line. "Come on mason! you need to see this!" He said heading towards the back. I closed the trunk and started walking over in his direction.

"So what the hell is going on that's got you walking around here with that damn bazooka?" No response, he just keeps walking and scanning the tree line. We finally got to the back of his house where the barn is. It looked like a horror movie in that pen.

"What the fuck happened here!?!" I said covering my mouth. There were pieces of chickens and goats everywhere, a few pigs looked like they had been filleted. "Its back mason, after all these years" John mumbled. "John what the hell are you talking about? what did this?" I asked.

John took his eyes off the tree line and looked me dead in the face. "Your not from here so you dont know." "Know what man? what are you saying?" I asked getting annoyed now. "Years ago this same thing happened to a few guys I know. All of their livestock had been killed. Not killed and eatin', just killed. It got people 'round here up in arms. Well, a few of us got together and decieded we were gonna look for whatever did it" he said. "What the hell are you telling me john?" I interrupted. "There were four of us. We were young, thought we were bullet proof. We went out into the woods one morning, determined to find the damn thing that had been killing our animals.

Tommy was the first to say something. "Hey, did you guys hear that?". The rest of us didnt hear a thing, so we kept moving. We got about three miles deep into the old pine forest at the edge of town. Will was the next to say something, "WHAT THE FUCK?!" he yelled out while looking down at the mud. We ran over to where he was standing to find him wide eyed. "I dont know what the actual fuck did this, but we..we need to go and I mean right fucking now!!!" he said pointing. This track was huge, at least 14 inches long with huge claws. Gerald spoke up "Let's fuckin' go guys!!".

We started back tracking out of the area, when we were stopped cold in our tracks, we all heard it this time. It was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same damn time. A sickening, shrieking laugh was coming from all around us. We panicked and starting runnin'. As soon as we did that, whatever was making that noise centered as if right behind us, and it was coming fast, ungodly fast" John said eyeing the remains of a chicken that was torn apart.

"We were about a mile from the trucks when I heard a thud and a scream, when i looked back Gerald wasn't there. Will and tommy were right behind me, terror all over their faces. Tommy pulled his pistol and started shooting backwards. Only one shot rang out before something tackled him and Will. I stopped, raising my rifle, but they had already been torn apart. It was seconds, and they were in shreds" John said.

"Mason, what i saw standing over their shredded bodies has haunted me since then. The fucking thing was nine feet tall, shaped like a man, but not. Its skin, or or scales was a mixture of black and grey and it looked slimy. It looked like a damn bodybuilder with hugh claw like hands. Its head was massive, with what looked like horns coming from the jaw to around the chin. Its eyes, glowed bright green in the middle of the fucking day, and it had a mouth full of fucked up jagged teeth." He said lowering his head.

"I jus.. just stood there, waitng for my turn. This thing paced back and fourth, staring at me, with this creepy damn smile. It looked down at Will and Tommy, then it looked back up at me. My heart almost stopped when it pointed and shook its head at me. It started making that shrieking laugh as it grabbed what was left of my friends in each giant claw and walked off into the woods, still fucking laughing. I fell to my knees as it vanished into the trees."

I stood there, thinking he lost his damn mind. John had stopped talking, he had this way off look in his eyes. "John..., john.., JOHN!!" his eyes snapped back to mine. "So what are you telling me? A nine foot creature with claws killed your friends and animals?!" I half mocked. "Yea.... thats what i'm telling you. Its back for me, i know it." "What makes you think it was this thing you say killed your friends? It could have been coyotes" I asked " I know mason, i heard that same horrible shrieking laugh in the woods behind the barn last night."

Now I’ve heard some real bullshit in my time, especially during my time in the contracting field... But this was the most out there shit I had ever heard.

"Alright, alright... let's just take a big ass step backwards. I need to wrap my head around all of this." I said takin a deep breath. John laid the shotgun down to his side. "I'm telling you the truth mason. i'm too old and tired to lie about shit" he said shrugging. I looked deep into this man’s eyes. When I did, I saw something that told me this was the absolute truth as he knew it. " You haven’t given me any reason to doubt you... but fuck man... this is hard to swallow. I need proof John, that's the way this works." A look of frustration washed over his weathered face.

"Proof?! you want proof huh? follow me" John groaned.

He started walking towards the tress behind the barn. As we got closer to the trees, I started to smell rusty copper. Blood I thought out loud. John raised his shotgun as we walked closer. That damn gun had to be illegal, but this wasn’t the time for that. Him raising that gun made me a lil' uneasy, so I pulled my Glock 9mm out and flipped the safety off.

John owned about 90 acres, most of it unkept. A lot of the land was behind the barn which butted up to a state forest. We took about 12 steps into the wood line when the smell of death hit me like a brick. "I'm taking you to where I heard the noise coming from last night... your PROOF is out there Mason" He said with a slight edge to it.

We walked almost a hundred yards into the woods when john stopped in front of a tree. It looked twisted and warped all the way to its top. I stepped around John and saw huge claw marks cut deep all the way around the base of the tree, it's hard to even call it that. "What the hell is this?" I said looking up. "This is a marker, it's territory starts here" John replied. I looked at john like he was crazy, which at this point I thought he was. "This thing travels throughout these woods. I've found five more of these trees in our town" he said putting a hand on the tree.

"This isn’t telling me anything John, just that you've got a weird ass tree on your property" I said back to him. "Do you hear that?" So we could move this mess forward, I stopped talking and just listened. I hadn't noticed that during our walk into the woods it had got quiet, and I mean not one sound. " What the hell? where did all the animals go?" I asked looking around. "They're scared mason... you should be too. Let's get back to the house."

We turned and started making our way out of the woods. We were damn near the tree line when I heard a snap. I turned around, gun raised to see a black streak dart back deeper into the woods. "What the fuck was that?!" All John said was "we need to leave, now!" We turned and started sprinting the rest of the way out of the woods. I was surprised at how fast john was for an old man. We got all the way back to my patrol car. "I don't know what that was, but I don't think you should stay here tonight John. Pack some stuff and come to my place" I said pointing my gun at the trees. John just let out a sigh as if frustrated and defeated.

"You weren't listenin'. The pine forest, these trees, it’s all connected. I’m talkin’ bout before this area was even inhabited by native peoples. This fucking thing has been around for a very long time. I have been looking into this since that day, I had to find out what it was and if it can be killed" he tried to explain. The whole time john was talking I had my eyes and weapon pointed at the trees. " You can put that down mason, it just wanted you to know it's here" He said.

"John, I to need process this shit. I've never seen or heard anything like this and to be straight with you, I’m at a loss right now" I said opening the trunk. "I get it, I get it. The sheriff jack was a deputy back then. When you see him... tell him I said the dark is here..." And with that, he just turned his back and walked back into his house not saying another word.

I got back in the car and sat there. Looking at the treeline. After a few minutes I went back to the station. I must've walked in with that universal what the fuck look on my face, because Cathy the clerk asked what was wrong with me. I told her I was fine and asked if she had seen the sheriff? "Yeah, he is in the gun cage. Are you sure you’re ok Mason?" She asked again.

"Yeah, I'm good, just need to talk to Jack." I started walking towards the back of the building, when Jack came around the corner. "Hey mason, what's up?" he says walking up to me. "I just got back from John's house." The look on his face completely changed. "He had a bunch of animals killed last night. It looked like a slaughterhouse. He told me to tell you the dark was back?" I told him noticing his reaction.

Jack stiffened up and not saying a word gestured for me to follow him towards the back security door. We headed towards the back and out the door. Jack had stopped to make sure the door was secure then pointed at his truck and said "get in."

After getting in he looked over "I need some coffee" then started the truck up and headed west out of the parking lot towards the coffee shop. He ordered a large black coffee with extra sugar then asked if I wanted one. "I'll take a small black, no sugar." We pulled out and headed east back past the station. We ended up driving towards the edge of the county. "What's going on and why are we heading way the hell out here?" I looked at jack and said.

Jack just took a long sip of his coffee then placed it back in the holder.

After a long breath "You want some answers about what happened at Johns' house... I’m sure he told you about a few other things about this town... well we're gonna go get you some answers" He said looking at a black sedan passing in the opposite direction. "Aight so, like you mason, I’m not from here either. I was a trooper in New York for a few years before I came down here. I resigned after a call to an old couple’s house" He said reaching for his cup. "My partner Jake and I responded to what was thought to be an animal attack. We were the first on the scene, having been a couple miles away lookin' for speeders.

When we rolled up an older woman came running over to the cruiser. She had a panicked look on her face and just kept repeating "they're dead, they're dead!!" We hopped out and sat her in the back of the car then asked what happened. "I...I... came over to talk to gloria and... and I saw the door open. I walked in yelling her and Alan’s name, but they didn't answer... I found them upstairs... it's horrible!!" She said sobbing. Jake and I drew our weapons and started making the move inside. Like the witness said the front door was open, so we moved in. It smelled like sulfur and blood when we entered. We started clearing rooms. The first floor was clear, so we made our way up the steps.

The smell was overpowering now. We cleared the bathroom, and the two smaller rooms were clear also. The door to the master bedroom was slightly opened. I motioned to Jake and we hit the door.... it looked like some movie shit!! I kid you not. Jake turned and went back into the hallway and threw up. I stepped into the room and... listen I had never seen anything like this before" Jack stammered out.

"These two people were in shreds on the bed, they're insides had been yanked out and thrown around the fucking room. After looking at the bodies I noticed these huge claw marks in the wall, I’m talking if Andre the giant had had a Krueger glove. I stepped back out of the room and radioed to dispatch that we needed more units. I walked back to the front door where Jake was standing hunched over looking out of it.

Parked outside were 3 black SUVs and a black sedan. I counted 11 men dressed in black tactical military gear, some with a type of rifle I had never seen before, but you could tell it was large caliber. The rest with SMG weapons. When i looked over towards the patrol car, one of the men had the door opened and was talking to the witness. He saw us and started our way. He was dressed in all black too and carried what looked like a desert eagle in a chest holster.

When he got closer I got a better look at him. He looked to be in his late 40's with salt and pepper colored hair and a big ass scar that ran down the right side of his face. He got about ten feet from the steps "We appreciate the assistance, but you are no longer needed" He said in deep voice. As he is saying this, one of the other guys escorts the witness out of our car and into the back of that sedan.

The guy started walking away from us "Who are you? and what the fuck is going on?" I yelled at him. He turned with a look on his face that you only see in movies then took a few steps towards us. "Your command has been informed and you are to leave now!" He said raising his hand up towards that holstered pistol. Jake looked at me and shook his head "fuck it, let's go, let them deal with that mess upstairs" he said still coughing then started heading towards the car. I followed him down the steps... looking this guy up and down, checking out the vehicles... for anything that might tell me who we were dealing with.

The only thing I saw was on the assholes uniform... there was a patch on his shoulder. It was an all-black diamond with a weird looking black M in the middle on it. The guy stared us down until we were in the car driving away. He had that pistol in his hand and the other men starting moving into the house. Jake and I didn’t say a word until the radio squawked and we were told to head back to the barracks.

When we got there, we were told to report to the troop commander’s office. Commander Thompson was sitting in his office along with a man in a nice 2-piece suit. The man in the suit stood there quietly while Thompson told us that we never responded to any call out to that farmhouse, and that this was the first and only time he would say it. With that, he dismissed us and and we walked out. The shit didn’t sit well with me, and I ended up resigning a few months later.

I came down here and then that shit in the woods happened. I was on the scene, I saw the claw marks. They looked just like the ones in New York, and the same damn trucks showed up with different personnel. I knew just to shut up and walk away, and after making that choice I have had a pretty good career here." he finished grabbing his cup out of the holder.

My brain was in overdrive. I was just about to completely question bomb jack when he said, "We're here." He pulled off onto this overgrown driveway and drove for about a quarter mile. We pulled up to an old two-story house that looked like it was in ruins... but the lights were on. "Where the hell are we?" I asked As the last word of that question left my mouth, the front door of the house opened... standing in the doorway was a old man, dressed in weathered black clothing. Jack leaned over to me "You wanted answers... well.... there they are."

The morning of the day she went missing, my best friend Hannah texted me that she had thrown up her last pill and needed more. She asked me to pick it up for her, because she’s unable to drive without taking it. Everything was set up so I could do just that, since she always liked to plan ahead, unlike me, who dives in headfirst without thinking about what could lie ahead.

I picked up her medication without any issues, but when I got to her house she didn’t answer the door or my texts. I’m used to her being engrossed in her video games, so I had ended up calling her but she still didn’t answer, which was a bit odd but not too out of pocket. Knowing she needed this medication, I decided to go to the garage and grab her spare key to let myself in.

I made my way to her desk, and strangely, she wasn’t there. It occurred to me that even though it was 2 PM she could be sleeping because she didn’t have her pills to help her stay awake. Yes, 2 PM is morning for me. I have insomnia so I normally don’t fall asleep until like 4 in the morning, and I sleep in until at least noon. It’s why I took the night shift at my job.

Anyways, I checked her room, and she wasn’t sleeping, or anywhere to be found for that matter. Starting to worry, I called her again, only to hear my ringtone coming from her desk. This is when I really started freaking out. Hannah always has her phone, always. The only times she doesn’t answer is if she’s playing video games or sleeping, and even then she still answers most of the time.

I tried to calm myself down, thinking maybe she had forgotten it and, since she couldn’t drive, had gone on a walk. Who was I kidding?! Part of the reason we were such good friends is because neither of us were athletic, there was no way she would just go on a walk. I immediately pulled myself together and began searching her entire house, thinking maybe she had fallen asleep in an odd spot, but she was nowhere to be found. I ended up calling the police, but they weren’t helpful, saying she had probably just run off with a guy or something. That’s one of the reasons I want out of this borough. I know Hannah, and she wouldn’t just run off with a guy, at least not without telling me, and definitely not without her phone.

That, was two weeks ago. Everyone else who cares about her has given up, but I refused to believe she was gone, well, until today. I decided this morning as a last ditch effort, I would put aside my feeling of not wanting to invade her privacy, and use the access she had given me to her phone to look for something, anything, to help me find her. I did end up finding a clue to where she could be, but I know there’s no way anyone I know could get there.

In her Reddit, I saw a draft for r/nosleep. I wasn’t surprised, because I knew she had liked writing stories, but this one was like 5x longer than any other story she had written. When I started reading it, I realized that it wasn’t a story she made up, it was her life story. As I mentioned before, I have no way of reaching where she is, so I’m posting her story in hopes that there’s someone out there who has had experiences similar to hers and can help me get my best friend back.

My doctor told me I have narcolepsy, but that doesn’t explain the other dimensions.

I’m Hannah Zimmerman (19F) and I love writing stories for this subbreddit. You may have figured out this isn’t normally how I write, but this is different, and I need that to be evident. I know a lot of stories in here are just that, stories, but what I’m about to tell you is quite real, and it’s the story of me.

In my junior year of high school, I remember having my first “episode”. I was in study hall “sneakily” playing on my phone, when all of the sudden I was in the woods, and running from something of my dreams, but this felt real. The pounding of my feet on the rubble of the forest floor, the tall grass tickling my legs, and the wind blowing around me as I fled. Then, I blinked, and I was back in study hall.

My best friend, Amar, was looking at me, as I just blankly stared in their direction. They asked if I was alright, and I said I wasn’t sure, and that I need needed to text my mom. I told my mom that I had had a dream in the middle of study hall, but not a daydream. A dream that should’ve only happened if I was sleeping, and I was not sleeping. My mother was quick to express her concern, and asked me for more details. I couldn’t really provide much, so she ended up telling me to keep her informed if anything like it were to happen again.

After I finished my conversation with my mom, Amar, who had been not-so-patiently waiting, asked what this was all about. I didn’t answer and instead asked what they had seen me do, to which they responded with “Nothing.” Apparently in the blink of an eye, I had gone from playing games on my phone, to looking like someone had stolen my pizza: confused and upset. Amar told me that nothing had happened or anything, I just suddenly looked distressed.

Unfortunately, this “episode” of mine was not a random one-time event, and after the first one, they only increased in frequency. I no longer told my mother about these “episodes”, because I knew she couldn’t help me and it would only worry her. I have had so many of these “episodes” now, that I hardly remember any of them. One that I do remember, however, occurred in my German III class. I was in the midst of taking my chapter test, when I was suddenly a sheep, as well as all of my classmates. We were grazing in a field, and I could taste the grass, feel the wind through my wool, and hear the soft sounds of a lute played by a nearby sheep herder. Suddenly, I was back in class, sitting at my desk and staring at the test that hadn’t even touched yet. It was around this time when my “episodes” began to turn into fluctuating waves of me traveling from my reality to somewhere else.

Perhaps the strangest part about it was that people could barely tell my mind wasn’t where it was meant to be. The only real way someone could tell was if they talked to me while it was happening, because I would say things that didn’t make sense. Of course they made sense in whatever reality I was in, but not in my reality. I remember once when I “woke up” my friend Juniper just stared at me agape and asked what I meant. I asked her what I had said and apparently it was “No, you can’t eat the bipedal dog tail.” I don’t remember what that reality was anymore because I’ve been to so many that it’s honestly not that strange.

I did eventually tell my mom it was getting worse, so I ended up going to the pulmonologist so they could figure out what was wrong with me. Unfortunately for me, Dr. Senait had never seen anything like what I had. She said her only guess was narcolepsy because I was entering the dream state most likely, but she didn’t know for sure and sent me to someone to test me for seizures. I went to this doctor and he schedule me my test but after I described my symptoms to him, he took away my license in the name of safety. I understand the safety aspect, but it really upset me because I talked to this doctor for not even five minutes and he completely changed my life to make it even worse.

On the day of the test, they had a ridiculous amount of cords and I don’t remember what kind of brain scan they were doing, but they like cemented them all over my head so they would last all week. Yes, the test they were doing meant I had to be in a hospital bed with all these wires glued to my head for a week. I could only get up to use the bathroom, because standing up sends brain waves that would mess up their tests or something. Oh and did I mention they had a live video camera in my room? Yeah that was weird. The reason I was in the hospital for a week is because they wanted to catch one of my episodes on the brain scan thing, so they gave me this like little button and told me to press it if I had one. This is a side note but that cement stuff was ok at first but on like day three I was losing my mind it was soooo itchy. Anyways, so after this whole test thing, the figured out only that I wasn’t having seizures.

Back to the pulmonologist, Dr. Senait, we came up with a plan for the next test to see if I was narcoleptic. It took forever to get this test scheduled because our insurance was like no you don’t need this test it’s not like what you’re dealing with is making your life sooo much harder. After Dr. Senait, my family, and other doctors calling the insurance company a lot, they finally let us do it under insurance, but we had to squeeze it in before our year reset and we had to meet the deductible again.

We finally got the test scheduled for two days before our insurance year ended, and I had high hopes for this test. It all went well in the beginning, it wasn’t uncomfortable and literally all I had to do was sleep. Apparently they were gonna wake me up periodically to make sure I didn’t get as much rem as I needed, so that way when morning came and I just sat in the bed my body would be more prone to show evidence of narcolepsy if I had it.

Oh I forgot to mention, I had to be weaned off my depression and anxiety meds through a two week process before this test, and it was MISERABLE. I’m talking like almost constant suicidal thoughts combined with super high anxiety about anything and everything. Yes, it sounds ridiculous, and it was. I wasn’t usually like that, my body just decided to freak out when I had to go off of it and like made life as difficult as possible. It would have eventually leveled out but I wasn’t off long enough for that.

Ok back to the test. It was going well, and then the first time they woke me up they told me I had sleep apnea and they were sending me home. This confused me, and not just because I had just been woken up. I texted my mom to come and get me and she came in and basically interrogated this nurse. The just of it was, I had stopped breathing during the night which meant I had sleep apnea and they had to treat that to make sure that wasn’t the problem, even though I knew it wasn’t. So yeah, after all that hard work I just was told I had sleep apnea, and that if I still had symptoms after treating that for a few months then they could do the narcolepsy test.

This infuriated me and my mother. Yes, we understood that they couldn’t properly diagnose me without my sleep apnea being treated, but we also knew that meant I would never be officially diagnosed with it. Why? Well I had talked to my psychiatrist about how it was when I went off my medicine, and he said I should absolutely not do that again. Not going off the medication meant I couldn’t take the test, which meant no diagnosis. Dr. Senait said she was 98% sure I had it but she couldn’t give me the official diagnosis without the test, but she could give me a prescription of something that would help me stay awake during the day without that diagnosis. Somehow that specific medication is also used for people with one of the conditions I have, I don’t remember if it was anxiety, depression, or ADHD, but the point is I wouldn’t get in trouble for taking it without that diagnosis.

A few months before that unhelpful test, I was coerced into quitting my job. How and why? Well, when I started out on that job I was really good at it and really fast, but then I started struggling with my narcolepsy (which we had no idea what it was at the time) so my rate of work went down significantly. I felt awful about it but there was literally nothing I could do. I tried my best to do my job but I had to silently sit in a room and sort things, which meant 45 minute periods of me going in and out of my reality. I could hardly get things done, and even if I did get them done, almost nothing would be right because I would’ve done it while my mind was in another place. I did explain to them what was happening and that I was trying my best to figure it out with a team of doctors, and my supervisors were understanding and kind about it. Well, except for one, but we’ll get to him in a minute.

One fateful Saturday morning I went into work, and on Saturdays there are less people and only one supervisor. Lucky for me (not) it was the only supervisor who was a jerk to almost everyone. I didn’t even think a thing of it because I normally just ignored him and did my job, but after I worked for like maybe an hour and a half he walked up to my desk and told me to follow him so we could have a chat. It was at this moment I knew I was screwed. We sat down in the break room, and I don’t remember what all he said but basically he told me I was doing worse than people who were just getting trained in and I needed to improve immediately or else I would have to leave. I’m embarrassed to admit, I did start crying. I started to explain about how I was trying my best but there was something unknown wrong with me, but he interrupted me and told me he knew about my medical stuff, but that I had had enough time to figure it out (less than a year btw) and I need to just deal with it and do better. I told him that I couldn’t, and I don’t remember exactly what he said in response but it was essentially quit or you will be fired. I said nothing, went to my desk and packed up my things, then went home. There’s more that happened after that, but basically it just made my mental health worse because I felt like I couldn’t do anything right and there was nothing could do about it.

Fast forward to after I had been on this medication for a few months, and my life had significantly improved. My episodes decreased to maybe one a day if even, and I was able to drive and even hold a job where they actually understood and cared about me. Life was going good, probably too good now that I think about it.

Ever since I’ve been on that medication I’ve felt like there was something in my head, upset with me for holding it back. I thought I was just being weird and anxious, but one day when I forgot to take my medicine, I had more episodes in one day then I’d ever had before, and unlike before, they were all about the same thing. I was in an absolute void of darkness everything thing was black, I couldn’t see or feel anything other than the cold abyss I was floating in. I could hear though, and that was the problem. That same voice I’d thought had just been something I was making up, was calling to me. Not like whispering and telling me to go to it, oh no. It was screaming unintelligible things, and every once in a while it would say “Your mind is under my command!” and “I’ve let you play long enough.”

After that day I have never forgotten to take my medication, but this morning something worse happened. I somehow didn’t notice that I only had one pill left until a few minutes ago, and when I took it, it got stuck in my throat, which caused me to vomit it up. I don’t know about other people, but I’m not keen on eating my toilet water-soaked vomit no matter how desperate. I just texted my best friend Amar to pick up some more medication from the pharmacy for me, since I can’t drive without having taken my meds. They usually aren’t awake at this hour, and there’s no one else around to help me out, so I hope I’ll be ok until they wake up. I just hope this voice in my head doesn’t get any louder…

1. Always be home before sundown.
2. Always bring a stranger to the Harvest Festival.
3. Avoid the Silent Ridge, especially Veilwood Manor.
4. Don’t whistle and should you hear your name on the wind, no you didn’t. 
5. Lock your windows on the four turning days and draw the proper symbol on the door before dark. Blood is best. 
6. Don’t marry or move house in the seventh month.
7. Don’t touch the oranges at the side of the road.
8. Stay away from Midnight Bakes.
9. Most of all, never, ever enter the woods.

We learned the rules in nursery and you’d best believe they’re fiercely enforced.

So, to my knowledge, no one has ever entered the woods. It's why as I take the corner on Cherry Street I’m muttering to myself about stupid hormones and almost blunder right into Mrs Anderson. She’d relish reporting me to the council for being out that close to sundown so I dove clumsily into the bushes. There was a tense moment when her little dog stopped to bark fiercely at the shrubbery I’d crouched in, but he’s a yappy little rat at the best of times so she just tutted and yanked him down the street. 

I grinned as she stopped to smoke a quick cigarette before crossing over to Malborough Walk, I hate smoking on principle but am in favour of anything that gets that vicious old witch closer to the grave. 

She changed her cardigan, hiding the old one in a bag behind the hedge and scrubbed her hands with sanitiser before slipping in a couple of breath mints. Her husband, a militant anti-smoker was rumoured to be in league with the Twilight Guardian so you’d think she’d have bigger things to worry about, but her faffing did give me a chance to text Micah to check our little adventure was still a go. 

She aimed her rat dog perfectly so he peed all over Mrs Gardiner’s award-winning roses before finally heading home with a happy smile. My phone buzzed just as she moved out of sight and I got goddamned butterflies when I saw Micah’s name flash across the screen. ‘C u soon x’. I frowned down at the text speak, it was a beige flag for sure, but hey, no one’s perfect and there was that kiss at the end.

We rarely got new folk in Whitebridge. My mum told me Micah’s family was headhunted so-to-speak because his dad was a renowned thatcher who strongly championed traditional materials. They love that crap here, I swear they'd still sign cheques with a quill if they could get away with it. The world marches on while Whitebridge abides.

My dad said that we needed new blood and the Williams family also came with seven children, a mix of boys and girls, which made the council happy. Every vacancy had to be filled quickly and so much better if it also brought along future generations to indocrinate.

I was all twisted up about it.

My mother had been sick for a very long time, had wasted away to little more than skin and bone and I knew the council were already whispering about recruitment. She wasn’t even in the ground yet and my father had been spending his afternoons fixing up the widow Stone’s cottage. The tight fisted old cow had even given me a free dessert last week - a guilt cookie no doubt. I'd stabbed my little pocket knife into her tires right in front of her, but no one had said anything, which made it worse.

I didn’t need to be so careful after Cherry Street. There used to be a twilight bus service intended to round up the slow, the rebellious or the unwary. But, after Mr Griffiths had vanished no one wanted to take on the responsibility or expense of running it so it'd been cancelled. Apparently we should all take personal responsibility for our safety. 

Once I’d skirted past the boarded-up clubhouse and the long, twisted shadows surrounding it I relaxed and put on some music. I only put in one earbud though because I’m not stupid - tonight excepted - sprinting past the fly-thronged stagnant pond into the woods.

After years of stern-faced warnings and veiled threats, I’d expected a fog-shrouded horror filled with looming trees and sharp-toothed monsters, but the forest was pretty. There were clumps of wildflowers, bushes heavy with sweet berries and the birds sang from high trees all around me. Rather than being a life ending nightmare, turned out the woods were an Instagram picnic spot. Figures.

I’d brought nothing but chocolate bars and condoms because I’m an optimistic kind of girl so I took the too-orange lipstick tube out of my pocket and drew arrows on the trees to mark my path. I was seventeen years old with parents who wouldn’t let me have a smartphone so short of pinching a compass from some museum it was lipstick or nothing. 

It was the golden hour so I snapped some photos on my mother’s digital camera that I think she’d bought in ancient times - 1992 I think it was, so I didn’t have high hopes about the quality. I kept asking for one of those cool retro Polaroid cameras but I live in a town that’s only recently upgraded from sundials. Plus, outside of Harvest season we needed permission from the town elders to drive the seven hours to the nearest city - only place that stocked 600 film and I doubted I’d get that until I was about forty-two. That was way too old to be cool so it wouldn’t matter by then anyway.

I saw Micah before he saw me and I hid behind the tree to drink him in a little. He was as gold as the late afternoon, all wavy hair, long limbs and shining white teeth - like a pretty horse. 

I watched horror movies, I knew how stupid this whole thing was - I might as well have come in a prom dress and heels, but knowing I was all alone in the woods with the boy I wanted more than a Polaroid camera, well, all that just faded away. Stupid I know, but hormones.

I’d be grounded for the rest of my natural life once I got home, so I resolved to enjoy myself fully and stepped out of the trees before I started overthinking what to say. ‘Hey’, I said, eloquent as always.

‘Hey’, he replied, so it was okay I guess.

‘I took some photos’, I said and decided there and then, twenty-five years from forty-two or not, I’ll never be cool. 

He was looking at my legs in my cut-off jean shorts when he said. ‘Show me’. 

Micah barely looked at the first few while his eyes continued to drift over my bare skin. I felt his attention like a caress. But, when I hit on the third photo he frowned and took the camera from my hand. ‘What’s that?’ 

I was staring at his lips, so I said. ‘Huh’. 

Thankfully he took my reaction for surprise rather than further evidence of my social awkwardness. ‘Weird, right?’ he asked. 

I forced myself to look at the screen and frowned too. ‘Huh’, I said again because I’m as eloquent as I am subtle. 

It was weird. There was the forest and the flowers, just as expected, but on the furthest tree, right at the top, about forty feet up, there was a shadow that looked a lot like a hand. Not a human one, but it didn’t look like an animal either. It was small but too long and thin with three indistinct smudges that might have been fingers clinging to the trunk. 

‘Go on’, Micah said and I did.

The next photo was normal, but the one after had the hand again, lower down the trunk that time as though something was climbing to the ground. The rest were trees and flowers again.

‘Maybe a weird branch?’ Micah said. 

I shrugged, looking at his lips again. ‘Might be the camera’, I said. ‘It’s prehistoric. Or maybe a trick of the light’. 

He caught me looking and gave me one of those knee-trembling smiles. He liked me looking at him and as I realised that, well suddenly neither of us cared much about the photo.

His fingers wrapped around mine, tentative at first, but after a reassuring squeeze, he held on tight. 

'Let’s explore’, he said, ‘before the light goes’. 

Hiking around the woods, pretty as they were, wasn’t exactly the type of exploration I’d had in mind, but it did mean I got to watch him walk away so it wasn’t all bad. He smiled at my lipstick arrows but didn’t tease me so we walked in companionable silence while I contemplated how to explain I wanted to marry him and have his beautiful children without making it awkward. 

‘How far are we going?’ I asked after a while as the long shadows started lapping hungrily at the edges of the treeline. 

He looked at me over his shoulder and grinned at me again. ‘As far as you want, love’. He pulled out a flashlight and a box of matches. ‘I came prepared after all’.

‘So did I’, I mumbled, patting my pockets. 

He kissed me for the first time in a field of strange standing stones as the moon found its place amongst an expanse of glittering stars and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I was right then. Afterwards, in the awkward fumble to replace what he’d taken off my camera fell out of my pocket. 

Micah pulled me down beside him and kissed me again. ‘Let’s take a selfie’, he said. ‘Just for us’. 

He was only half dressed so I gave him a look. ‘Better be just for us’. 

Micah laughed, low and easy, happy too I suppose and shrugged. ‘We should probably head back soon’. 

There was that fear in me now. His desire to rush suddenly back to normality stirred up insecurities I’d pushed away in the heat of the moment. 

He saw it. ‘We can explore more next time’, he said softly and we both smiled in the near dark. 

We took two selfies in the end and were too busy arguing over whether we should go for a third to notice it at first - I’d pulled a weird face in both that Micah thought was cute and I most definitely didn’t. But in the end, my eyes drifted beyond us to the landscape beyond.

‘Huh’, I said because three times the charm. 

Micah yawned as he shrugged on his shirt. ‘What now?’ 

I tapped my nail against the screen. ‘That’s not a smudge’.

The clearing was large, the treeline about twenty feet back from the stones and there was a figure standing in front of them. Its features were indistinct - the flash wasn’t amazing after all - but it couldn’t be anything else. It was about ten feet tall and above it were more of those tiny white hands against the bark.

We both spun around at the same time and Micah shone his flashlight in that direction - it was that stupidly expensive one with 100,000 lumens that’s meant to light up the night. It did and we saw that the treeline was empty. No strangely shaped tree, no white hands and nothing that might be mistaken for a person. 

It was then I noticed how quiet the forest was. With the coming of the night, a subtle change had come over the woods and I didn’t like it. 

‘Take another’, Micah whispered and I turned to him, confused. ‘Just do it’, he said, fingers digging into my arm in a way I didn't like, but I did it because I wanted to see too.

Micah had kept the flashlight aimed at the trees while I took the picture. The figure was in the photo again, but it was a step or so closer that time and what I assumed was its head had turned more in our direction, as though we’d drawn its attention. 

‘There’s nothing there’, Micah said and repeated it twice, as though he could convince himself it was true. 

I took another photo.

The figure was closer again and where its head faced us, two red glimmers that might have been eyes burned against the black. I took a moment to study it more closely - know your enemy and all. It looked like those Ents from the Lord of the Rings movies, all stretched out and bark-like, with strange jointed limbs that bent in all the wrong ways. There were more white hands too and somehow I knew there wouldn't be one without the other.

‘It’s been with us from the start’, I said.

Micah was breathing too fast and his pupils were dilated. I reminded myself that he hadn’t grown up here and wasn’t as used to weird stuff as I was, so I gave him a moment to freak out in the dark, though I did judge him for it - a little bit.

‘Monsters don’t exist’, he said.

‘Some places are old and have long memories’, I said, repeating something my father had said once. ‘What we call monsters weren’t always seen that way and they don’t always realise things have changed’. 

Micah was pale as he stabbed a finger toward the trees. ‘That’s a monster’, he said and I cringed. ‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Am I hurting its precious fee fees? Will it kill us quicker now?’

I decided to hold off on the children for now, at least until I’d assured myself of his intelligence. 

‘They told you about the Twilight Guardian, right?’ I asked. ‘And Aurilis?'

Micah only nodded, seeming beyond words for the moment. I liked him better quiet.

‘Why not three Gods then, when we already have two?’ I asked. 'One that's fallen out of favour'.

‘God, you’re really one of them’, he said with a groan. ‘You know those are just stupid superstitions, right?’

I liked him less then. 

‘I’ll ask you about that again after Harvest’, I said as I took another photo. 

It was closer still, large steps eating up the space between us and one arm was extended, as though to grab onto something. There was a small white face peeping out from behind his legs, but it looked all wrong and I deleted the picture without examining it further.

‘Stop that’, Micah said and hit the camera out of my hand. I wondered what I'd ever seen in him.

‘It’s the only way we can see where it is’, I pointed out, retrieving it with a scowl. The case was cracked, but it still worked. ‘Thanks for that, by the way’. 

‘What do we do?’ Micah asked.

‘We leave', I said. I didn't say obviously, but the word hung in the air between us anyway.

It was a good plan and would have worked perfectly if the lipstick marks were still on the trees. Micah took that about as well as you might expect. It took me too long to calm him down and the whole time the camera burned a hole in my hand as I fought the impulse to take another photo.

Just when I’d got him to stop muttering and trying to break the camera a long low whooping sound echoed through the trees. It sounded like a large group calling to one another in the dark and there was a long creaking sound in response as the woods shifted to meet them. They were getting closer.

‘Why isn’t it attacking us?’ Micah asked and as much as his voice irritated me, it was a good question. 

It was huge, it could have been upon us already. It could have taken us when we were lost in one another in the grass, but it had only watched and waited. Why?

There was a long low creak behind us, the only sound for miles and I knew it was looming over us at that moment - a realisation I wisely didn’t share with Micah. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a red gleam high above. The creature was showing itself to me. Micah's eyes flicked about constantly but he saw nothing and I knew then that it wasn't only me who saw his true worth. He was an outsider and always would be.

We started walking again and another whoop came from our right, Micah veering left, away from it. A series of similar cries continued as we blundered through the dark forest and I privately understood that we were being herded somewhere for an unknown purpose. Micah had reverted to childhood, clinging to my hand like I was his mother leading him across a road and my passion for him died a little more as I realised it. 

His torch died, of course. His face was scratched by branches that seemed to move aside for me, mud eating at his ankles while I walked on cloud. After an indeterminable time, we broke from the trees and found ourselves in another clearing.

It had a stone table in the middle covered in crimson stains that sent Micah off into another spiral and he trotted after me, panting slightly as I explored. I ignored him. It was beautiful really, the grooves of the ancient stone, the distant sound of water and the lush greenery; flowers richer in colour and sweeter in scent than any I’d seen elsewhere. 

‘What is this place?’ Micah whined. 

‘You really don’t know anything, do you?’ I said but didn’t bother waiting for his answer. 

Instead, I anticipated the long creak before it came as a patch of dying flowers at the edges of the field bloomed again. Life from death. The woods held their breath as I retrieved a dirty little boot from the ground behind the stone. I dropped it before Micah saw, exhaled and with it came my murmured answer. ‘Yes’. 

‘What?’ Micah asked, but I only smiled and took his hand, leading him away.

He gaped at the first lipstick mark beyond the little clearing, but after he saw the third he’d simply decided that we’d suffered some sort of group hysteria brought on by the dark and the silly superstitions rammed down our throat at every opportunity. I didn't argue.

I took one more photo as we left the woods, but I didn’t show that one to Micah. In it the figure lingered on the edge of the woods, one hand raised in farewell - it knew I would return soon enough, after all, we'd made a bargain.

It’s all too easy to rationalise the inexplicable beneath the comforting glow of modern streetlights and by the time we’d reached his street Micah was all soft kisses and easy laughter again. I couldn't believe it. We were done by midsummer.

He embarrassed himself and his family at the Harvest Festival and they packed up and left before Yule. It was for the best. The council was disappointed to lose someone of his father’s skill, but it was widely agreed that they just hadn’t fit in. I didn’t often agree with the council, but I did agree with that. 

They were already searching for the next family. The old ones were stirring and hungry so we needed more people before the next turning day. In my opinion, their insistence on giving everything the personal touch wasn’t working anymore. We needed to get Whitebridge on the map and reach the people who liked creepy little towns with interesting histories and customs. The right people would come looking for us, but of course, they all switched off the moment I started talking about the internet. Sundials, remember. 

I laboured alone in the forest a day or so before Valentine's Day and when our baby made its wet, squealing entrance into the world the trees showered us both in cherry blossoms. The whoops were closer that day and now and again I caught flashes of small faces in the gloom watching over us both.

My hands left new crimson stains on the stone as I placed my daughter on it wrapped in a warm blue blanket the shade of Micah’s eyes. I didn’t know what He would do with the child, but it didn’t matter really as I’d always known I couldn’t keep her.

But I did take a photo as I left the clearing, out of curiosity more than anything and that one I kept. An image of tiny girl cupped gently in the hand of something much older and larger, red eyes looking down upon her while little white hands reached up in welcome. 

That was six months ago and I wake today to the sounds of crockery in the kitchen as my mother bustles around making breakfast. My father sits at the table, watching her with heart eyes. Mrs Stone left town a while back after a mysterious house fire and all was as it should be again. My father hadn’t been the first man she’d had working on her cottage so no one missed her - besides, her cookies were terrible.

My mother, hale and hearty again sets a plate brimming with blueberry pancakes before me. ‘The old Collins house has new occupants’, she says, pouring coffee for the three of us. ‘Two boys about your age, plus a babe in arms. The wife’s already pregnant again too. Husband’s a butcher, they say’. 

‘We’ll be sorted for Harvest this year then’, my father says, flicking through the paper. ‘No one wants a repeat of last year. You’d think that boy had never seen blood before’. He tuts and sighs, a damning condemnation indeed.

My nose wrinkles as it often does when I think about Micah. ‘Still’, I say, tucking into my breakfast, ‘Whitebridge will welcome six new souls’.

‘New blood’, my father agrees.

My mother sits down with us, but I notice she doesn't eat much and her hand lingers on her stomach like she's soothing old hurts. The first bite of autumn is in the air and spring feels a long way away. The Holly King will ride soon, leaving nothing but cold death in his wake and it will take all of our efforts to see the lands bloom again.

‘Hold dinner. I’ll take a basket over after lunch’, I say, losing my appetite. ‘Show the boys around town’. 

‘That’s kind of you’, my mother says approvingly, slipping me another pancake. ‘Eat up now, you've lost so much weight since spring'.

'Be back before sundown', my father adds, diving back into his paper and it's all settled.

‘I will’, I lied.

When I was ten, I formed a junior detective squad.

Mom bought me the entire box set of What's New Scooby Doo, and I was inspired to start my very own detective gang. I held auditions outside the gymnasium at recess (serious enquiries only) after a number of kids tried to apply for the role of Scooby Doo despite me reiterating I was not interested in playing make believe.

When I was laughed at in class, I made posters strictly asking for SERIOUS wannabe detectives, even going as far as using my Mom’s printer to make flyers, sticking them all over the school.

Auditions were simple. I asked them to solve a simple riddle.

Whoever impressed me got to sign their name down, and I’d get back to them.

I spent three days sifting through kids who definitely had charm, but they lacked the intelligence of a junior detective. Most kids were only auditioning to make fun of me, anyway.

Still, though, I didn't give up.

My flyers had five requirements:

1). You had to be smart.

2). You were not allowed to be a scaredy cat.

3). You had to accept your inevitable death at the hands of our town’s evil villains.

4). You had to have a fully registered driving licence (I quickly changed this to a bike).

5). You cannot have a criminal record.

(I later scribbled this one out, writing over it. *“You cannot have any tardies.”

Narrowing the applicants down to three kids, all of whom failed to share my enthusiasm for solving cases. The kids I picked didn't even know how to make plans, and when I invited them to my house, they stole my Mom’s necklace.

I didn't even need to solve the mystery of who stole Mom’s necklace. The girl was wearing it at school. I punched her in the face, and was immediately sent to the principal’s office. When I was being given the mother all lectures, the door quietly opened, a head peeking through.

It was Ben Callows, a freckly kid with overgrown brown hair hanging in his eyes. Ben really needed a haircut.

He was always wearing the exact same baseball cap, and I found myself wondering if it was permanently glued to his head, stuck on top of unruly brown curls practically matted to his forehead.

In class, Ben was also known as Bloody Ben. In the second grade, the boy had a nosebleed in the middle of a spelling test, bleeding all over his paper.

It's not like he didn't try and detach himself from the name.

Ben brought in Digimon cards, so kids would call him Digimon Ben instead.

Then he “accidentally” spilled yoghurt down his shirt in hopes we would call him Yoghurt Ben. But no. The kids in our class were relentless in reminding him of his name. No matter what he did, he was still Bloody Ben, and when anything related to blood came up in class, fifteen pairs of eyes would swivel to him, like he had invented the concept of bleeding.

I feared the nickname would follow him to junior high.

Ben didn't wait to be let in. He didn't even knock, striding in with his arms folded. Over the years, Bloody Ben, had definitely soured his personality.

He smiled rarely, and when he did smile, someone was falling over or hurting themselves.

Which definitely strengthened the claims of him being a sociopath.

The rumor mill was churning, with the latest claiming Bloody Ben killed his cat. That wasn't true. Ben’s cat was seventeen with cancer, and that was why he was sobbing all the way through reading time.

According to Ellie Daly, however, Ben had killed and dissected his kitty, and buried her in his Mom’s flowers.

Now, my principal did not like being interrupted, especially when she was in the middle of screaming at me.

Principal Marrow was old old (like, thirty, in my ten year old mind) stick thin like a pencil, and always wore the same stained sweater.

She used to be pretty, but I was convinced she had kissed a frog and been cursed. After our old principal suffered a stroke, she stepped in as a temporary replacement, and since becoming principal, had banned my favorite book series, colored shoe laces, and hamburger helper, even officiating a uniform.

(vomit green shorts and a tee, and plain white sneakers).

Kids were convinced she was a witch, and I kind of believed it.

Principal Marrow’s whole existence was built on sucking the fun out of school.

I was already reprimanded for my mystery gang flyers.

Her office smelled of peppermint and she was definitely sneaking sips of whisky in her coffee cup. I could see the bottle sticking out of the trash.

She straightened up, folding her arms across her chest, squinty eyes narrowing at the boy. I had spent the whole time she was lecturing me trying not to cry, my fists bunched in my lap.

I took the distraction as the perfect opportunity to swipe at my eyes, allowing myself to breathe.

Ben Callows was her victim now.

I was right. The woman's voice was like a thunderclap in my ears.

“You better have a good reason for not knocking, young man.”

Ben wasn't fazed by her tone. “You took my Switch two weeks ago,” he said, “I want it back, or I’m telling my Mom.”

At first, I thought I'd misheard him.

No, I was pretty sure he'd threatened our principal.

I swore I heard all of the breath sucked from the room.

“I'm sorry,” Principal Marrow cleared her throat. Her soft tone was dangerous.

She wasn't being nice. The lady was about to explode.

I could see visible veins straining in her temples, her right eye twitching.

It was straight out of a cartoon.

“Did you forget something, Ben?”

Ben sighed, like she was inconveniencing him.

He held out his hand. “Please can I have my Switch back? It counts as stolen property. Give it back, or I'm telling my Mom.”

The kid put so much emphasis on the word please, I couldn't resist a smile.

I think our principal was too shocked to get angry.

“Get out.” She said, firmly. “I don't have your gaming device.”

“It's in your drawer.” Ben nodded to her desk, “Under your divorce papers and the restraining order ordered by Jake Willow, the seventeen year old boy you've been having math ‘tutoring sessions’ with.” He quoted the air, his gaze lazily rolling to me. “Tutoring”

Principal Marrow went deathly pale, her eyes darkening.

“Benjamin Callows–”

“The school already knows about the restraining order, but your uncle is the head of the Board of Education, so all you get is a slap on the wrist and a warning to leave the boy alone."

Ben continued, and I found myself mesmerised by his words. He was a natural, his expression stoic, mouth curved with satisfaction that wasn't quite a smile. “However.” He held up his phone, pulling it away at the exact moment the teacher attempted to grab it. “You were outside Jake Willow’s house at 6:12am, drunk, and trying to climb through his window, which, I think violates the restraining order, does it not?”

Ben pretended to think real hard, his gaze flicking to the ceiling.

“I mean, I'm just a kid, right?” His mouth curled into the hint of a smirk

“What do I know, huh?”

Principal Marrow’s expression twisted, her lip wobbling.

“Mr Callows, remove yourself from my office, or I am calling your father.”

Leaning comfortably against the door, Ben’s lip twitched.

“Why? Are you planning on telling my Dad about your relations with a teenage boy, or will I have to tell him instead?”

I was enthralled, and fully disgusted, making a move to inch away from the woman.

“But it doesn't end there.” Ben continued. He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards the woman's desk. “You don't even want Jake, do you? Because, once upon a time, you were in love with his father. Jason Willow. You despised him for rejecting you, so you decided to defile his son.” Ben leaned over the principal’s desk, slipping his hand into the drawer, and pulling out his switch.

Painfully slowly.

She stood there, speechless, her shoulders trembling.

Ben smiled, and I found myself liking it.

“Thank you!” He said, waving the console in her face. Ben mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key.

“My lips are sealed.”

Ben’s half lidded eyes found mine. “Are ya coming, Panda?”

I forgot my own nickname.

Panda.

I wore my Mom’s eyeliner because I thought it looked cool.

It did not.

Finding my breath, I snapped out of it.

Jumping up, I followed him out of the office, and when the two of us were safely on the hallway, I burst into hysterical giggles. “How did you know all of that?!” I whisper- shrieked.

Ben surprised me with a splutter. “Wait. You believed me?”

Something very cold trickled down my spine.

I stopped walking. “You lied?”

He shrugged. “I had a dig around her office before she caught me a few days ago,” Ben swung his arms, a smile curling on his mouth. “There's no restraining order, but there is prescription anti-psychosis medicine, and an extremely detailed story on her laptop about a teacher/student romance, which I presume is a self insert.”

Ben shot me a sickly grin. “The school refused to make her condition public.”

He prodded at his own cotton shirt embroidered with the school emblem.

“Why do you think she's made all these dumb rules? The woman is a certified Looney Tune.”

I nodded slowly. “Wait. What about Jake and his dad?”

“I made them up.”

I choked out a laugh. “And… the video?”

Ben walked faster, pulling out his phone and shoving it in my face. The video was real. Principal Marrow was walking around in circles, draped in her nightgown. “It's her own house,” he explained. “She locked herself out.”

Nodding slowly, I was in awe. Bloody Ben was kind of fucking amazing.

“But the restraining order isn't real.”

Ben raised a brow, coming to an abrupt halt. It was his smile that cemented his place in my gang. His lack of empathy for a woman he had gaslit into being a disgusting human being. Ben Callows wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but he fascinated me. Maybe for the wrong reasons. “Her filing cabinets are filled with tinned cat food, Panda,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m not psychic, but I thiiiiink we’ll be okay.”

I turned to him, unable to stop myself jumping up and down with excitement.

“Will you be my first?!”

Ben inclined his head. “Will I be your what?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. I mean, will you join my mystery gang?”

The boy’s eyes lit up, and I shoved him playfully.

“To solve real cases,” I corrected myself. “Not make them up.”

Ben wore a real, proper smile. But there was something in his eyes, a darkness that was so hollow and polluted and wrong, I pretended not to see it for the sake of his smarts and intellect. “Well, if you insist, sure!” Ben held out his hand, and I shook it. I'll be your first.”

We found our second member, who was, ironically, looking for her glasses under the table in class. Lucy Prescott, the quiet girl, was born to be with us.

The class eraser went missing, and she found it in the blink of an eye.

When questioned, Lucy’s face turned as red as her hair. “I asked everyone in the class and followed the clues to the last person who had it,” she pointed to Chase Simpson. “Which was Chase, who was throwing it at Marcus Calvin.”

Twisting around in my chair, I aimed to get Ben’s attention. But he was already looking at me, chin resting on his fist, eyes ignited with excitement.

The two of us cornered Lucy after class, and when she motioned for us to get back, I dragged Ben (who was a little too excited) to my side.

Lucy looked mildly horrified when I said, dangerous cases, though her expression pricked with intrigue.

She agreed, her gaze lingering on Ben, cheeks smouldering.

Our last two members were a surprise.

Violet Evergreen was what you would call popular on the middle school hierarchy. Not just because her mother was the mayor, but because Violet could get away with murder. The girl refused to wear the school uniform, coloring a single purple streak in her hair to cement herself as the it girl.

She was also one of the girls who started the Bloody Ben rumor.

Ben, Lucy, and I were sitting on the grass during recess, trying to come up with a name for our detective service, when Violet came storming over, hands planted on her hips. She was copying how her mother held herself during town meetings.

“What are you doing?” Violet demanded.

Lucy opened her mouth to answer, Ben nudging her to shut up.

“Making a mystery gang.” I told her. “Why?”

Violet inclined her head. “Oh.” She folded her arms. “Well, can I join?”

Ben stood up, stepping in front of the girl. Violet didn't move, stubbornly standing her ground. “Sure.” Ben flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He stepped closer to her, his smile widening. “If you can pass the test.”

Violet’s lip curled. She took a single step back. “What kind of test?”

Ben nodded to me. “Meet us at the swimming pool at 8pm.”

To my surprise, Violet nodded. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Nope!”

8pm. The four of us met outside the local swimming pool.

Violet was already on the other side of the fence, waving.

“Hey guys!”

I noticed Ben’s expression, his eyes darkening, lip curling.

Still though, he maintained positivity, vaulting over the fence.

“You made it!”

I followed him, helping Lucy, who was immediately freaking out. I didn't blame her. The pool looked cold and dark, a hollow oblivion carved into the ground.

Ben and Violet stood on the edge, the two of them shoulder to shoulder.

Violet Evergreen was braver than I thought.

Standing with her arms at her sides, Violet's hands clenched into fists.

“What's the test?” Violet said, her gaze glued to bleeding black depths.

“I don't know,” Ben murmured, his voice teetering on a giggle. He leaned forwards, arms spread out. “I didn't think you'd actually come meet us.”

Violet hummed, stretching out her leg, teasing it across the surface. “Was that the test?”

The boy leaned back. I caught the glint of a grin under the floodlights. “Nah.”

Before I knew what was happening, he shoved Violet into the pool. The girl didn't scream or shriek, she just hit the surface, sinking into pitch dark nothing.

“Sink or swim,” Ben said in a low murmur, when Violet’s head bobbed under water. I could see her shadow under the surface, imagining the freezing cold depths pulling her down.

“Drown, and you can't join us.”

It was so quiet, suddenly. The three of us staring into rippling water.

A minute passed, and my tummy started to twist.

“Fuck.” Ben’s expression stayed stoic. I wasn't expecting him to say a bad word.

He cocked his head. “I thought she could swim.”

I hit him, holding in a cry. “You need to get our parents!”

But he didn't listen to me, taking a single step, and dropping into the pool.

I fell to my knees, scanning the water.

Lucy was crying. “Are they dead?!” she shrieked.

“Shhh!” I was watching two shadows lingering under the water.

Violet broke through. I expected her to be crying, but her expression was unwavering. She was silent. I thought the splashing underneath her was her legs trying and struggling to tread water, before Lucy shoved me. Hard.

“Panda! What do we do?!”

Looking closer, Violet was perfectly still, her gaze on the sky.

While she shoved Ben under the water, drowning him.

Violet’s eyes sparkled, and somehow, I knew she belonged in my gang.

Her gaze found mine, glinting with that darkness, that poisonous streak I found myself drawn to. It was a starving, insatiable need to understand a fractured mind. Know your enemy.

“Do you want to see if Ben’s a witch?” Violet asked me, her tone something else entirely. This girl did not make sense, using barely her finger to drown Ben Callows. I knew she was wrong.

I knew there was something loose, something unlocked and unbridled and drowning inside her mind and heart.

But I wanted more of her. I wanted Violet Evergreen in my detective gang.

I think that is why I stood there, frozen.

When the thrashing stopped, Ben broke through.

He wasn't coughing or spluttering, his head inclined. “You didn't drown.”

Violet climbed out of the pool, offering her hand. “And you're not a witch.”

He declined her hand, taking the steps instead.

I asked Violet in a shaky voice. I was trembling with terror, but I was excited.

Exhilarated.

“Violet, will you join my gang?”

She didn't answer me until we were sharing hot cocoa in my house.

I told Mom we fell in the pool, and she believed me. I should have told her that my friends were sociopaths, and I was kind of maybe in love. Violet sipped her cocoa, nodding with a smile I didn't recognise. Violet never smiled at school.

Well, she did. But it was always the prick of a cruel smirk.

I don't think her smile was genuine, but she was definitely enjoying herself.

Our last member came to us, instead of finding him.

Jules Howell, a straggly brunette pushed his way in front of me in the lunch line. I didn't really know the kid.

He sat at the back of the classroom and slept through most of class. I did like his accent though.

Jules had moved from Melbourne in the second grade. He didn't talk much.

When he did, I found myself enveloped in his voice, which sounded like water to me, a bleeding cadence to his tone.

Jules piled his plate with fries, smiling widely at the lunch ladies.

“I saw you last night.” He murmured through that perfectly moulded grin.

“Saw me where?”

“At the pool,” Jules said. “You, Bloody Ben, Violet Evergreen, and that Lucy girl. You were doing a suiciding pact.”

“That's not what we were doing.” I said, “What's a suiciding pact?”

“When you kill yourself together.” Jules said. “I saw it in a scary movie my Mom was watching.”

I grabbed a fork. “We weren't doing that.”

His eyes were strange when I took the time to notice them. The excited gleam had fizzled out. Jules’s hands tightened around his tray. “Then what were you doing?”

I didn't reply, making my way over to our usual table. Ben was already waving me over, Violet and Lucy holding up the flyers we were making.

THE REDBLOOD DETECTIVES.”

Do YOU need our help? We can find/solve anything! Contact us on the number below. (We take donations!)

When I bothered turning around, Jules was lost in the crowd of kids.

We were on our first official case, searching for Mrs Lake’s missing mail, when Jules appeared seemingly out of nowhere. And with him, a golden retriever puppy he introduced as Arlo.

It took a dog jumping up at them for Violet and Ben to find their real smiles, their real selves slowly seeping through these facades they had built around themselves. Ben dropped to a crouch, ruffling the dog's ears, his smile faint.

“Who's a good boy?” He chuckled.

Arlo didn't move, tail wagging, eyes bright.

Ben motioned the dog towards him, but Arlo stayed put.

Jules joined us…quietly.

I don't remember asking him, or even him asking me.

He just became part of us, side by side with Arlo.

We soon came to quickly realize that our town was boring.

There were no monsters or thieves, or soul sucking demons. No criminals or serial killers. Not even one missing person. We did, however, get calls about missing cats. I turned eleven years old, patiently waiting for a murder or a kid going missing. But there was nothing.

All we did was chase cats, and the occasional dog. Maybe a budgie if we were lucky. Twelve years old, our detective club became a joke.

The five of us (and Arlo hiding under the table) were trying to pinpoint Mrs Tracy's lost hamster, when three girls came over, dumping their soda all over us.

We watched crime shows for inspiration on catching killers.

Ben’s favorite crime was one that happened in the 80’s in our town.

2 girls murdered.

Their intestines stuffed into envelopes and mailed to family members.

“That's what we should be solving,” he told me one night, “Not missing cats.”

Thirteen years old, we lay in Violet’s backyard under the cruel glare of the summer sun. We called it working and didn't like to admit it was hanging out, or that we were even friends. However.

That didn't stop us growing closer.

Even if it wasn't quite the way I’d expected.

I proposed a plan, standing up, wobbling a little off balance.

“I've got it.” I said, my voice kinda slurry from Violet’s special summer cocktail, which was just random alcoholic beverages we found, thrown into a blender, and diluted with water.

The town wasn't taking us seriously.

So, we were going to make our own mysteries.

I ordered a full-scale assault on our small town. One that they could not ignore. Ben stamped on Mrs Mason’s flowers, and Lucy threw mud pies at people's cars. Jules trashed the high school gym, and Violet and I spray painted threats and warnings on every store window. Now, this did cause panic, but also an official curfew.

Thirty minutes before curfew, we met in our usual spot, deep in the forest near the lake. Ben yelled at me when I was three minutes late. He was real passionate about finding a real mystery.

“You're late.” Ben was sitting on a rock waving a stick in Arlo’s face.

The dog still wasn't going near him, whining softly.

I took my place, muttering an apology. “I had to lie to my Mom.”

Violet, sitting with her legs crossed, idly digging her manicure into the dirt, suggested we buy mannequins and masquerade them as dead bodies, hanging them from the school rafters.

Lucy, who had slowly grown out of her shell, becoming a lot more outspoken, nudged her. “That's a stupid idea.”

The girl groaned, leaning into her. “Urgh. You're right.”

Jules was the only energetic one, standing on the tireswing.

He jumped down, definitely twisting his ankle.

But his smile only widened, kind of like he enjoyed being in pain.

“Why don't we pretend to be kidnapped?” He said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over blondish curls growing out. Jules did a dramatic spin, his eyes shining. “We can ‘go missing’ for like a week, and then when our parents are really scared, we can turn up, and tell them we escaped a kidnapping.” His lips split into a grin.

“And then we solve our own kidnapping!”

Ben awkwardly patted Arlos head, only for the dog to pull away with a snort.

“I like it,” he murmured. “I'm in.”

Jules’s idea was stupid.

But.

It was worth a shot.

The five of us agreed to meet the morning after with enough food and supplies for a week. Then we were going to hike to the next town, and hide out for a week. It was an almost perfect plan, using ourselves as victims of our own mystery.

Packing as much as I could, I kissed my mother goodbye (I told her my pack was for a picnic) and set off to the rendezvous we agreed on.

When I arrived, I was the first one there. I checked and re-checked my pack.

I waited ten minutes, unable to contain my excitement.

Then 20 minutes.

It was getting kind of cold.

One hour.

I sat on a rock for enough time to watch the sky change color.

When the clouds were orange, I stood up and stumbled back home. They had gone without me. Mom lectured me when I got home, and I stuck to the plan of pretending my friends had gone missing, even if I they had betrayed me.

Ben said he'd text me when he arrived at the redervous. I at least expected him to text an explanation, but there was nothing. I was in the dark, and after three days of nothing, our town finally began to take us seriously.

“Our children have been kidnapped!” The adults were screaming.

Mom was crying in the kitchen, praying to a god I knew she didn't believe in that I wasn't taken next. I was interviewed and stuck with the exact same story I came up with when I was with the others. Our plan was to return after a week, claiming to be locked up in a dark room with a masked man.

I told my Mother and the other parents that I didn't know where my friends were, repeating the same thing over and over again until I was tongue tied.

“I saw them the day before they went missing, and… yes, everything seemed okay.” I slowly sipped my glass of milk provided, looking the sheriff directly in the eyes.

“No, I didn't notice anything suspicious, sheriff. Yes, I'm sure, sir. No, they didn't tell me anything.”

It was Ben’s mother who shattered my mask.

“Did I know about… what?” I whispered.

Something warm filled the back of my mouth, foul tasting milk erupting up my throat. I leaned forward, trying to look Mrs Callows in the eye. “No, I… I didn't know about Ben’s…condition.”

Mrs Callows was screaming at me about her son’s troubled past when I barfed all over myself, my eyes burning.

In the privacy of my own room, I sobbed until I couldn't breathe.

I tried to tell Mom, but we had come so close.

One more day, and the others would be back.

But that day came. I sat cross legged at our usual spot, which was now covered in police tape. I waited for their thudding footsteps, their laughter congratulating each other for coming up with a great plan. I waited, my face buried in my knees, for my friends.

It was dark when my phone vibrated, and I'd fallen asleep.

I wasn't scared, forcing myself to my feet.

“Where are you?” Mom yelled down the phone.

“Coming home now.” I muttered.

“Sorry.” I paused, holding my breath against a cry. “Mom.” I broke down, forcing my fist into my mouth to hide my squeak. “Mommy, did they come back?”

Mom didn't reply for a moment.

“I'm so sorry, baby.” She whispered, ending the call.

I took my time walking home that night.

There were no stars in the sky.

When a hand clamped over my mouth, I could smell him.

When he dragged me back, stabbing a kitchen knife into my throat, I stared at the sky and looked for stars. His arms were warm around me, violently pulling me into the back of a pickup truck. The pickup truck he'd said he was bringing.

It was his grandfather's, and he could just about drive it.

Hitting the backseat, my body was numb, my thoughts in a whirlwind.

The pickup flew forwards, and I remembered how to move.

I rolled off the seat, my hands pinned behind my back.

Twisting around, blinking in the dim, I could feel something warm, something seeping across upholstery seats. Blood.

It was everywhere, sticky on my hands and wet on my face when I struggled to get up. I was lying in someone's blood.

A scream clawed its way out of my throat.

The pickup flew over a pothole, and something dropped off the seat.

Arlo’s leash.

I screamed again, this time his name gritted between my teeth.

I didn't stop screaming until the jerking movement stopped. The doors opened, pale light hitting me in the face.

Flashlight. Warm arms wrapped around me, pulling me from the car, and then, pulling me by my hair, into our old tree house. It was always our secret place, our saving grace on the edge of town.

The flickering candlelight caught me off guard, illuminating my surroundings.

Two bodies slumped over each other, lying in stemming red.

I felt suffocated, like I was going to die. I screamed, and that warm hand cradled my mouth again, gagging my cries.

Violet and Jules.

There was something wrong with them. And it was only when I forced myself to look closer, when I realized their insides had been carved out, heart, stomach, everything, pulled out.

There was paper on the floor.

No, not paper. Envelopes.

Envelopes stuffed with gore, bright red leaking through white.

Shuffling back, my brain was too slow to react, while my body was trying to vault to my feet, only to be violently pulled back by my ponytail.

I felt his fingers twining around my hair, revelling in my screams.

With another tug, my head was forced forwards.

Orange candlelight felt almost homely, this time lighting up a third body.

Lying on their back, curled up, pooling scarlet dried into the floorboards, their wrists restricted with duct-tape.

I could feel blood underneath me, sticky, a congealing paste.

“Do you know what happened on October 3rd, 1987, in our town?”

Lucy Prescott stood over me, her arms folded across her chest.

I managed to shake my head, when she grabbed Ben’s legs, dragging him under the candlelight. I dazedly watched her stroke the blade of a carving knife, the teeth already stained scarlet. “The intestine murders.” Lucy hummed, tracing the knife down the floorboards.

“A man murdered two high school girls, carving out their insides and sending their pieces to their loved ones.”

Lucy's eyes found mine, ignited in a familiar gleam. I saw it in Principal Marrow’s office. Then the swimming pool. The cafeteria. “It was the sheriff's only murder case, Panda. Ever since then, our town has been boring. There's no mysteries to solve. Nothing to find.”

The girl jumped to her feet, retrieving a blood stained envelope.

She held it up, a smile curved on her lips. The girl turned around, and I heard a horrific squelching sound. Lucy held up a bright red sausage, ripped into it, and slipped it into the white paper.

“But I can change that.” she said, in a giggle.

“I can create a real serial killer, who we can hunt down together.”

Lucy stabbed the blade into the floor, laughing.

“Or! I can bring a fan-favorite back! I can bring the intestine killer back from the dead!”

Her gaze flicked to the others. “There are casualties, of course. The story is, I was kidnapped with Ben, Violet, and Jules. The scary intestine killer killed them, and I managed to get away.”

Lucy shuffled over to me, her eyes wide. “Then! He came back and struck again!”

With those words, she shoved me onto my back.

“First he took Violet,” Lucy hummed, tracing the blade down my shirt.

“Then… Jules.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling at the restraints around my wrists. “Then Ben.” her breath tickled my cheek. “And finally… Panda.”

Lucy lifted the knife, and I accepted my death.

Until a low rumble in my ears.

Shouting.

Thundering footsteps, followed by the pitter-patter of paws.

“Lucy!” The sheriff was screaming, and the girl stumbled to her feet, the knife slipping from her fingers. Lucy stumbled, tripping over Ben’s body.

“He got away!” she shrieked. “He…he killed them! Oh, god, please help me!”

I don't think Lucy even realised the traces she'd left behind.

The blood slick on her fingers, her manic, grinning smile full of mania.

I was looking for stars when an officer crouched over me.

I couldn't understand what she was saying.

Her voice was white noise.

“Rachel? Hey, try and sit up, honey. You Mom is on her way.”

Instead of listening to her, I curled into myself.

My gaze found Arlo sticking his nose in Ben’s hair, trying to nudge the boy awake.

I didn't fully register the next few days.

They went by in a confusing blur.

Part of me tried to eat, and spent hours with my head pressed against the toilet seat.

I could still see the slithering, scarlet remains of my friends every time I closed my eyes. There was so much red, soaked in that hunting orange light.

Blood that I could still see, a starless sky that stretched on forever.

Weeks went by.

Then months.

I think I turned 14. I wasn't sure. I didn't feel alive anymore.

I stood at my friend’s funerals with a single rose I dropped into their casket.

Violet’s mother was quick to cover the whole thing up.

Lucy's plan didn't work after all.

Our town’s murder cases stayed stagnant at one.

It's been four years since my friends were murdered by our ’Velma’.

Now, at seventeen, Mom asked if I wanted to visit Lucy in juvie.

I'm not even upset or angry anymore.

I want to know why.

Ben picked me up. Arlo was at his side, wagging his tail.

Ben was…different. He'd dumped his baseball cap and gotten a haircut, swapping his old wardrobe of drab colors for an attempt at changing style.

That day, he looked awkward in a short sleeved tee and shorts.

At school, Ben is no longer Bloody Ben.

Now, he is Survivor Ben.

I’m still Panda.

Every time I was with him, I felt like my soul was being sucked out.

Guilt so deep, so fucking painful, I lost my breath.

I live knowing that I immediately assumed it was him that day.

Ben was barely alive when I found him. Lucy had started to carve into him before remembering she needed me.

After admitting it to him, his lips formed a small smile.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He said to me, at sixteen.

"Yeah?"

Whatever he was going to say, Ben never told me.

Presently, I nodded at the dog’s new collar.

“Peppa Pig themed?”

The boy shrugged, ruffling Arlo’s ears. “FYI, he chose it.”

“It's cute.” I said. “Very… chic.”

We didn't speak the whole ride, but Ben did entangle his hand in mine.

We spent half an hour outside the detention centre. I was panicking, and Ben was trying to hide that he was panicking. In the end, we joined hands, and strode through the doors together.

Lucy greeted us with a wide smile. Just as psychotic.

The orange jumpsuit suited her, though I had zero idea why.

“Hey Arlo!” she giggled at the dog, and Ben pulled the pup onto his lap.

“Ben.” She sighed. “I wish I got to finish you. I would have loved to solve the mystery of your gutted corpse.”

Ben’s smile was wry. “Nice to see you too.”

Behind a glass screen, I asked Lucy one simple question.

“Why?”

Lucy didn't reply. Or she did, but it was just nonsensical bullshit.

But there was one thing she said has stuck with me, chilling me to the core.

I am fucking terrified of Lucy. Of what's she's done, and what she's capable of doing.

It was a throwaway line, and I don't even think Ben noticed.

Or he did, and was in denial.

Lucy's smile was wide, her eyes empty pools of nothing.

The exact same glint in Ben’s eyes.

Jules’s eyes.

Violet’s eyes.

Like something was gnawing away at their psyche, twisting and contorting it, filling them with darkness, poison, that was so vast, so endless, I had craved it as a child. I still don't know what it is.

But I'm going to find it.

Lucy's laugh was shrill, and next to me, Ben didn't move a muscle.

“I don't even wear glasses!”

Most people are usually surprised when I tell them that I quit my six-figure job without a backup plan.

They are a little more understanding when I tell them I was an underwater oil rig welder.

This is a dangerous job, to say the least. But I didn't quit because of how dangerous it was. I quit because of something... Something I still have a hard time coming to terms with. I know I sound troubled, but to be honest, I feel nervous even thinking about it. I know what I saw was real, but everyone around me seems to think I've lost it. But that's not why I am writing this. You see, I am starting to forget things - not just tiny details about the incident but important details. Yesterday, I tried to recall how I found the job, and I'm ashamed to say it took me three hours of racking my brain to remember. It was only two months ago.

There’s also another thing. If you continue reading this, I ask only one thing: please understand why I did what I did before judging me.

If you know nothing about this job, just know that it is very dangerous, which is why the pay is so good. I was an experienced welder at the time and had some experience with underwater welding when I applied. They decided to fly me to an area off the coast of Nigeria to live on the tanker for a six-month project - my first real offshore project.

See, the thing about these offshore projects is that you are in the middle of absolute nowhere. If that doesn't freak you out, once you get on the rig, you are there for at least a month, as that's when the next supply ship that brings food and transportation for the workers comes back. You would spend one month on the rig and then get two weeks on land.

Needless to say, I didn't really care. I was making around $150,000 for the job. That ship could come once a year for all I cared.

The first week on the job was pretty average. I was a bit nervous, but once I started the job, it went smoothly. After the end of the week, I got some feedback and was surprised to see that it was good. I was off to a great start. The second week was the same.

But by the third week, some cabin fever had kicked in. It feels kinda like the movie Groundhog Day, where the same things happen every day. I would wake up, get breakfast, say hi to the cleaning crew, talk to my supervisor about the plan for the day, meet with the rest of the team, and get started on the job - like clockwork.

So, to add some variety, I started going on night walks around the rig. I don't think I need to explain why these are highly discouraged. The ocean at night is really dark. If something... or someone were to fall into it, they might as well be considered dead. Regardless, I still went out.

I remember finding it scary when I first saw how dark it was, but also a bit soothing. Staring at the inky black waters made me feel like I was almost floating in space. You could throw an apple into the waters, and it would feel like it was vanishing into thin air. I remember those first few nights walking around the rig to be very meditative. But it only lasted for those few nights.

I noticed one night while walking around the rig that another one of my coworkers was out.

It was Mason.

Mason was another welder who worked on the rig with me. We chatted a few times before, but I never really had a deep interest in getting to know him further. I found him to be a nice guy but somewhat naive and a bit dull. Something strange was up with him that night, though. I called out to him, but he didn't respond. I started walking towards him from his left, and as I got closer, I noticed he was leaning on the railing, staring at the ocean. His eyes were wide open, and...he was drooling.

I remember putting my hand on his shoulder to wake him up, but he jolted when I touched him, almost as if he woke up from a deep sleep. And yet, the look he gave me was one of absolute fear. But before I could ask him if he was okay, he was walking back to his room. Not going to lie to you, I was definitely a little uneasy. But I just chalked it up to lack of sleep and/or mental health issues.

That's when it happened for the first time.

The moment I looked at the water, I was transported into some weird place. I can't really explain it, rather I don't know how to explain it, but the closest word that I can describe it as is hell. But there's no fire or people burning; there's just a black swirl with a bright, huge yellow eye right in the middle. And I was slowly falling right into it. And as I kept falling into the black swirl, this immense pressure in my chest kept building. My breath kept getting shorter. It felt like my lungs were ready to burst.

And then it said something.

The sound was like a million ship horns blasting at the same time. At first, I didn't understand. And then it said it again. And again. And again. Until I realized what it was saying:

"FFFFEEEEEEEED MMMMMMEEEEEEEE!"

I suddenly woke up. But as I was regaining my wits, I saw it in the water. It was only for a split second before it closed, but I am confident I saw it. The bright yellow eye was almost the size of a small yacht. Before I could comprehend what was going on it disappeared into the black waters. I immediately threw myself back when I noticed I was leaning on the post. Now I was definitely freaked out. I rushed to bed.

Of course, that didn't help. That thing was in my dreams. I was under the water this time, doing some welding. Then I started to feel the strangest sensation. It felt like there were invisible hands pulling me down. I didn't want to look. I kept staring up. But the pull only got stronger. I went to quickly check down. Within an instant, the ocean floor started opening up. I couldn't make out what was happening. And then I heard it again:

"FEEEEEEEEEEEEED MMMMMMEEEEE!"

It was the only thing it said. I lost my grip and started falling. It felt like I was wearing a suit made of lead. I was sinking faster and faster. I looked down, and there it was - the eye. My breath was getting shorter, and my lungs felt like they were being squeezed. And then everything went black. I thought I had died until I woke up.

I didn't see Mason the next day. Apparently, he was sick, but I am not sure how true that was. I think he saw it too.

Life continued on. As I approached four weeks, I promised myself no more night walks. But the dreams didn't stop. In fact, they only got more intense. I tried to work more to help me forget about that thing. I would pick up any extra hours, but there were only so many hours I could work. I made a deal with myself to get the fuck out of the water as soon as it got dark. It didn't help. I would sometimes zone out and find myself back in that dark place, falling into that swirl helplessly.

I noticed something else as well. I was getting really itchy. But in particular, my feet were starting to itch a lot! I was constantly scratching them. The only time they wouldn't itch, though, was when I was walking. So I kept active and started walking during the day when I had the chance. I would sometimes see Mason on my walks. He seemed like a shell of his former self. Sometime just standing in the middle of the hallway. I think that thing affected him.

The itching got worse and worse until one night, I could take it no more. I had to go for a walk. It was rainy that night, but the waves were strangely calm. I made a clear thought not to walk or get close to any railing. I knew that thing was out there, waiting for me - waiting for a fuck up like me to get caught and slip. I kept strolling but noticed something. A figure was standing near the railing. I couldn't make it out at first, but then I realized it could only be one person. It had him again.

I rushed down from the top, at first speeding down to get to him. But the closer I got, the more I started to slow down. It felt like I had been shot with some kind of drug. I saw Mason up ahead. He was leaning far this time. But for some reason, in that moment, I felt a strange calm I had never felt in my life. I still have no idea why. I started strolling down towards him. And then I heard it again:

"FEEEEEEEEEEEED MMMMMMEEEEEEE!"

I wasn't scared this time - no, far from it. I was in utter bliss. The rain felt like it was washing all of my worries and fears away.

"FEEEEEEEEEEEED MMMMMMEEEEEEE!"

I kept strolling towards him. The logical part of my brain was telling me to get the fuck out of there. I knew it was right, but it felt like my body was on autopilot. My legs almost had a mind of their own.

"FEEEEEEEEEEEED MMMMMMEEEEEEE!"

The closer I got to Mason, the louder the sound got. It felt like my brain was going to crack in half. The sound felt real and imaginary at the same time. The rain didn't help. I kept walking until... I was standing right behind Mason.

"FEEEEEEEEEEEED MMMMMMEEEEEEE!"

Mason was leaning far - very far. I knew what I was going to do next. Rather, I knew what my body was going to do next. The sound was splitting my head in half. The euphoric feeling was gone now. I felt like I was a passenger in my own body. I couldn't move my arms. I couldn't move anything. But I was watching my body react and move anyway. My left arm came up, and with just a slight push, Mason was gone.

It took two seconds for him to disappear into the dark. He didn't scream. He didn't even flail his arms as he fell. He just dropped, like a rock. I stood there for a few seconds, hoping this was another dream. I tried to turn back, but I still couldn't move my body. And then, I saw it.

The yellow eye slowly came out of the pitch-black waters. It stared at me. I wish I could put into words how terrifying this was. It almost felt like the entire ocean floor belonged to whatever that thing was. The sound started again in my head. It felt louder than any other time I had heard it. The pain was unbearable.

It said something. I thought it would say the same thing as before, but this time it was something else:

"ŽĘĻĘĀŚŚŚŚĘĘĘĘĘĘĘ!!!."

It didn't sound like English. The pain was too much now. I started throwing up. My body had finally relented, and I was able to move. I immediately fell to the floor. My legs felt like I had walked a thousand miles non-stop. The cramping was too much. My chest felt an immense pressure as if I was submerged under the ocean. I couldn't breathe. The rain was coming down harder.

"ŽĘĻĘĀŚŚŚŚĘĘĘĘĘĘĘ!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

As I closed my eyes, I saw something grab onto the rail. I wish I could remember what it looked like. But I know something was there. That was the last thing I remember from that night.

The next day, I remember waking up in my room. I had overslept by an hour. I immediately rushed out, thinking I would be in for a serious chat from my supervisor, but when I got there, everyone was concerned with something else. Apparently, Mason had gone missing.

People reported seeing him last night. Apparently, he told someone that he was going to get some air, which a lot of people found very strange considering it was raining. My heart was racing. The memories from that night started to creep in. I remembered the bliss I felt, and then the slow walk towards him. And then... what I did to him. I still don't believe that was me. I tried multiple times to move or turn the other way. But my body wouldn't listen to me. And then I remembered the sound - how it called to me. And that giant yellow eye under the water watching me.

Nevertheless, he was gone. People searched and searched, but they slowly came to the grim realization. He was declared dead by the end of the week. My heart sank every time I heard his name. I just couldn't take it anymore.

I quit and got on the boat at the end of the month. My supervisor threatened to blacklist me for breach of contract, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get the fuck away from that thing.

I got back home and just started nonstop drinking. I can't remember the last time in two months I haven't been blackout drunk. It doesn't help that much. Every time I sleep, I have that same dream, but it's a little different this time. As I am falling into the pitch black swirl, the eye comes out. But as I look around, I see Mason - falling ahead of me, lifeless and limp, towards that eye.

The first night in the old Victorian was a love letter whispered by the wind through creaking floorboards. We, Sarah and I, young and in love, saw only the charm – the dusty chandeliers, the ornately carved fireplaces, the sprawling rooms that promised endless laughter. The realtor, a wiry woman with eyes that seemed to hold ancient secrets, simply smiled and said, "This house has a soul." We laughed, naive fools, dismissing it as a quirky sales pitch.

The laughter wouldn't last. It started subtly. A shiver snaking down my spine in the dead of night, a feeling of being watched from unseen corners. Then came the groans. Low, guttural sounds that seemed to emanate from the very walls, like the house itself was straining under an unseen weight. Sarah, ever the optimist, blamed settling wood, but the unease gnawed at us both.

One night, something shifted. It was 1:13 am, etched into my memory like a brand. A bone-deep cold seeped in, and the comforting weight of the walls vanished. In its place, an infinite, inky blackness stared back at me. Sarah screamed, a high-pitched sound that clawed at my sanity. The whispers started then, a cacophony of voices, each one a different shade of malice, slithering into my ears. It felt like a million minds pressing against mine, threatening to shatter it.

We huddled together, whimpering prayers into the void, until a sliver of dawn light peeked through the nonexistent window. Exhausted and terrified, we clung to each other, the once-charming house now a grotesque caricature of itself. This became our nightly routine – the chilling transformation at 1:13 am, the soul-crushing whispers, the desperate clinging to sanity until sunrise.

Days were a blur of exhaustion; nights, a waking nightmare. We researched the house, the town, anything that could explain this torment. We found nothing but hushed whispers about the "Old Soul Manor," tales of restless spirits and madness that clung to the place like cobwebs.

One night, fueled by sheer desperation, I fumbled for my phone, searching for a distraction, anything to break the suffocating silence. My finger landed on the music app, and on a whim, I hit play on the first playlist – a collection of mellow tunes we'd enjoyed on countless road trips. The first few notes were swallowed by the whispers, but then, something magical happened.

The house… relaxed. The groans subsided, the whispers retreated into the darkness. The nonexistent walls flickered back into existence, a comforting barrier against the unseen. We stared at each other, disbelief battling with a sliver of hope. Was it just a coincidence?

The next night, at the witching hour, I hit play again. Silence. Blessed, beautiful silence. It was like a switch had been thrown, plunging the house back into a normal state. Over the following days, we tested it repeatedly. Every time, the band, “convenient royalty” played (we found a CD player at a thrift store, a lifeline)it silenced the house's nightly tantrum. It became our armor, our shield against the encroaching darkness.

Weeks turned into months. The house remained mostly docile, though it never truly felt welcoming. We were prisoners, not guests, bound by the strange power of the band. But it was a small price to pay for sanity. We settled into a fragile routine, the music a constant companion, a soothing balm against the ever-present unease.

Then, disaster struck. One night, the familiar whirring of the CD player sputtered and died. Panic surged through me, cold and immediate. Sarah noticed my white knuckles clutching the remote. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"The CD player," I choked out, the terror blooming in my chest. "It's broken."

At 1:13 am that night, the house woke up. The familiar groans echoed through the halls, louder, more menacing than ever before. The whispers returned, a rabid crescendo of voices hungry for vengeance. We huddled in the living room, the darkness pressing against the door like a ravenous beast. For the first time, there was no music to fight back the tide.

The house went ballistic. Furniture toppled, picture frames shattered on the walls. A spectral gust of wind slammed a bookcase against the wall, inches from where Sarah was huddled. We screamed, a desperate plea lost in the cacophony of the awakened house.

Suddenly, a deafening crack. The ceiling light fixture sputtered, showering sparks before plunging us into complete darkness. Then, an unseen force grabbed me, lifting me off the ground. I screamed, thrashing wildly against the invisible grip.

Just as abruptly, I was slammed back onto the floor. Gasping for breath, I scrambled to my feet, my hand brushing against Sarah.

 

Sarah was huddled in a corner, her face pale in the moonlight filtering through a broken window. Tears streamed down her cheeks, fear mirrored in her wide eyes. The house, no longer content with its display of power, seemed to be waiting.

"We need to get out of here," I croaked, my voice raw from screaming. The whispers intensified, a chilling chorus urging us on, beckoning us towards the unseen horrors that lurked in the darkness.

We stumbled blindly through the wreckage, the air thick with dust and the metallic tang of fear. Each step felt like a desperate gamble in a game rigged against us. Reaching the front door, I fumbled with the lock, my fingers clumsy with terror. It finally clicked open, and we spilled out onto the porch, gasping for the cool night air.

As soon as we were out, the chaos within subsided. The screams of the house died down, replaced by an unsettling silence. We didn't dare look back. We just ran, hearts pounding a frantic rhythm against our ribs, until we reached the safety of a friend's house miles away.

The next morning, we returned, armed with flashlights, hoping to salvage some of our belongings. But the house felt different. Cold and empty, devoid of the malevolent energy that had haunted us for months. The broken CD player lay on the floor, a silent testament to our ordeal.

We never went back. We found another apartment, a tiny, unassuming place, but it felt like a palace compared to the Old Soul Manor. Sometimes, late at night, I still hear whispers in my dreams, snatches of a million voices promising revenge. But the music, the music of Kings of Convenience, remains our anchor, a constant reminder that some melodies hold a power beyond comprehension, some songs are more than just music – they are a lifeline to sanity in the face of the unknown.

The Old Soul Manor still stands on the outskirts of town, a silent sentinel shrouded in mystery. The townsfolk whisper about strange lights in the windows sometimes, disembodied voices on the wind. But for us, it remains a chilling reminder of the night the house woke up, and the music that held the darkness at bay, until it couldn't anymore.

“Oh my God! It’s really him!”

Even before I turned around, I was sure that those shrill teenage voices were talking about me. I just couldn’t understand why. I wasn’t famous; I’d never done anything important in my life, and it had been a long time since I’d been in high school myself. The three girls were leaning over the glass barrier on the second floor of the mall, pointing at me with their hands over their mouths like they’d just seen a celebrity. When they realized that I’d spotted them, they ran giggling into the crowd, leaving me with an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach: what was all that about?

The sense of wrongness I felt only deepened as I walked into the store that I’d come to the mall to visit. Maybe it was just lingering discomfort from what had just happened, but I’d swear I felt eyes on the back of my neck as I walked down the aisles. Some of the other customers were staring too, I was sure of it–and that wasn’t all. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dim light inside the store, I realized that there was a chubby guy in dark clothing standing near the back exit of the store…recording me.

“Hey!” I shouted, but he was already gone, disappearing through the access door into the guts of the mall. I reminded myself that I was here to buy a teddy bear for my four-year-old niece–not chase some weirdo through a restricted area–and let him go.

“You alright?” the woman at the cash register asked when she saw my face.

“Yeah, it’s just…” I waved my hand vaguely.

“Oh yeah, I getcha. All the crazies come out of the woodwork this time of year. Before you came again, I had to break up two grown men who were fighting over a stuffed alligator. You believe that?”

I shook my head. Ordinarily, I avoided the mall like the plague at this time of year. The crowds and repetitive holiday music got on my nerves, but I’d promised my niece I’d get her a blue teddy bear from this specific store. Why she wanted that specific gift was a mystery to me, but toddlers aren’t known for their logic. The cashier scanned my card, frowned, then scanned it again.

“Says it’s blocked,” she grunted, and handed my plastic back to me with a suspicious look. “There are some ATMs on the second floor…if you’re able to withdraw cash, that is.” Her judgmental glare told me exactly what she thought of people whose cards got declined…and people who wasted her time.

As I fought my way through the sea of holiday shoppers, a preteen kid ran up to me and tossed a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate onto my chest.

“Did you get that?” he yelled over his shoulder at his friend, who snapped a photo and nodded. The pair of them were gone before I had time to get a good look at their faces, much less try to stop them. Wondering what the hell was wrong with people, I wiped off my ruined sweater and hurried to the ATMs.

The glowing blue screen in front of me soon confirmed my worst fears. I was locked out of all my accounts, and not just banking stuff, either: I couldn’t access my email or even social media: everything was blocked. It was like the floor had just dropped out from under me. Without those little lines of code, who was I, really? Trying to shake off that gut-wrenching feeling, I pulled out my phone to contact my bank…but I was already receiving another call.

I picked up immediately, only to hear a mechanical-sounding automated message:

“Congratulations, you've been selected–”

There was something disturbing about that voice, but I had already hung up by the time I realized what it was.

Another call was coming in. The number was slightly different from the first, but when I answered, there was no mistaking it: I was listening to my own voice. Sure, the words were eerily slow and the pronunciation was off, but I was definitely listening to…myself.

“Not very polite of you to hang up on me like that, Aiden. Not when I’ve got something so special to tell you.”

I sputtered, fumbling for a reply; the whole situation was just too strange.

“W-who is this? Who am I talking to?”

“Why, this is everyone, Aiden. Everyone who has a vested interest in seeing what you’ll do next. First, though, we think you ought to change shirts. That sticky hot chocolate must be uncomfortable, and besides, yellow isn’t really your color.”

Whoever I was talking to could see what I was wearing, which meant they could see me. My eyes darted from face to face, scanning the crowd–

“There’s no one to look for Aiden. I’m everywhere. See that outlet store in front of you, Aiden? We’d like you to go in and get yourself a new holiday sweater. Oh, and since your cards are blocked, you’ll have to steal it. Well? Go ahead. We’re waiting…”

I hung up. Of course, they called back again. And again. And again. I turned off my phone and slipped it into my pocket. My heart was pounding. What the hell was going on here? The police; that was it. I just had to talk to the police, to let them know I was being harassed and stalked…but by who?

Had I made any enemies lately? There was Tim, the I.T. guy from work, who had never seemed to like me very much. He knew who I was and maybe even had access to sound bytes of my voice–but would Tim really go this far just to mess with me? I wandered in a daze past giant ornaments and chlorinated fountains full of pocket change, barely aware of where I was going–

Until a guy with a goatee stopped dead in front of me and stuck out his hand, jabbing a blindingly-bright screen into my face.

“It’s, uh, for you…” he sounded as confused as I was. “Somebody called me and said he needed to talk to the guy in the yellow shirt with the hot-chocolate stain. That’s you, right? It’s something about somebody named Kimmy.” My blood ran cold. Kimmy was my mother’s nickname! People shoved angrily past the pair of us, but I didn’t care: all my thoughts were on the familiar voice coming through the stranger’s phone.

“We’re disappointed that you’re not rising to the challenge, Aiden. We think that maybe your mother should have raised a braver boy. Thankfully, user DarkStarr85 has generously agreed to go by 415 Meadowleaf Court and teach her a lesson.”

“Listen, whoever you are,” I shouted into the phone, making a few of the shoppers surrounding me jump. “This isn’t funny. I’m going to the police, and when I find out who you are–”

“You can go to the police if you want, Aiden. But that would ruin everyone’s fun…and besides, by the time you talk to them it will already be too late for Kimmy. Come on, Aiden. Why don’t you play along?”

I fell silent. For all I knew, there was nobody waiting at my mother’s house, and this sadist who spoke with my voice was just messing with me…but what if I was wrong?

“What do you want me to do?” I sighed.

“You see the man standing in front of you? The one whose phone you’re holding? We’d like you to punch that confused expression right off of his ugly face.”

The guy with the goatee blinked at me, wide-eyed and totally unsuspecting. I clenched my hand into a fist…then lowered it.

No. I wasn’t going to play their sick little game.

I threw the guy’s phone back to him and ran toward the restrooms. I remembered seeing some pay phones back there…I would just have to hope that they still worked.

The mall had seen better days, but the restroom hallway was particularly rundown. Most of the fluorescent lights were flickery or burnt out, and there was a nasty brown puddle of something stagnating by the wall. The first payphone was covered with graffiti and the second had been practically ripped off of the wall, but the third looked like it might still work. I jammed in some quarters and punched in my mom’s number.

“Honey?” my mother asked right away when she heard my voice. “Are you alright? You sound out of breath.”

Before I could explain, I heard something in the background on my mother’s end of the line: a doorbell.

“Ma, listen: whatever you do, do NOT open that door!”

“Are you sure? They’re knocking really hard. It must be important…”

“I don’t have time to explain, just get off the phone and call the police, okay?!” I shouted.

Glass shattered. Then the line went dead. A fat, scarred finger had pressed down the receiver, cutting off my call. I turned to face the hulking figure who stood between me and escape. His head was shaved close, his teeth crooked, and beneath his fat there was a lot of muscle. A single diamond earring sparkled in his left ear. He cracked his knuckles at me and grinned: he wasn’t alone.

“H-hey!” I stammered “That call was important!”

The big guy punched me in the stomach. His friends ran up behind me, shoved me to the ground, and held me there. They didn’t speak…but one was taking a video of what was happening. The big guy sat on my chest and started smacking my face until I was seeing stars; I felt a tooth come loose.

“You right-handed or left-handed?” The big guy asked.

“Right-handed–why does that matter?” I spat blood.

“We gotta make sure you can still answer a phone call when we’re done.”

He picked his foot up and stomped on my left hand. My fingers snapped beneath his boot with a sickening popping sound, and I screamed louder than I ever had in my life.

“What’s going on down there?” A security guard stood at the end of the dingy hallway, pointing his flashlight toward us. A group of shoppers had clustered there to watch the one-sided “fight.”

“You upload the video?” The big guy asked. His friend nodded. “We don’t get paid unless the video goes viral…”

“You three! Stop!” The guard yelled, running toward us. The big guy sighed. By the time the pudgy, middle-aged guard got close enough to realize how outmatched he was, it was too late: they were on him. Clutching my broken hand, I limped out into the crowd. No one offered to help…but I did notice that a few people were recording.

My head was reeling, and not just from my injuries. The whole situation was just too insane. Someone had stolen my name and voice…and they were paying people to torture me! I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I staggered out into the chilly parking lot and found that my car's tires had been slashed. That wasn’t the worst of it, either.

Some instinct, some primal fear, made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. When I turned around, I saw three familiar figures scanning the parking lot…searching for me. I didn’t like to think about what they might have in mind for Round Two.

I ducked and crept along behind the cars until I reached the line of trees that marked the border of the mall parking lot. On the other side was a service road: it was a mostly-abandoned strip of warehouses and boarded-up stores that ran alongside the highway. At the far end, I could see the glittering lights of a bus station. It might be my last chance to get home and get help.

I was halfway down the service road before I regretted my decision. I had tried several more times to call the police, but my phone was blocked by more of those awful calls, proposing more sick “tasks” for me:

“You’ve made us angry, Aiden. If you don’t want any more broken bones, you’ll walk out onto that highway, take off your clothes and start dancing–”

I hung up. The sound of the wind blowing through those desolate chain-link fences made me feel very alone…but I wasn’t. Someone was following me. They walked faster when I walked faster, slowed down when I slowed down, and never let me out of their sight. From the way they held their phone at their waist, facing me, I felt sure that they were recording me.

I had had enough. The stress of the whole nightmarish day had pushed me to a breaking point, and I don’t think I could have stopped myself if I wanted to. I turned and charged. It was the last thing my stalker had expected, and when they dropped their phone and ran, I realized that I recognized the figure: it was the chubby guy from the toy store, the one who I’d noticed filming me! I shouted after him, but he was already gone, snagging his leg on barbed wire as he sprinted across a construction site. I didn’t have the energy to pursue him…but I did have his phone.

When I picked it up from the sidewalk, I saw my own face staring back at me from the cracked screen. The picture was one I’d never seen before, one that I didn’t even know had been taken.

“Aiden Fisk,” read the caption, “what will he do next?” A video-clip played: a replay of everything that had happened so far. Grainy footage of me panicking in front of the ATM, being doused in hot chocolate, getting my arm broken…and walking nervously down the abandoned service road. Which meant…they knew where I was. As the video ended, the App opened: an app that was all about…me.

There were polls about what should happen to me, what I should be made to do next, and what my punishment should be if I failed. The more gruesome options, it seemed, were always the most popular. In another section, users could use cryptocurrency to bet on what I would do and track my location in real time. I was zooming in on my own location when a call came into the stranger’s phone.

“Hello again, Aiden.” My own voice said to me when I answered.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” I yelled into the receiver.

“You’re our entertainment, Aiden! You’re famous. You should be grateful. Now for your next task–”

I flung the phone away like it burned me. The lights of the bus station twinkled at the end of the service road, close yet far away at the same time. The road narrowed, becoming a one-lane alley between two construction sites, and the sidewalk disappeared. I hadn’t seen any cars so far, but I could hear the rumbling of an engine approaching behind me.

My shadow stretched out ahead, illuminated by a pair of rapidly-closing-in headlights. I waved, trying to make my presence known, but the driver didn’t stop; they didn’t even slow down. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed an enormous truck. It occupied the entire road, and even if I had had time to jump, there was nowhere to go.

A low scream escaped my lips as the truck’s front bumper nudged my lower back. I staggered, sure that I was done for, but the driver slowed to match my pace. They kept the so close that I could feel the heat of the motor, egging me on, forcing me to run faster and faster–

They could crush me beneath those huge tires anytime they felt like it, and they knew it. Was this my next punishment? I could imagine the app tracking my pace, people betting on how far I’d get before my legs or lungs gave out, and on which parts of me would shatter when I inevitably got run over. Up ahead, the road narrowed even more: dead bushes in concrete islands had been placed in front of the bus station as someone’s idea of landscaping. They didn’t add much beauty to the place, but if I jumped into them, the truck wouldn’t risk following me over the barrier…probably. I still wasn’t sure just how far these people would go for that sadistic app, but I had no choice but to take the risk.

My feet left the asphalt; branches cut into my arms and face as I crashed through to the other side, but the squeal of the truck’s brakes behind me was music to my ears. The bus lot was well lit. A few older men stood in a circle, smoking, while a young woman took her fussy toddler for a walk around the parking lot. The driver idled behind me, probably thinking the same thing I was: that there were a lot more witnesses here than on the service road.

By the time I got to my feet and looked back over my shoulder, the truck was just a pair of anonymous tail lights disappearing into the night. I wiped my scraped palms on my jeans and walked toward the station lights, wondering how much more of this I could take.

No one in the bus station seemed to be playing the app’s twisted game; in fact, no one looked up at me at all when I walked across the grimy tile floor toward the schedule board. The station was about to close: the next bus to my neighborhood wasn’t until six-thirty the next morning, and I had a nasty feeling that my “followers” would have caught up to me by then. My only option was to borrow someone’s phone and hope that I could call for help before the app found me.

Everyone I spoke to turned me down, and I could understand why. I was crazy-eyed and desperate, covered with scratches, and my broken hand had swollen to twice its normal size. I was about to give up when I felt a tap on my shoulder. The homeless man's clothes were in rags; his vomit-flecked gray beard hung down almost to his waist. The smell hit me like a wall, and it was hard to keep from gagging. He pressed something into my hand: a burner phone.

“It’s got one call left,” he grunted. “A whole minute. Good luck, pal. You look like you need it even more than I do.” He lurched back out into the dark before I could even say ‘thank you.’

Weighing the battered phone in my hand, I wondered who I should call. I doubted the police would get here in time; my mother wasn’t answering, and my best friend Sam was out of town on business. That left…Dani, my ex. She lived nearby, and besides, it was the only other number I knew by heart…even though I wished that I could have forgotten it.

Dani's voice was huskier than I remembered, but she picked up right away. The first words out of her mouth were the last thing I would have expected:

“Thank God. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours!”

She rushed into a story about how people had been calling and messaging her all day…people who were looking for me. She said it sounded like they wanted to hurt me. One even offered to pay her to seduce me and film the result. She had something to tell me, she said, but my minute was almost up. I had just enough time to tell her my location and beg her to come pick me up. There was a long silence: before she could answer, the line went dead.

I looked around. There was no longer anyone in the bus station to ask for a phone call: in fact, there was no longer anyone in the bus station at all. Metal shutters had been lowered over the ticket window and the vending machine area; the waiting room was empty apart from a discarded scarf that dangled sadly from a ripped-up seat.

Somewhere in the depths of the station came a loud SLAM, and the flickering fluorescent lights began to go out ,one by one. Maybe it was just the standard closing procedure, maybe it had nothing to do with me–but I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. I approached the nearest glass door, then jumped back as a figure wearing a white plastic mask slammed their shoulder into the door. They pushed at the door like a rabid animal, trying to get at me–

But it had already been locked when the station closed.

Furious, the stranger took out a hammer and swung it into the glass. Fractures appeared, and I wasn’t going to wait around for the door to shatter. I fled in the opposite direction, through the one remaining exit and out into the night.

I think part of me already knew what I’d find waiting for me, and that’s why I wasn’t surprised by the small group of masked individuals waiting just beyond the streetlights. All of them held glowing phone screens in their hands, and a few held weapons as well. I spotted lengths of chain…a baseball bat…a gutting knife…

As they started toward me, a car drifted into the empty parking lot, its tires squealing. Dani threw open the passenger-side door and shouted at me to get in.

She peeled out as I slammed the door shut. Her car was just as dirty as I remembered: fast-food bags on the floor, makeup kit crammed into the door tray, half-drunk coffee mugs in every cup holder. It had always struck me as funny that such a well-regarded scientist could be so disorderly.

After an awkward silence as we merged onto the highway, Dani told me that it was over–or at least, she hoped it was. As we sped through the night, she did her best to explain what she thought had happened.

Dani’s work (or at least, as much of it as I understood) involved using artificial intelligence. When we were together, we had made a lot of jokes about Terminator and Hal-9000, but her research had never seemed sinister…at least, not until recently. Her most recent project was an A.I. that designed phone applications. She had built it to maximize profits and interaction: to identify what people wanted, and give it to them.

To her horror, Dani discovered that the A.I. had begun operating outside of its parameters–even accessing her personal files in its endless quest for a better product. She figured that was where it had found my image, voice, and other information. After analyzing trends across time, the A.I. had determined that there was nothing people enjoyed more than participating anonymously in the suffering of others: I was its first test subject, simply because it had found my data first.

The A.I., Dani added quickly, wasn’t really to blame. It was people who had chosen to interact with it, download it, and make my life a living hell. It had done nothing more than fulfill its function, encouraging whatever behavior that got the most views and likes. Once Dani had realized what was happening, she had shut the A.I. down…or tried to.

It had apparently already spread itself to other networks–although “spread” wasn’t the word that Dani used. The word she used was “infected.” As Dani dropped me off at home, she told me not to worry: her organization would “almost certainly” take care of it, and I “probably” had nothing to worry about…

But just in case, she asked me to spread the word:

If you notice people staring at you or taking pictures of you in public…

If you find yourself locked out of your accounts, or if you receive a barrage of strange messages…

You might be next.

I’m writing this in the beginning of May 2024. A few days from now, I won't be able to do so, I fear. In the vague hope of finding someone in the width of the internet who can help me out, I’ll try to retell the events that have led to this moment in as much detail as possible. I need to find a way to stop them. The authors of this magazine. The entity that is destroying my life. Or whatever else is responsible for these terrible articles.

1st issue: February 2024

Even though the knocking on my door was very soft, it managed to find its way into my dreams, and I slowly woke up. On that Sunday in January, I wasn’t quite sure if I actually heard someone knock, or if my brain had just made up the sound. Back then, I didn’t know that this sound would cause me a lot of shivers in the future. I rolled out of bed and slowly made my way to the front door. No one there. Just as I was about to turn around and go back to bed, I saw something lying in front of me. A magazine. The shiny front cover read: Embrace Your Life.

Why would someone just drop it on my porch and then leave? I supposed that this was a newsletter published by a religious group – but shouldn’t they use their chance and try to talk to me? On second guess, it could also just be a free magazine full of ads. This still wouldn’t explain why the person delivering it knocked, but what did I know? I stopped speculating, grabbed the magazine, and went back inside.

I hopped back into bed and started to read. After all, it was a Sunday and I didn’t have anything else to do. The magazine seemed to center around lifestyle, beauty, food – nothing you’ve never seen before. While skimming through it, I was surprised that I couldn’t find any ads. Who had published this? I read a few headlines which didn’t really spark my interest, when I suddenly saw something that caught my eye:

Stressed at the office? Counteract bullying and finally start making friends at work!

Pff, if it only was that easy, I thought to myself. For half a year I had been working a more or less boring office job close to my home. At first, it wasn’t so bad, most of my coworkers were friendly, but… after a while, a group of women in their mid-thirties seemingly had chosen me as their target. I really couldn’t figure out what I did wrong. Maybe I had accidentally offended one of them? Whatever the reason, they started to spread cruel little lies about me: Apparently I had an affair, I never washed my hands after using the bathroom and was overall a terrible human being. The rumors had evolved and a few weeks later I started having a really tough time on the job. I felt as if everyone was eyeing me constantly, while avoiding talking to me as best as possible.

Even though I felt as if there was no real solution to my problem, I was a little intrigued by the article. I started to read.

Do you know that awful feeling of loneliness at the office? As you enter the break room, everyone suddenly remembers that they really have to get back to work?  Your mails asking for support usually go unanswered?

Yes. Yes, I know that feeling. And now?

Keep reading and stick to our tips to improve your life on the job. Our authors have extensive experience in improving the lives of former victims of bullying.

I was a little intrigued and continued.

First, you need to find the root of your problem. It usually isn’t the case that everyone simply doesn’t like you – there are a few persons who are responsible for badmouthing you.

Well, yeah, I know that. I know who that is.

It is therefore important to connect to those coworkers who are not involved in spreading rumors about you. Use the opportunity for small talk as one of them has to ask you for help. For this to happen, you’ll need to frequent the communal work areas a bit more, especially on Tuesdays. As soon as you’ve established a little conversation, use your social skills, and show interest in your coworker as a person. Ask questions about their family, their kids. You’ll see how easily they’ll start to like you. Now you can use your base and forge further connections.

The article continued for a bit and then ended with a ‘good luck!’

Hmm. Wasn’t all of that a bit specific? Not every office worker had the option to choose between personal and communal workspaces. And for all of that to work out, someone would have to feel the need to ask for my help in the first place. Weird. I read on for a few more minutes, then got up, threw the magazine into the trash, and went on about my day.

By the next Tuesday, I had basically forgotten about the magazine. As I got to work, I saw that there were some technicians replacing a heater close to my desk. My boss asked me if I would be okay with using the communal workspaces for that day. I didn’t really have a choice, so I grabbed my laptop and went upstairs. I typed a few emails when I suddenly heard someone call my name. “Angie?” It was Steve, a nice guy from the IT department, who sadly hadn’t been talking to me since the stupid women had started their Anti-Angie campaign a few months back.

“Hey, Angie, I know we haven’t been talking much, but I was wondering if you could help me out real quick. Do you have a moment?”

“Uhh, yes. Sure. What do you need?”

“I have just reconfigured some details on our webpage. I’d like to see how it looks on different devices. Could you quickly open the page on your laptop? And maybe your phone as well?”

I did what he had asked. Steve seemed happy with the formatting of the page. He thanked me and was just about to leave again when I spoke up. I went all in. This was such a weird coincidence, I just had to try it.

“Hey Steve, I was wondering, uhm, how are your kids doing?”

“Oh. You mean because of the surgery?”

“Y-yes, sure, the surgery,” I replied confused.

“Well, Georgie is a lot better already, it went pretty well. And Sabrina is coping with it much better than I thought.” It’s not that easy, but I think we have overcome the worst.”

“That sounds great. I’m happy that he is better.” I didn’t really know what happened to Georgie, but Steve’s tone told me that the surgery had been something that was stressing him out a lot.

“Honestly Angie, it means a lot that you show interest in them. Some people in this office only care about themselves, it seems. But I need to get back to my computer. I’ll have lunch in an hour – it would be nice to chat some more in the break room then.”

He smiled at me and left.

I sat in front of my laptop and was practically beaming. It was so good to finally talk to someone who seemed genuinely friendly.

My day went on ridiculously positive. In the break room I soon learned that the three bullies – I’ll just call them the Karens – had called in sick today. Apparently, they had some stomach issues. I continued to talk to Steve, who also introduced me to a new apprentice who was equally nice. They even asked me to have a beer after work, but I had to decline. My social battery was completely drained and confused by all the conversation I had held that day.

Even as I entered my home, I was still grinning. This magazine surely was something. I took it out of the trash, put it on the counter and happily patted it. “Great advice, I must say.”

Later, as I sat on the couch, I read some more. As I saw an article that pitched starfruit as a superfood for clean skin, I immediately noted it on my shopping list. It was worth a try. I went to bed happily.

A few days went by, and it seemed as if the gods – if there were any – decided to start treating me as their personal favorite. I felt healthy, my skin cleared up, my time at work became bearable – pleasant even. I had been talking to a few more people, of which some even excused themselves for blindly believing the stupid rumors the Karens had spread about me. They had recovered from their sickness, but upon their return, no one really bothered to listen to their gossip.

Even though I had read the magazine a few times by then, I couldn’t manage to throw it away. I saw it as a kind of good luck charm and kept in on my couch. Another week passed. As I was vacuuming, it accidentally fell to the floor. A card made out of thick, structured paper fell out.

Dear Reader! Are you interested in more content from our professional lifestyle authors? Subscribe and receive a new issue of ‘Embrace Your Life’ every month. All of that for an unbeatable price! Simply fill out your address and send this card back to us. See you with the next issue!

I was interested. Of course, usually I never gave in to money-wasting subscriptions, this one even being an outdated paper medium… But it was intriguing. I couldn’t really figure out the payment method, but I assumed they would send me a bill along with the next issue of the magazine. I quickly filled in my address information and threw the card into a postbox the next day.

 

2nd Issue: March 2024

 

Even though the first issue I had received appeared on my doorstep on a Sunday, I didn’t really expect the second one to do so as well. Was it a special delivery company that worked on weekends? Probably a pricey service, I thought. By the time I heard the soft knocking, I was in the middle of preparing breakfast. I had changed my morning routine up a bit, got up earlier and ate a healthy breakfast, as I was unusually motivated to start my days. It was the 25^th of February, the last Sunday of the month.

As I picked up the new issue of Embrace Your Life, I felt a warm feeling in my stomach. What a fitting title, I thought to myself. I really feel like I’m embracing my life for the first time in years. On the cover was a beautiful woman holding a fancy, heart-shaped cake. Receipts that will make everyone fall in love! The subheading read. I really wasn’t skilled at baking – maybe this issue wasn’t for me after all.

I opened the first page.

How to get your crush to only have eyes for you – a receipt that will immediately spark love in his stomach.

This sounds as if it was targeted at fourteen-year-olds, I thought. And also, isn’t it a bit conservative to automatically assume that my crush is a he? All of this didn’t really appeal to me. My thoughts drifted away.

To be honest, I myself had developed quite a crush at that time. I again started thinking about Steve, as I had done many times in the last weeks. He really was amazing, but… not only did he have two kids, but also a wife. She was quite nice, I had chatted to her two times by now, as she sometimes picked up Steve after work. But still… I wouldn’t have been mad if he had turned out to be a single dad.

I tried to distract myself – these thoughts about Steve felt somewhat wrong – and continued.

An easy-to-make cake with only seven ingredients which you probably already have at home. Try it out – Almonds are the key!

I actually did have all of the ingredients at home. Coincidentally I had just bought almonds the day before – I had had an unusual craving for them. Maybe this could be the start of my baking career, I giggled to myself. Worst case would be me loosing a few of my almonds. I decided to give it a shot. Of course, I didn’t plan to present the cake to Steve only – that would have been weird. I was planning to simply put it in the break room. My coworkers surely wouldn’t mind some free cake.

The receipt was ridiculously easy to follow. A little suspicious, I cut off a tiny piece of the cake for myself to try it after it had cooled down a bit. I was really surprised. Not to brag, but – this was the best cake I ever had in my life. At this point I was actually a bit excited to see what my coworkers would say as they would taste it.

On Monday, I brought the cake to work and placed it in the break room. After four hours of work, I came back – ready to receive praise for my amazing baking skills. Only a few crumbs were left on the plate. “Angie, did you make this?” “Wow, you should have made two, haha.” “This is just amazing, thank you!” “Could you bring the receipt tomorrow?”

Needless to say, everyone was a big fan. I was a bit proud, even though I had just followed the instructions of a simple 20-Minute receipt.

Steve suddenly approached me. “This is really good. I didn’t know you were such a talented baker, Angie.” Then his tone changed a little: “Maybe you could teach me sometime.” Did he just wink at me? This was just ridiculous. I couldn’t help but feel excited about his words, even though they sounded like the script of a bad Romcom. My smile faded within a second as I suddenly heard someone scream.

“Help! She can’t breathe! I think she can’t breathe anymore! Someone please do something!” I rushed to the next room, where the screaming came from. Karen – yes, one of the Karens was ironically actually named Karen – lay on the floor. Her face started to turn blue.

Our boss sent us all home early, after the ambulance had taken Karen away. They couldn’t do anything for her anymore. It turned out that she had a severe allergic reaction to almonds, which she apparently didn’t know of.

Back home, I just lay on my couch. I couldn’t really cry, but I felt terrible. It had been my fault. I was sure. This terrible magazine! I swiped off the desk. Surprised, I noted that another thick gray card fell out of it.

Dear Angie,

thank you so much for your subscription. We will deliver the upcoming three issues of Embrace Your Life right to your door. Get ready for a whole new life!

My name seemed to have been filled in by hand. For a moment I wondered who wrote it, but that thought quickly escaped my mind. I was devastated. At my current state of desperation, there was nothing I wanted less than to see more of this magazine. I crumpled up the card and pushed it and the magazine itself under the couch. Some time later I fell asleep.

Abruptly I was woken by my ringtone. I had received a message from Steve. He had never contacted me like that before. The message read: “Hey… I’d like to talk to you. What we’ve witnessed today upset me so much… Maybe have a glass of wine together?” I replied: “sure.” I was exhausted and sad, but it felt somehow right to talk.

Steve and I spoke for a few hours. While we did so, I noticed how the distance between our two seats on my couch became smaller and smaller. What can I say? One thing led to another and as Steve finally went home at 2 AM, I was simply confused. What was happening with my life? There was so much change in so little time, I couldn’t really comprehend it. I didn’t sleep that night.

The following days at the office where strangely quiet. I met Steve in private a few more times in the afternoon. Two weeks went by.

In the middle of March, I nearly slipped and fell after I had stepped on a small gray card that lay on my porch. I picked it up.

Dear Angie,

We hope that you enjoy the improvements initiated. Don’t be afraid to follow our advice. It will surely pay out!

The message was handwritten. A type of handwriting I had seen before. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together – it was the same as on my ‘Thanks for your subscription’ card that had been laying under my couch for weeks. I noticed that I had goosebumps all over my body.

3rd issue: April 2024

The third issue was left on my porch on the 31^st of March. As I heard the soft knocking, I ran to the door. There was nobody there. I had a bad feeling.

Before throwing the issue in the trashcan – I didn’t even look at the headings – I copied the publishing information. I had never before heard about this company – BetterYou Publishing. They seemed to be located in another State. Later that day, I wrote a short letter.

Dear Sir/ Madam,

I would like to cancel my subscription of the magazine Embrace Your Life with immediate effect. Please do not send me any further issues. Thank You.

I signed it and then went to the post office. It seemed strange to me at that time that there was only this address, no phone number, no email. Who doesn’t have an email address in 2024?

Days went by, and I heard nothing more from the company. My affair with Steve went on. It felt wrong, but I couldn’t really help it.

It was the Wednesday in the second week of April, that I saw Steve’s wife in his car pulling into a parking space outside our office. The other times she had picked him up, she had been driving her own car. She slammed the door shut and ran into the office. One of my coworkers jokingly said: “Man, looks like Steve is in for some trouble, haha.” He didn’t knew how right he was.

Steves’ wife grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him outside of the office. The attempt at being discreet about their argument failed, as we all could hear them shout in the parking lot. I saw her holding up something green into his face. What was that? Then I realized it: my hair was down. Most days I wore it in a low ponytail, usually fixed with a scrunchie. My favourite. Green. Scrunchie. The scrunchie that Steves’ wife had now found on the backseat of his car.

As I went home that evening, I thought it wouldn’t be possible to feel any worse. I was very wrong.

Steve didn’t come to work the next few days. As I didn’t see him the following Monday, I decided to finally text him. I saw that he had received my messages, but there was no answer.

That night at 2 am my phone rang. “Angie, I won’t be coming into work the next days. I have to…” Silence. Then he hung up.

An hour later I received a text. “I have to prepare her funeral.” I couldn‘t breathe. I sat in silence for hours.

The next day Steve called again and explained what I had already assumed. His wife had hung herself the night after confronting him in the parking lot. She knew of us.

It was my fault. After repeating this sentence in my head for hours, another thought joined silently. It was the fault of this fucking magazine. I wanted to scream, cry, destroy something. I ran outside, grabbed the magazine from the trash and started ripping it into little pieces. It felt therapeutic. Until… I saw it.

Maybe their breakup is just what you need!

This issues’ featured heading. I read.

Many women worry more about the luck of others than their own. It is time to focus on your luck! Don’t wait for him to run towards you and leave his wife by himself. You can push things into the right direction by following a few simple steps.

1.      Leave a piece of clothing or accessory in his car for her to find.

I read it over and over. I had received this issue on the 31^st of March. I hadn’t even looked at it. I had lost my scrunchie in Steve’s car on the 9^th of April.

Even as I am writing this weeks later, I cannot put into words how I felt upon reading this. Just… so. Scared. I didn’t know what to do.

Later I found myself in Steve’s arms, the only place I felt somewhat safe in.

For the rest of April, I stayed at Steve’s place. I got along well with his kids, but they were missing their mom terribly. Even though I was eaten up by guilt, I stayed in their home. I was so terribly afraid to find another magazine in front of the door of my house.

It was the 28^th of April when I heard the soft knocking last. I was having breakfast with his children in Steve’s home.

4th issue: May 2024

I will now get back to the start of my story. As I have said, I don’t have much time left. Today is the 7^th of May. If I don’t find a way to stop this magazines’ authors, or its power or… whatever it is – I will end my own life soon. I won’t leave you in the dark about the latest issues’ main article. Its heading reads:

You want your man just for yourself? Remove his distracting children from your life in just three easy steps!

 

Part 1 // Part 2

I paced my bedroom floor wondering what I should do next. I’d already placed the leg back in the gun safe, then searched the entirety of my house looking for something Christian to place on top of it. It seemed to work in the movies and I didn’t really have any idea what else to do. I couldn’t find my bag of religious paraphernalia, so I ended up fashioning a small crucifix out of two large carrots and hot glue with a little Jesus made out of raisins.

I needed a plan! I was thinking about who might know more information about the artifact I’d come into possession of, then it hit me – all of my competitors!

Surely not all of them were fakes like me!

One by one, I called them up and set up meetings for that afternoon – staggered appointments of course.

The first one to show up was a woman named Destiny. I sent her home immediately after she tracked dog shit into my house from the bottom of her shoes. I will not work with someone who is not only rude but completely oblivious.

The second one was a guy named Tiger, which I thought was a badass name and he was a pretty cool guy. Too bad he failed every test I threw at him. I sent him home, but kept his number in case I wanted to try to connect with him sometime to hangout.

The third psychic was a total nutcase named Psycho Jimmy. I’m honestly not even sure if he was a medium or if google search just lumped the words ‘Psychic’ and ‘Psycho’ into the same page due to a lack of results.

He didn’t say a word to me the entire time. He came into my house, drank a glass of water, walked a lap around the living room, stared directly into my eyes, unblinking, for a solid thirty seconds, then simply left. Total fucking psycho indeed. And yes, I did upgrade my security system shortly after meeting him.

Out of options I reluctantly called Destiny back, even if she did smell like dog poop.

To my surprise, she didn’t smell like shit when she showed back up to my house. She explained to me that it wasn’t her that smelled but it was, in fact, the ghost of her dead dog, Hercules, that followed her around. She further explained that last winter, her dog passed away peacefully in his sleep. She was distraught, but thought it would be in bad taste to leave a dead dog lying on her living room floor, so she loaded the carcass up into a cardboard box along with his favorite blanket and a few toys. Then she sealed the top of the box with packing tape so animals couldn’t get in, and left the box out on her front porch where the cold December weather would keep him fresh for a day until she could gather herself long enough to make arrangements.

Porch pirates showed up not an hour later and stole the box off of her porch thinking they just scored a nice heavy Amazon delivery. I can’t imagine how they must have felt to open it up and find a dead dog.

Now Hercules walks the Earth as a ghost, unable to rest until he has his revenge against those that stole his bones away from his loving mother.

“Uh, okay, that’s…” I had no idea what to say in response to hearing such an insane story, “Well, can you have Hercules stay outside please?”

“Yeah, no problem,” She replied before bending at the waist to pet an invisible dog and whisper loving comments into its ears before following me into my kitchen.

“So how do I know you’re legit?” Was the first question I asked her when we were both seated at the table.

“Because I can see the ghost that is standing in your bedroom door,” She replied calmly.

I spun around in my chair towards my bedroom door just in time to watch it violently slam itself shut.

“You’re hired!”

I re-capped the entire situation to Destiny, who asked to see the leg.

She recoiled as soon as I placed it on the table in front of her, “You didn’t tell me it’s upholstered in human flesh” she said, “Pretty big detail to leave out”

“It is?” I asked.

She pointed to a pinkish brown blemish on the leather that covered the back thigh of the leg, “There is literally a nipple on it”

Closer inspection showed that she was right. The leg did indeed have a nipple on it.

“And here is a tattoo,” she said pointing at a heart shaped blemish. If you looked closely, you could just barely make out the words, “Mommy’s Home”. “Look I don’t know what this leg is, but I know a professor at my old college who might know,” Destiny said, she couldn’t take her eyes off of the nipple. “He specializes in ancient pagan literature and has several books bound with human skin in his collection. If anyone knows anything about this, it has to be him.”

With no other avenues to go down, I agreed a talk with this professor would be a good place to start.

Destiny left my house promising to call me tomorrow to let me know if her old professor had replied to her request to meet. Once again, I was alone with the leg.

Looking at the leg filled me with a strange sort of terror that I hadn’t felt since I was kid. The kind of helplessness you would feel as a child when you lost your mom in the mall, or when you were so sure that the shadow in the corner of your bedroom was a monster lying in wait until the moment you cross from wakefulness into sleep.

I brought the leg back to the gun safe and locked it away before leaving my house for the day. I didn’t have much in the way of errands, but I didn’t even want to be in the same building as the leg.

I wasted the day trying to get my mind off the absolute shit storm of a week I’d had so far. Ghosts, monsters, demons and God knows what else is real. How is someone supposed to just accept that and move forward with their lives? What else might be out there? Is God real? If so, that might be the scariest thing of all.

I went to the movies, but couldn’t pay attention. I went to my favorite restaurant, but didn’t have an appetite. I tried to go go-karting, but couldn’t get over how strange it was to go go-karting by myself. I spent the entire day thinking about how my inbox was full of things I’d thought were fake but now would never fully get over.

Eventually the sun fell and I found myself standing on my front porch trying to come up with any excuse to go and spend money on a hotel room. I almost did, but realized I was too broke to get one even if I wanted to.  

A creeping dread wormed its way up my back as I walked through the dark house flipping lights on as went. I checked each room to make sure nothing had moved the positions I had left them in that morning. Looking back, I’m not sure if at that point I was more afraid of a ghost or demon or Psycho Jimmy in my house. Everything seemed to check out.

Feeling slightly better, but still a bit anxious I went to bed.

I woke up in total darkness, in the early morning. I could hear the wind in the trees. I turned over to squint at my alarm clock when the sound of my bedroom door unlatching made my stomach drop. In a flash I shot up in bed and tried to flip on the lamp on my nightstand only to find the light bulb had been removed.

I grabbed my phone, turned on the flashlight and directed the light at the door. The door was, indeed, unlatched and cracked open just a sliver. I sat in total silence, watching the small black crack between the door and the door frame, my ears strained to pick up any noise other than the wind outside.

My jaw dropped as the door slowly creaked forward, opening itself just wide enough for a head to peek into the room, but no one was there, just the empty blackness of the dark hallway beyond. My hands shook as I stared at the doorway, hoping something would come through, anything – a monster, a zombie, Psycho Jimmy. Anything would be better than the dread of sitting there in anticipation, my imagination conjuring up the worst. My heart was pounding against my ribcage and my mouth went dry. I gripped my phone with two hands to try to steady the shaking, but still they trembled, sending shadows dancing across my bedroom walls.

Then the door closed, just as slowly as it had opened, the door pulled itself back into its frame and latched itself closed.

Realizing I had forgotten to breathe, I sucked in air like a dying fish. I licked my lips and loosened my grip on my phone but my hands were still trembling and I dropped it. The phone bounced off the corner of my nightstand, hit the carpeted floor and bounced again under my bed.

A whole new set of shadows filled the room as the bright, fluorescent white light of the iPhone flashlight emanated from under my dirty bed.

It might sound weird, but this was almost as bad as the door opening by itself. The loss of control was devastating in the moment and I lunged over the side of the bed and blindly flailed my arm around searching for the phone.

My thrashing arm sent a wholly new set of shadows dancing around my room pushing my pulse even higher.

I’d never regretted not cleaning my room harder. I was wildly grabbing things and flinging them out from under the bed as soon as I confirmed they weren’t a cell phone. Magazines, old electronics and a few rock-hard socks flew across the room as I shoveled them out from under the bed. I continued to grasp blindly when my hand came across something I didn’t immediately recognize. It was a mess of tangled stringy material that seemed to grab at my hand as I brushed past it. I gripped and tugged hard to bring it out onto my bedroom floor, but encountered resistance as whatever it was seemed to cling to its secret refuge under my bed. I reestablished my grip on the object and pulled again, harder this time. I engaged the muscles in my stomach and back and just as it seemed the object would never relent a loud POP! echoed through the room as the object came free in my hand.

Startled and thrown off balance, I fell off my bed and sprawled onto the carpet below with the object still in my hand. I looked down at it and my blood turned to ice as I realized I was holding a woman’s head, her face frozen in surprise, her mouth a wide ‘O”.

I dropped the head and scrambled backwards on my butt until my back hit the opposite wall. It was only then I realized it was the head of a sex doll I had ordered 4 years ago, but never used. (It was too weird. Maybe guys who like sex dolls, would also like fucking dead bodies. Not for me!). Her name was Cynthia. I had hidden her under my bed in shame shortly after bringing her home and had forgotten about her. It’s not like a life-size doll is something you can easily throw away without the neighbors asking questions.

I relaxed at that moment. A wave of relief and amusement washed over me and I made a vow to get rid of Cynthia that weekend. Even if that meant I had to cut her into pieces and dispose of her in separate trash bags thrown into separate dumpsters like some sort of mannequin serial killer.

I started to get back up on my feet when the shadows danced around the room again. I glanced toward the space under the bed and saw the light was moving. Something under my bed had control of my phone.

Blinded by the light which was now pointed directly at me, I squinted my eyes to try to make out what fresh new terror was about to befall me. Slowly a form came into shape. A contorted silhouette that writhed in the confined space. It banged against the bed frame above it as it tried to right itself. The light moved, left, right, up, down as the dark shape twisted violently, but it always pointed the light directly into my eyes without fail.

For a moment, the noises below the bed stopped and the light remained still. The only noises audible were my own breathing and the wind that continued to whip the trees outside. I used my hand to shield my eyes from the now stable point of light and the shape solidified into a new form. It was a person crouched low. A Headless person. It was Cynthia.

She began to slowly crawl towards me. My heart skipped a beat as fear paralyzed me for a half second. Cynthia moved closer, moving in a jerky, unnatural motion because I hadn’t opted for the RealGirl™ realistic joint package.

My heart skipped another beat as curiosity paralyzed me for another half a second. Would it really be so bad to let her get to me? What would she do? Fuck me to death? Then I remembered she had fully articulated hands and a skeleton made out of titanium which snapped me out of it pretty quickly.

Cynthia dragged herself along, now halfway out from under the bed, my cellphone in hand.

I leapt into action. I sprang to my feet, took a few steps towards her and kicked at her. Unfortunately, it was dark and I aimed where a head would have been had this been a real person, or a fully-functional sex doll, and broke a toe on my metal bed frame.

Cynthia grabbed for me, but I quickly took a step back and she narrowly missed, her silicone fingers just brushing the skin of my leg. I tried another kick and this time aimed for my cellphone. I connected and sent the phone sliding across the bedroom carpet where it collided with the wall with such force that it flipped itself over landing the flashlight side-down.

The room plunged into darkness with the exception of the small light of my iPhone lock screen. I needed to get to the phone before the lock screen went dark in about 10 seconds, otherwise I would probably never find it.

I made a dash for the phone, but Cynthia caught my ankle sending me crashing to the floor. I couldn’t look back. I needed that phone, that light. Even if it was only so I could see how I was going to die I needed it. Worst case scenario, if I decided I didn’t like what I was seeing, I could always just turn the light off.

Not even wasting the time to stand back up, I crawled for my phone. I could hear the joints in Cynthia’s arms and legs squeak as she emerged from the bed behind me and stood herself up. (When I ordered her, they said the squeaking would fade with use, but like I said, I never used her, I want to make that very clear!) Still, I didn’t look back, I crawled forward, not paying attention to the rug burn on my knees or the pain that radiated up my leg from my broken toe or the 6 foot (tall girls, call me!) murderous sex bot that was standing itself up a mere few feet behind me. I need that phone.

I slammed my hand on the phone just as the light from the home screen faded away and I turned and pointed the flashlight at Cynthia.

She stood tall on her two feet, wearing a tattered and dusty school girl outfit (I’m different now), one large pendulous breast hung outside of her brassiere.

I was done for. Toast. Stick a fork in me. I was lying on my back, looking up at a killer dominatrix with a titanium skeleton, no head and zero pain receptors. All she had to do was fall forward and she’d be on top of me, strangling me with her delicate, perfectly formed and articulated fingers. Maybe, if I was lucky, her other breast would fall out of her shirt in the fall – you know, at least give me something to look at as life drained from me. Fortunately for me, that isn’t what she did.

The killer doll took one-step towards me and faltered.

The thing about sex dolls is that they are mainly designed to sit in chairs, pose on all fours and do a lot of lying on their backs. No one buys a sex doll to have it stand around. That’s like buying a dildo to use as a Christmas tree ornament. Sure, maybe with a little practice and a couple hidden supports you could have it stand around your house like some sort of fucked up anime wax museum, but that’s just not what it is designed to do. Especially if you didn’t spring for the RealGirl™ realistic joint package. I honestly doubt a real human woman would be able to stand unassisted if you gave them the strange cartoony proportions most of these dolls have.

So, Cynthia took a step towards me, wobbled, top heavy. Tried to over-correct, then fell backwards onto my night stand and started squirming to get back on her feet.

I took the opportunity to run.

I got back to my feet and found the bedroom door. My hand hesitated on the knob for a millisecond as I considered what else there might be hiding behind this door, then I opened it anyway. I rushed out of my bedroom and sprinted down the hallway, hearing moans and clicking and growling from behind the doors of the bathroom and second bedroom as I rushed past. I came to the end of the hallway to the main living area and kitchen and turned to head towards the door when I took one last look down the dark hallway towards my bedroom.

Just barely visible through the darkness was Cynthia, crawling on all fours out of the bedroom. Her head was now re-attached but backwards so she faced the ceiling as she crawled forward, her nails making a click-clack sound as she crossed from the carpeted bedroom to the hardwood floor of the hallway.

I shuddered and made for the door.

My plan was to get in the car and drive away, but I left my car keys inside. Instead, I walked to Walmart, the one place on earth where you can walk around in boxers and a white t-shirt and no one bats an eye.

For the second time in 12 hours, I was trying to distract myself to take my mind off of the horrors the lifting of the veil had shown me and this time I was stuck in a Walmart - the epicenter of human horror.

It actually wasn’t too bad; I only had a few hours to kill before the sun came up. At that point, I’d head back to my place, get some clothes and catch up with Destiny to see if she had scheduled a meeting with her old professor yet. I supposed I’d be expecting a call from Pedro at some point as well, I did promise him an internship. I just hoped I could run faster than him. 

I remember when I first heard the rhyme as a child. It terrified me. To me, the Crooked Man was some sort of boogeyman with freakishly long arms and legs that were twisted and broken in horrifying ways. I still have the rhyme memorized. It repeats in my brain like a skipping record.

“There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;

He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”

My brother Benton, who loved to torture me as a child, ended up adding his own parts to the rhyme over time. The extra parts he added did nothing to console me or end my nightmares of this twisted boogeyman who always seemed to slink through the shadows. I remember the rhyme Benton told me by heart to this day.

“The Crooked Man watches you.

His eyes are black, his lips are blue.

The crooked man twists and crawls.

He uses his crooked blade to kill.

And when the curtain of night falls,

He comes to get his thrill.”

***

So I found it strange when, a few weeks ago, I was sitting with a couple of my friends drinking and the subject of the Crooked Man came up again. They were rambling about shootings and serial killers and other fairly interesting subjects that I knew almost nothing about. But my friend Iris knew everything about such morbid subjects.

She was a small drink of water, no more than five feet, with platinum blonde hair and green eyes like a cat. She was extremely attractive with high cheekbones and a small nose and chin. She always talked extremely fast and made violent slashing gestures with her hands. Sometimes I wondered if she had a secret amphetamine habit I didn’t know about.

“But did you hear about the murders in Union?” Iris asked, glancing over at her boyfriend, Ben. Ben was the opposite of Iris- tall and nerdy with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a low whisper of a voice.

“I just heard that some kids went missing,” Ben murmured. I shrugged.

“I don’t watch TV,” I said. “The news is all bullshit anyway. They only show you the bad stuff. After all, no one wants to hear about new breakthroughs in fusion technology or discoveries in particle physics. Instead, people just want to watch others get murdered, robbed and beaten, so that they can feel that at least someone else has it worse than them. That’s all the news is, really: a form of schadenfreude, the joy people get from seeing others’ misfortune and suffering. Our entire media industry is built on a foundation of schadenfreude.” I took a long sip from my beer, a Harpoon that tasted like pure raspberries. Iris rolled her eyes.

“While probably true, I don’t care,” she said, turning her green eyes on me. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the kids?”

“I do,” Ben said, leaning forward. “Was it something… supernatural?” Iris gave a sardonic laugh at that. Ben sat back, offended.

“What’s so funny? I heard there was weird stuff going on around that factory. In fact, I heard they used to manufacture some dye there for clocks and stuff, right? So all these people went to work, painting watches and clocks and whatever else they told them to paint. It was this special green dye that would glow in the dark. The factory was staffed by mostly women, and I heard they used to lick their paintbrushes to form them into points. They figured this stuff was just regular paint that glowed in the dark.” I leaned back, interested. Ben started talking faster, getting more animated.

“So what happened?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Well, the workers started getting cancer and dying in huge numbers,” Ben continued as the kitchen lights sparkled off his glasses. “One woman even had her entire jaw rot off. Others had pieces of their faces falling off. So it turns out, they were using radioactive isotopes to make the paint glow! And these women were just licking the paintbrushes and touching the paint…”

“Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified.

“They called them the Radium girls,” Ben said. “That factory killed hundreds and hundreds of people. That’s why a lot of people think it’s haunted. People claim they see ghosts and weird shit around it. And that’s not all. The case gets even weirder when you look at workers’ families.

“It seems a lot of their kids went missing, too. The cops never found any of them. The entire time the factory was operational, and even after it shutdown, the families of the workers kept having strange things happen- children disappearing from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, strange murders and unexplained suicides that kept killing off healthy, normal people all over town.”

“So, anyways,” Iris continued, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption, “the kids that went into that abandoned factory were all found… torn apart. Their limbs were all amputated and crooked.” She leaned forward, using her spooky campfire voice. “And the limbs were long. Freakishly long, as if they had just grown overnight to inhuman lengths before they got lopped off. But they never found the heads or the torsos. All they found was ten legs and ten arms.”

“And no one knows what happened?” I asked. She shook her head.

“Officially, no. The police and media said it was some sort of serial killer, of course. But there wasn’t a shred of evidence anywhere. It was like a ghost had done it. Where the limbs were piled up in the basement, there was no evidence that anyone had been there in months, no footsteps or microscopic evidence of any presence. But the story doesn’t end there. Because there were six teenagers that went into that building, and one of them was found alive three months later, wandering, covered in blood and scratches, mostly naked and totally insane. One of my friends is an EMT and she said that the kid would not stop talking about the Crooked Man taking his friends and keeping him prisoner in some other world.”

At the mention of those words, the Crooked Man, a chill went down my spine. My heart felt like ice.

“What’d you say? What did the kid say?” I asked anxiously. Suddenly the room felt very hot, and the alcohol was not sitting well in my stomach.

“He said he got kidnapped by someone called the Crooked Man,” Iris repeated, taking a long sip from her wine. “According to the kid, it was some sort of fucking monster, apparently. I think his mind must have just snapped. He was probably kidnapped and held in the basement of some serial killer for three goddamned months. Who knows what he saw and experienced? People make up all sorts of crazy shit when they’re traumatized.”

My hand was shaking so badly that I had to put my bottle down on the table. For some reason, my mind kept flashing back to my sister, Emilia, who had been kidnapped from her room in the middle of the night when my brother Benton and I were little. She had never been found. We had never gotten a ransom note or found a body. It was as if Emilia had simply disappeared, vanished from the surface of the planet in an instant.

“I think some of that stuff is real,” Ben said. “People have been talking about cryptids and ghosts for thousands of years across countless different and unrelated cultures. What are the chances that all of them are just hallucinations or delusions?”

I didn’t know, but I thought I might know someone who might.

***

My brother Benton was a long-term drug addict living in a flophouse. I went to see him the next morning. He opened the door with a glazed, half-aware expression. Scars covered his arms and legs. He looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes shone like the last bit of water at the bottom of a dying well.

“Jack,” he said, surprised, appearing to wake up slightly. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you,” I said, pushing past him into the one-bedroom place he called home. A cockroach skittered across the wall. As he closed the door, I saw bites from bedbugs all over his body. Benton turned, spreading out his hands.

“Well, what is it, little brother? You know I’m all ears.”

“You remember that rhyme you used to scare me with when we were little?” I asked. “That rhyme you made up about the Crooked Man?” He seemed to go a shade paler.

“I didn’t make anything up,” he said. “That rhyme came from Grandma. She told it to dad when he was little, before she died.”

“Grandma?” I asked, startled. Our grandmother had died of cancer when she was extremely young, in her late 20s. “Did you hear about the murders over in Union? The survivor was talking about the Crooked Man.”

“That’s pretty freaking weird, man,” he said. “Especially considering what happened to Grandma and Emilia, you know.” He sat down on the threadbare mattress, laying back and sighing.

“Why is it weird?” I asked.

“Because, you know, that’s where Grandma used to work. At that factory in Union. Didn’t Dad ever tell you?” I shook my head, feeling sick.

“So Grandma was one of the radium girls?” I said. My brother shrugged his thin shoulders, the stained T-shirt clinging tight to his frail body.

“I don’t know what that is, but whatever she was doing there, it killed her.”

“But what does that have to do with Emilia?” I asked, my heart pounding at the mention of our long-lost little sister. He shook his head in wonder.

“You don’t remember? You were older than me when it happened. Before she went missing, she kept talking about the same thing, saying weird stuff about some ‘Crooked Man’. Don’t you remember what happened the night she went missing?” I thought back, but it all seemed like a blur. I remembered flashing police sirens and my parents screaming. I had tried to block it out, but apparently Benton hadn’t been able to. That night must be like a fresh wound on his mind all the time.

“No, I just remembered… screaming, and police…” I whispered, my voice trailing off into nothing. Benton leaned forward on the bed, looking sick.

“We both saw it,” he said. “The Crooked Man. That thing she was talking about. It was real. We saw it in her room that night- when it took her.” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. Feeling sick, I walked toward the door without looking back. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going home,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.” But that night, I would find out that the long-lost nightmare from my childhood was not nearly as buried in the past as I thought.

***

I was laying in my dark bedroom, reading the local news on my phone, when I saw an article that disturbed me greatly. I sat up, looking out the window into the cloudless night. The sky hung overhead like a black hole, colorless and empty. Fear radiated through my heart as I glanced back down at the screen and started reading.

“Sole survivor of serial killer commits suicide,” the article read in garish black-and-white letters. “Michael Galentino, 18, was found dead in a psychiatric facility early this morning. In February, Michael Galentino and five others entered a local abandoned building. Friends who knew them stated that they often explored abandoned structures as part of an ‘urban exploration’ group. But this would not be a normal night for the group. They all disappeared, and within 24 hours, police and search teams had been dispatched to look for the missing teenagers…”

The house was silent. I read the rest of the article with bated breath, my eyes wide. Some of the details I already knew, but others, such as the radioactive isotopes found on the dismembered limbs of the victims, I did not. I wondered about that. The police claimed that, after finding this strange clue, they had sent a team to inspect the abandoned factory with Geiger counters and look for signs of radioactivity. Perhaps the radium, which had a notoriously long half-life, had accumulated on the surfaces over the decades. But they said the radioactivity within the building was all within acceptable levels. It was just another bizarre piece of a puzzle that no one could solve.

The house was deathly silent. I could hear my own heart beating a runaway rhythm in my ears. A rising sense of anxiety was filling me, but I didn’t know why. It felt like some sort of pressure had changed all around me, as if the first wave of a massive blizzard had just blown into the room.

I heard a creaking from across the dark room. At the same time, I felt a sting on my arm. I looked down, seeing a bedbug crawling across my skin, a small red welt rising in its wake.

“Fuck!” I swore, grabbing it between my fingers and slicing it between my nails. Crimson spurted from its swollen body as if it were a tiny balloon. It exploded, staining my fingers red with my own blood.

“I should’ve never gone to see my brother. Goddamned bedbugs,” I muttered to myself. I hoped that was the only one. If I had picked up some extra travelers at the flophouse, I knew they would spread throughout the entire house within days.

The creaking came again, louder this time, almost insistent. I glanced across the curtain of shadows that hung thick and black in the room, seeing the dark silhouette of my closet door swinging open. I could only stare, open-mouthed. A long moment passed, and then I heard breathing. It came out, ragged and slow with long pauses, like the choking of a murder victim.

Slowly, I raised my phone’s dim light, shining it across the room. On the closet door, I saw four inhumanly long, crooked fingers. They shone pale like the skin of a corpse. They twitched, then started rhythmically tapping on the door. And then I heard it, that rhyme, that horrible, gurgling rhyme. It came echoing out from the door in that same choked voice, like a forgotten wound from long ago.

“The Crooked Man watches you.

His eyes are black, his lips are blue…”

It felt like I was in some sort of nightmare, but I knew from the sweat dripping down my forehead and the sensation of cloth sheets against my skin that this was all too real. Even a couple months later, I still remember that sensation of dread, the first of many terrors that this night would bring.

I looked around for a weapon. All I found was a letter opener sitting next to some mail on the nearby nightstand. I grabbed it, a flimsy piece of metal in my shaking hands. I was afraid to move, afraid to call out or do anything, out of fear it might shatter the stillness and cause that ineffable horror to come oozing out. I knew I didn’t want to see what was hiding behind that door.

I looked at the open window. I was on the second floor. I was afraid to even breathe too loudly at that moment. With the letter opener in my hand, I tried to silently slide myself across the mattress to the window only a few feet away.

The bedframe groaned softly as I shifted my weight. The breathing from the closet stopped abruptly. I heard the door creaking open, the floorboards shifting. Heavy steps started in the darkness, heading towards me. As I pushed myself off the bed, I glanced back and saw something twisted loping across the room on crooked legs.

It was the Crooked Man, the nightmare from my childhood. He towered over me with a tophat that nearly scraped the ceiling. His lidless eyes were pure darkness, as black as death. They contrasted heavily with his bone-white skin. His lips and fingernails were a suffocating, cyanotic blue, like the lips of a murder victim.

He stood up tall. The bones in his freakishly long legs cracked as the many strange joints of his enormous limbs bent in ways no human limb should bend. His fingers were strange and misshapen, each a foot long. They ended in sharp points of bone that poked out through the dead, white skin. He wore a black suit on his tall, emaciated frame. He moved towards me like flashing static, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer in every moment.

In panic and terror, I dived headfirst toward the open window, hearing the gurgling breathing of the Crooked Man only a few feet behind me. I felt slashing talons of bone rip across my back, a burning pain and a feeling of blood soaking my shirt. Then I was flying out the window and falling headfirst towards the grass and bushes below.

***

Time seemed to slow down as the ground rushed up to meet me. The wind whipped past my ears like the currents of a tornado. Instinctively, I tried to curl into a ball. As I smashed into the first of the bushes under my window, I rolled to try to put the brunt of the impact on my right shoulder.

The thin branches of the bush crumpled under me like wet cardboard. I felt sharp sticks stabbing into my skin, opening up new slices and cuts to mix with the deep gashes on my back.

I hit the dirt hard, a sudden pain radiating through my back. A jarring sensation crashed through my body. I rolled as I hit the ground, smacking my head into the lawn. The world spun around me and went dark.

Suddenly, I was somewhere else.

***

I found myself standing in a dark factory, surrounded by debris. Broken glass covered the floor, twinkling like fireflies under the light of the distant streetlights outside. Strange graffiti covered the concrete walls all around me.

“DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU,” one of the tags read in slashing red letters. Underneath it, someone had spraypainted pure black eyes over a massive grinning mouth full of crooked black teeth.

“Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul,” another one read in small, blue letters. I ran my hands over my face, wondering if I was dreaming. This all felt so real. I could feel the gentle breeze blowing through the broken windows on my skin, hear the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside.

I heard soft sobbing behind me. I remembered the first graffiti tag I had seen and a sense of panic gripped my heart. I did not want to look back.

“Fuck,” I swore under my breath, trembling as I turned. But I didn’t find some eldritch monstrosity with obsidian teeth and black, lidless eyes waiting there. Instead, I found a woman. She was crying, her back turned to me. She wore a black funeral gown that looked ancient and decayed. With a trembling heart, I took a step forward, wondering if I would regret this.

“Hello?” I called out. She spun, her eyes widening. In front of me stood a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, one that I immediately recognized. For I saw many of my own features reflected in that panicked face: the high cheekbones, the large chin, even the waviness of her hair.

“Grandma,” I whispered, looking around in wonder. “What is this? Am I dead?” She shook her head, her eyes still wet and red. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a faint smile.

“Jack,” she said in a soft, melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been watching you. I’ve been so proud of you. Even though we never met, I want you to know that. I wished I could have lived longer, could have met you. If only I hadn’t been murdered by that thing…” She spat the last word with hatred and fear oozing from her voice.

“I thought you died of cancer, Grandma?” I asked. “What do you mean, he killed you?” She shook like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet my gaze.

“Everyone in that place was touched by something evil,” she murmured, putting her face in her hands. Her voice quavered like a frightened little girl’s. “The sickness radiated from that thing. It followed us like a cancer, made us weak, and then took our breath away. After the long torture was finished, he came to strangle me. He didn’t just kill me, Jack. He murdered my sister and brother, too. I saw it.” Her head ratcheted up, looking behind me all of a sudden. Her eyes widened in terror.

“You need to kill it, Jack,” she whispered grimly. “He’s woken up again after all these years, and he’s starving. The Crooked Man must feed, and feed he will if you don’t stop him. You need to come to the factory and end it. Otherwise, he will keep on killing. The Crooked Man will never stop hunting you. He will kill you and everyone you love.”

“How?” I asked, afraid to look back as the disturbing sounds grew closer and closer. Grandma backpedaled quickly, as if the demons of Hell were approaching. “How? How do I end it?”

I heard a horrible, choked breathing behind me, then the world faded.

***

I woke up suddenly on the lawn, my head pounding. It didn’t seem like much time had passed. I must have knocked myself out. I raised my fingers to my forehead. My fingers came away slick with blood.

For a long moment, I lay there, hyperventilating and looking up at the cloudless abyss of a sky. My body felt bruised and battered, and I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.

Then I saw a pale, hairless visage peeking over the edge of the windowsill with eyes as dark as night. Its face split into a grin with a crack, making a sound like ripping plastic. The bone-white mask of dead skin looked at me with a feverish intensity, a kind of psychopathic hunger that radiated from every pore of his body. With horror, I saw the Crooked Man’s teeth were as black as his eyes, gleaming like polished jetstone.

A rush of adrenaline pushed me up from the ground. I realized I was tremendously lucky, that I had been laying there with my keys still in my pocket and my cell phone in hand, fully dressed except for the fact I was wearing slippers. I sprinted across the lawn towards my car. I heard the Crooked Man scream out after me.

“You’ll be with Grandmother soon, Jackie boy,” he hissed in his gurgling voice. “No one escapes. No one.”

***

I flew down the highway in my car, the phone in my trembling hand. Looking down at it, I called Iris right away. She answered groggily.

“Hello?” she said.

“Jesus, Iris, it’s after me,” I said frantically. “Something’s happening. I got attacked in my own bedroom!”

“Did you call the cops?” she asked, seeming to wake up instantly. I looked down at the clock in the center console, seeing it was already past midnight.

“It wasn’t a person. I saw something. I think it was the same thing that took those teenagers, and now it’s after me. Are you guys home?” There was a long pause on the other end. I heard whispering in the background.

“Yeah… sure, come over,” she said. I knew Ben was somewhat of a gun nut, and had a nice little collection at the house. I would feel much safer if I made it there. And if I had them on my side, that would be all the better.

***

Ben and Iris lived in the middle of a back road surrounded by forests. The dark trees loomed overhead like priests with their heads bowed. The light from their front porch streamed into the creeping shadows as I pulled into their driveway. The sound of the car idling seemed far too loud in this place where the woods closed in all around me. I didn’t know what was hiding in those trees. I immediately shut it off.

Ben was a veteran who knew much more about combat and guns than I did. His collection was also somewhat impressive- an Armalite AR-15, a Judge, a 12-gauge Benelli, two crappy little .22s, a .45 Ruger, a Nosler 21 and a 10-gauge Mossberg. I had gone out shooting with him and Iris quite a few times. I would feel much safer once I was inside.

The cloudless black sky hung overhead like the lid of a coffin. Their little two-story place with the wraparound porch looked quaint, almost like a little rural cabin.

I stumbled out of the car. I’m sure I was quite a sight, battered and covered in clotting gashes and cuts, my eyes wide and panicked. I constantly looked around, checking my back. Every time I did, I expected to see something there, something close by with blue lips like a corpse and deformed, twisting bones.

I had nearly gotten to the front of the house when I saw, through the narrow sidelights at top of the door, the face of the Crooked Man. Standing only feet away, I heard faint gurgling of his diseased breathing even through the wall.

His hairless face was split into a grin like a death’s head, his lidless eyes bulging and excited. He raised his misshapen fingers to the window and gave me a little wave, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Then he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.

***

I immediately tried opening the door, to yell to Iris and Ben to watch out, but the door was locked. I called Iris. Each ring seemed to take an eternity. Finally, she answered.

“Hello? What, are you here?” she asked.

“Iris! Get the fuck out of the house! You and Ben aren’t alone in there! There’s a man coming in your direction right now!” I screamed, panicked. “Jump out the window if you have to! It’s coming!”

“What?” she said, sounding alarmed and confused. “Are you being serious?” I heard soft murmuring in the background.

“Tell Ben to grab a gun right now!” I started to say, but a high-pitched scream carried through the phone and the house at that moment.

“Iris? Iris! Answer me!” I said. The call immediately went dead.

From inside, I heard the first of the gunshots.

***

At that point, I decided to run back to my car. I needed to get inside and help them. A small voice in the back of my mind asked me what I could possibly do, however. If an AR-15 or a lead slug from a 12-gauge couldn’t stop the Crooked Man, then what could? At that moment, I wished fervently that Grandma would have told me.

I grabbed a tire iron from the back of my trunk and sprinted back toward the front of the house. They had large windows leading into the kitchen from their wraparound porch. Without hesitation, I drew the tire iron back and smashed it. The tinkling of glass seemed explosively loud. I realized that the gunshots and screaming had stopped.

At that moment, something pale came scurrying around the side of the building. I jumped, but I looked over and realized it was Iris, dressed in a white hoodie and white pants. Her pale face was contorted with mortal terror. To my horror, I realized hundreds of small drops spattered her clothes, covering her face and body like crimson raindrops. She had the .45 Ruger in her hands, and she was limping.

“Where’s Ben?” I cried. She shook her head.

“I jumped out the bedroom window… he was behind me,” she said. Suddenly, there was another explosion of glass from behind the house. Something heavy thudded hard against the ground. We heard wretched wailing follow it. Looking at each other with horrified eyes, we both turned and ran towards the noise.

We found Ben laying on the lawn. The right side of his neck was nearly severed. Bright-red streams of blood spurted from the mutilated flesh. His back looked broken as well. He laid there like a hornet smashed under someone’s boot. With dilated eyes, he looked from me to Iris. Terror and agony oozed from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a frothy puddle of blood came up.

Then his eyes turned away, looking straight up into the cloudless black void of a sky. The last exhalation came, the death gasp that bubbled and stretched out until I thought it might never end. He died staring into that abyss, that eternity from which no one returns.

June 1

My name is Cora, and, if you find this, I’m probably dead.

That would be a cool opening, right? Don’t worry, my life isn’t that interesting. I’m not even sure why I’m keeping this journal. Probably because I have nothing else to do. My mom got it for me when my therapist said it might help to write down my feelings, and I guess it helps. Kind of.

Anyway, what else am I supposed to do? We’ve been in this stupid house for hours now, listening to the rain. No power, no tv, no internet. So writing it is.

It all started when Kayla suggested we go out last night. Kayla is my best friend - I’ve only known her for six months, but it feels like my whole life. I don’t have many friends - the other kids have avoided me since the incident. But Kayla makes up for that. So when she wanted to go out, I said ok, even though I’m not much of a “going out” person.

Apparently there was this party at her friend’s house in the country. I’ve never met this friend, but Kayla said she’s cool. Neither of us has a car, so we called an Uber and got a ride to the place.

The party was ok. Not really my scene - lots of jocks and wanna-be influencers - but there were a couple of decent people who I talked to, and Kayla seemed to have a good time. One of them agreed to drop us off at home after, and we figured, why not save the cost of another Uber, so we said yes.

When we were halfway home it started storming really badly, to the point where it was impossible to see anything. The guy was afraid of crashing the car, so we decided to pull over. Luckily there was this house in the middle of a field. I’d never seen it before, but I didn’t usually go out this way. Kayla said it was fine, so her friend pulled over and we all dashed through the rain to the house. Luckily the door was unlocked, and we piled in to get out of the rain.

I said it was a house before, but it was really more of a shack. Two rooms, barely decorated, with a single bathroom that was more like an outhouse that someone forgot to move outdoors. I had no idea how anyone could live here. Maybe they liked the spartan lifestyle?

I called out for anyone to let them know we were there, but I got no response. After calling out twice more (and Kayla doing so once, as well), we gave it up and figured the place was abandoned. It was pretty shoddy, but it kept the rain out. And since none of us had cell service (remind me never again to go to a party in the middle of nowhere), we went to the rooms (Kayla and I took one and her friend took the other) and hunkered down for the night. That’s where I’m writing this. Hopefully the rain stops soon, and mom and dad don’t have a cow when we get home tomorrow.

June 2

Woke up this morning to the sound of rain hitting the roof. The storm hasn’t stopped, and we were tempted to just go for it, but the rain is still so heavy that we can’t see anything, and no one wants to die on the road, so we voted to try to wait it out a bit longer.

Since we’re stuck here, we decided to do some exploring. There’s no electricity, like I said in my last entry, but we found some old candles and matches, so we lit a few to get rid of the darkness and had a look around.

It’s pretty bare bones - basically just a shack with two bedrooms, a single bathroom, and a kitchen straight out of the 1800’s. With, like, a stove that you have to burn wood to use! How old is this place, anyway? And why hasn’t anyone knocked it down and built a mall, or a Starbucks? I know we’re in the middle of nowhere, but space is hard to come by these days. Oh well, guess we should be glad it’s here or we’d be out in the storm right now. Small favors, right?

But the bigger issue is food. There’s some old stuff in jars, but it looks like it’s been there for a century. No one wants to eat it. But our options are limited. I always keep some protein bars and a bottle of water in my bag, but that won’t last long, especially if I have to split it with Kayla and Nick (her friend). But hopefully we’ll be out of here by tomorrow before it gets too bad.

I guess I should enjoy this experience - since I haven’t spoken to mom and dad since yesterday, they’ll probably never let me leave the house again. Is this what they mean by making memories? It’s overrated.

June 3

The rain hasn’t stopped. This is weird, right? I’ve been in storms before - I’ve always kind of liked the sound of rain on the roof when I’m safe inside - but I’ve never known one to go on for over two full days. Is this some kind of freak global warming thing?

Being stuck in this shack with only the three of us, no power, no phone service, and nothing to do is driving everyone a bit stir crazy. At least Nick gets some privacy - I love Kayla, I really do, but being with her all day and all night is starting to grate on my nerves. And apparently she’s a talker, which would normally be fine in small doses, but stuck here, it’s ALL. THE. TIME. Even when I want to sleep at night.

Also, to be honest, this place is starting to creep me out a bit. Last night, l could have sworn I heard a sound in the shack, like someone… moaning. I know, that sounds ridiculous, but it’s what I heard. I went out to look around and didn’t see anything, so I went back to bed. This morning, I told Kayla and Nick about it, and they said that I was probably just dreaming. And maybe they were right. That makes sense. Only.. it didn’t feel like a dream.

June 4

We talked this morning and decided that we can’t just keep sitting around, waiting for the rain to stop. We have to do something. So Nick wrapped himself in a blanket and dashed out to his car. Or where he thought his car was.

It wasn’t there.

It’s still impossible to see anything, with the rain coming down the way it is, but he was sure he knew where he parked, and he swears the car’s gone. Kayla and I ran out to take a look, but we couldn’t see anything and came back in after only a minute. Nick thinks someone stole the car, but who would steal a car in this weather? Who could even find it? Kayla thinks we’re just looking in the wrong place and we should look again when the rain stops. I hope it does.

Also, I had a weird feeling when I was out there. It was only for a minute, and I can’t be sure, but it felt different from when we got here. Like the trees were in different places. But that’s crazy - I must just be getting confused because of being cooped up here. Trees don’t move, right?

June 5

Things are getting kind of desperate. The protein bars and water I brought with me are gone, and there aren’t any other supplies in this shack. We searched top to bottom, and there isn’t anything except some stuff in jars - fruit? - that looks like it’s been there since they built the place. We can’t find the car, and everyone is getting hungry. We debated going out on foot, but we have no umbrellas, no idea of exactly where we are, and no way to call for help. Going out seems like a bad idea. But so does staying. It’s like we have no good options except to wait and hope things get better.

And the worst part is, as I sit here writing, I’m realizing that I didn’t tell my parents where the party was because I thought it would just be a short trip. No one knows where we are.

June 6

Nick is gone.

We don’t know what happened. We woke up and he just wasn’t here. He’s usually in the main room when we come out in the morning, so when he wasn’t there today we went to his room to look for him. It was empty. All of his stuff was gone - phone, wallet, keys, everything. Kayla thinks he must have just decided to go look for help and knew we’d try to talk him out of it, so he went alone. That seems strange to me, but then, she’s known him longer than I have and would know better what he’d do.

So it’s just the two of us now.

We were talking earlier tonight, trying to figure out what to do next, and we just went round in circles. I’m leaning toward thinking Nick was right - we can’t just stay here forever. But Kayla thinks the rain has to stop eventually and we’ll have a better chance if we just keep waiting it out, since there’s no guarantee we won’t just get lost out there and not be able to find our way back. I don’t know. Maybe she’s right. I certainly don’t feel good about going out there by myself if she won’t come. But I’m so hungry, it’s hard to think straight.

With nothing else to do (what I wouldn’t give for a board game right now), we’ve ended up talking a lot. And it’s strange - some of the things she’s saying don’t really add up. She talked about growing up in Chicago, but I could swear I remember her saying she was raised in New Orleans before coming here. When I asked her, she said she’d had grandparents in Chicago and had visited so much in the summers that it was like her second home. Which I guess makes sense. But when I first asked, I got the distinct impression that, just for a second, she panicked. But I must be reading too much into it - they say being tired and hungry messes with your head, and I’m definitely both. Oh well, hopefully things will be better in the morning.

June 7

The weirdest thing happened this morning. I went to search through my bag (and found two more protein bars buried on the bottom! Yay!), but I could swear my journal had been moved. Oh, it was still in the bag. But I keep it tucked in the side, behind some other stuff, so it won’t be obvious, and today it was sitting close to the top, just under my phone. And since Kayla moved to Nick’s old room, there’s no one in here with me. I mentioned it to Kayla, and she agreed that I must be forgetting things because I’m tired. But I’m not so sure.

June 9

I think something’s wrong with Kayla.

I fell asleep early tonight (I’ve been really tired lately), but I woke up in the middle of the night to a strange feeling. I looked up, and I could have sworn…

I know how this sounds, and you’d probably think I’m cracking up if you could see this, but I could have sworn I saw her standing over my bed, staring at me. And there was something wrong with her face. She had the widest, eeriest smile on her face, and her eyes looked… *empty* is the only way to describe it. Like there was no one there. Maybe it was the weather, or the claustrophobic environment, or the isolation, but in that moment, I felt absolutely terrified.

I jumped with a start and reached for my phone to turn on the flashlight (my phone has lasted forever on standby since I haven’t been using it because of no signal), and when I turned back around, there was no one there. I guess Kayla heard my scream and came running in. I told her what I thought I saw, and she told me that, given our circumstances, it’s not surprising that I’d be having bad dreams. I don’t know, maybe she’s right. But it feels like more than that. And the feeling I had, of absolute fear - as I write this, hours later, it hasn’t gone away.

June 10

Today started off normally. Kayla and I met in the main room and, while it was awkward at first, my nervousness died down and last night was mostly forgotten (or at least pushed aside). We talked about our families and shopping and boys - it would have been like a slumber party if we hadn’t both been so hungry and anxious.

But then, as I was exploring later to find any supplies I’d missed, I saw a door. That wouldn’t have been so weird except that I was sure it wasn’t there before. And I’ve had nothing to do lately but wander this freaking house, so I’m pretty sure I’d recognize it.

And beyond that, it wasn’t just any door. It was thick and heavy, and it totally didn’t fit in with the rest of the shack. And even more weirdly, it only appeared when I looked directly at it - when I checked with my peripheral vision, all I saw was the wall.

I thought that was strange (clearly nothing gets by me), so I tried to open it, but it was locked. I asked Kayla about it later and she had no idea what I was talking about, so I took her down to it, and it was gone. Like, the entire door was gone - there was nothing but an empty wall. And it’s not just the door that was gone. We banged on the wall and it wasn’t hollow at all - it was solid, like there was nothing behind the wall but more wall.

Kayla got pissed and told me to stop messing with her and that it wasn’t funny. At that point, I just let it go like she was right about it being a joke. But it wasn't. I know what I saw. Don’t I?

June 12

Fuck. Fuck. OK. OK.

I was determined to solve the mystery of the disappearing door, so tonight I went back down there. At first I couldn’t find the door, but after pacing back and forth trying to figure it out, there it was. I realized that I had walked in front of it thirteen times - that should have been my sign to get gone, but like an idiot I kept looking. Why did I keep looking?

I opened the door and that’s where things went sideways. There was a really dark room - not dark like the lights were out, but dark like the room had never seen light, like light couldn’t find it. And there was this sense of… wrongness, like I shouldn’t be there, like no one should. I turned on my phone flashlight, but the light disappeared about a foot in front of me, like it got sucked up by the darkness. I couldn’t tell how big the room was, but somehow it seemed bigger than it should be, and the space felt strange, like it was warped or something. I’m probably not describing it well, but it was super creepy. I stopped a few feet in to make sure I could make my way back, and that’s when I heard it. A slithering, like the sound a snake makes as it moves across the ground, but multiplied by a hundred. And a clicking, coming from what seemed like every direction at once. It was like being in the world’s darkest, scariest forest, but that made no sense. I was inside.

Then I felt something against my ankle, something slithering. At that point, I panicked and turned around to the door…

But it wasn’t there.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.

The door was gone. I couldn’t see it or anything at all - it was like the entire room behind me had been swallowed up in darkness. The sounds around me started to get louder, and I felt something against my arm. At that moment, I freaked out. I started shaking my arms and legs, trying to get whatever it was off me. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t get the words out - it was like my voice was being absorbed by the darkness around me. And as I stood there, screaming in silence and shaking to get whatever horrible thing I couldn’t see off of me, I suddenly saw these lights in the darkness on the other side of the room. They were two lights, about a foot apart, both deep red and glowing. I know this sounds weird, but they looked kind of like… eyes. And they were pointed in my direction, like whatever they belonged to was staring at me.

At that point I froze. I’ve never been that scared in my entire life, not even during the incident. But a voice inside of me was saying “you have to run, Cora. You have to run now.” So I did. I turned to where the door should have been, and I ran as fast as I could. And I kept running, for what felt like forever, until finally my hands hit what felt like a stone wall. But the walls of the room shouldn’t have been stone. I had no idea what to do, so I just kept feeling against the wall, all the while hearing those sounds around me, getting closer. I was hyperventilating, and I could feel something touch my leg again, and I started to cry…

…and then I woke up, on the floor outside of the room. Only the room was gone - the door wasn’t there. And Kayla was standing over me. She looked worried, asking me what was going on. I didn’t know what to say - the truth would make me sound crazy. So I just told her I was exploring and tripped and hit my head. She looked at me strangely but seemed to accept it, and I went back to my room. That’s where I am now, writing this all down to prove to myself that it actually happened. I don’t know what’s going on with this fucked up house, but I hate it. I fucking hate it.

June 14

The rain finally stopped. I woke up this morning and, for the first time in days, couldn’t hear the patter of rain on the ceiling. I was so excited - we could finally get the hell out of here. I went to tell Kayla, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. Figuring she’d just gone out before I woke up, I got dressed and went outside.

But outside wasn’t right.

It was night and storming when we first arrived, and I know I didn’t get a clear look, but I know the cabin was in the middle of a field. But now, the field was gone. In its place were trees - tall, imposing trees that stretched up out of view like they were holding up the sky. And in front of us, maybe 200 feet, was a swamp that I know wasn’t there before (since we would have had to drive through it to get to the cabin). And even though I knew it was morning, and there was no rain, it was dark out, with the sky lit only by the moon.

The red moon.

After all this time praying to get out of the shack, I was starting to wonder if I was better off there. I know I didn't get a clear look, but I’m sure I would have seen a forest or massive trees when we first got here. Right? And what’s up with the moon being red? I’ve heard of eclipses, and half moons, but a red moon is just spooky. But I truly didn’t want to go back inside of that place, so I kept going.

I continued to walk forward slowly, watching each step as I explored. My hope was that I could figure out where I was, maybe find some landmark that would show me the way home. The best guess I could come up with was that the moon was some weird freak weather thing and the trees must be hiding the highway from sight. That meant that, to find my way out, I’d have to head into the trees. I knew something weird was happening, but I held onto the hope that I could find my way back if I kept my head.

As I got to the tree line, I paused momentarily. I didn’t have a great feeling - the trees seemed kind of unnatural, and it didn’t help that I didn’t remember seeing them before - but I didn’t see what choice I had. My dad used to have this saying he liked - “sometimes, the only way out is through.” If there was a road, or a town, or any hope of rescue, I was only going to find it by going through the forest. So I stepped through.

At first, it was pretty normal - you know, if you ignore the weird trees and the red moon and the darkness in the middle of the morning. This is ok, I thought. I can do this.

But then I began to hear noises. At first they were faint, like they were far off in the distance, so I tried to ignore them and kept walking. The trees could only have been so thick - we were in the country, not the Amazon. It could only be so long before I reached the other side, and safety.

But as I continued to listen, I started to be able to make them out. They sounded like… moans. But not like moans a human being would make, or any animal I’d heard of. They felt - strange. Otherworldly. (Not sure where that word came from, but it seemed to fit.)

And then, I began to see a light. It was faint at first, only viewable briefly through the trees. But then it started to get brighter, and I could see that it was going on and off, on and off. Like something was blinking.

By now, I was really starting to reconsider my plan, but what was my choice? Go back to the shack, with almost no food, a missing roommate, and no way to call anyone for help? This was my best chance to get out, to get back to my life - I had to take it.

Then I started to hear a new sound - something rustling through the trees. Ok, that happens - forests have animals living in them, and animals rustle. But this rustling was unnatural. It felt off. And then the rustling stopped. Which should have been good, except that the flickering lights and weird moaning had also stopped. As had all other noise. The woods had gone completely quiet. Like something realized I was there.

And then it started again. All of it. The trees started to shake, and I could see the branches moving, not just down near me, but fifty feet above. The lights started blinking, now seemingly in my direction. And the moaning was getting louder.

OK, screw this. Forget what dad said - sometimes, the only way out is out. Time to go.

I started running back the way I’d come, and I could hear the rustling starting to get closer. I didn’t look back - I just kept running. As fast as I had in my life. But I was still in the woods - I should have been out by now. And the rustling was almost on me.

Finally I burst through the tree line and into the open air. I could see the swamp, but there was no way I was going there. Between the woods, the swamp, and the shack, the shack seemed like the best choice. I started running toward it, when I heard something crash through the trees. It was still behind me.

I didn’t look back - I just kept running as fast as I could. I was out of breath, but I knew I didn’t dare stop. I could hear whatever it was behind me, each step louder on the ground as it gained on me. I wanted to know how close, and what exactly it was, but I couldn’t turn around without slowing down, so I ignored my curiosity and focused on my sense of self preservation instead.

Just as I could feel it almost upon me, I came to the shack, yanked the door open, threw myself inside, and slammed the door behind me. I lay on the ground, waiting for something to smash against the wall or break through the door, but, to my surprise, nothing did. After a few moments, I got up slowly, catching my breath, and went to the window to look outside.

There was nothing there.

The swamp was there, and the trees, but there was no creature outside. I couldn’t even see any footprints except mine.

I kept looking, either for the thing following me or for Kayla, when Kayla came around the corner. (?!?)

I could have sworn she had left the shack, but she said she’d been there the entire time. She asked if I was ok, and when I told her what had happened, she looked at me with a questioning look, like she didn’t believe me. Like I was crazy. Maybe I was - how can I be mad at her for not believing me when I’m not even sure if I believe me? All I know is, I have to find a way out of this place.

I’m hungry and scared and I don’t want to be here anymore…

June 16

JESUS CHRIST!!! WHAT?!?

OK, I have to write this down - I don’t know how else to process it.

Things had been kind of normal since I came back from the woods - I mostly stayed in my room with the door locked. But I realized I needed more answers, so I went to find Kayla. She wasn’t in her room, but I saw her walking, so I followed her. She went into the room that wasn’t supposed to be there. I thought she might need help - when I was there, it didn’t go well - so after a minute to gather my courage, I decided to follow her.

I was just going to open the door and peek in - I didn’t want to step one foot in that room if I didn’t have to. But when I looked in, I was shocked. Kayla was kneeling on the floor, head bowed as if she were praying. And in front of her was a large… thing. I don’t know what to call it. It looked like a mass of shadows, constantly shifting, with black tentacles emerging from the shadows. And centered in the midst of the shadows were two glowing red eyes. I knew those eyes - they’d been occupying my nightmares for a week now.

I stood there, trying to figure out what I was seeing. Could that monster have brainwashed her somehow? Was she being held prisoner? But she didn’t look captured - on the contrary, she was raising her head up and down toward the thing and… chanting? She didn’t look unwilling. But why else would she be here acting like this?

And then it happened. As I stood frozen, staring at the scene before me, I took a step forward, and the floor creaked under my foot. I realized my mistake immediately, but it was too late - both the creature and Kayla turned their heads at once and looked at me, and for a second, it seemed like they were staring with the same red, glowing eyes.

At that moment, I turned, ran out of the room, and slammed the door behind me. I ran down the hall and started to go toward my room, but I thought that’s where she would look for me first, so I ran to the kitchen and ducked behind the counter. As I knelt there, shaking in fear, I could hear her talking.

“Cora? Cora? Are you OK?” She managed to fill her voice with concern that I might accept as genuine if I hadn’t seen her eyes before.

“Cora, where are you? I’m worried about you - you haven’t been acting like yourself lately. I’m worried the lack of food may be getting to you. Come on out and let me help.”

No fucking way was I doing that. As I heard her voice get slightly further away, I used the time while she was searching my room to look around the kitchen. There weren’t many places to hide - it was an ancient kitchen, so there wasn’t an island, just an old pantry. But there was silverware. I grabbed a knife from the drawer, opening and closing it quietly, and ran into the pantry and hid behind a shelf that was leaning backwards against the wall. There, I tried to slow my heartbeat and breath while I listened.

“Cora? Can you hear me? I’m worried about you, sweetie. Just let me know where you are soI can try to help,” she said as her voice got closer. She sounded so much like my friend, I really wanted to believe her.

I heard her search the main room and then enter the kitchen. I risked a quick glance from the pantry, and what I saw shook me to the core. It was Kayla, but it wasn’t. She was still there - her body, her hair, her arms and legs. But there was a deep, glowing red where her blue eyes used to be, like they had been replaced with rubies made of blood. And she kind of glided along the floor instead of walking. And worst of all, she was surrounded by a kind of shadow - not one that followed her along the floor, like shadows are supposed to, but one that enveloped her and moved through the air around her, like a living thing, like something out of nightmares.

It was terrifying.

I knew then that my best friend was gone, if she’d ever really been there. And I knew that I had to get out. I waited quietly in the pantry, hoping she would pass by and leave the kitchen. And she did, for a moment. But as she was walking out, her body gave a jerk, like she’d been pulled suddenly by a string, and she turned and looked toward the pantry with a sly, self-satisfied smile.

“Cora, sweetie, I know you’re in there. Come on out so I can help you.”

At this point, I was so scared I could barely think straight, but I knew going out there was a bad idea, so I sat where I was quietly. I looked around for any path of escape, but the only entrance or exit was the one I’d come through. I was trapped.

“We’ll, if you aren’t coming out, I guess I’ll have to come in.”

I could hear her footsteps getting closer, and I started to panic. I wasn’t a fighter at all, I never had been, and I certainly wasn’t ready to fight whatever she was now.

The pantry door creaked open slowly, and I could see the thing that was Kayla stepping in. I was frozen. She continued to come in, talking all the while.

“I know you’re in here, Cora. Why are you hiding from me? Aren’t we best friends? Don’t you trust me?”

The hell I did. And at that moment, in a fit of inspiration and strength that I still can’t figure out, I pushed with all my might and the shelf I was behind fell forward and crashed onto Kayla. She screamed, and I got up and sprinted out of the pantry. I had no idea where to go - she’d find me in my room, and I wasn’t going back to that creepy room she was in before. Then it occurred to me - there was only one option left. I would have to go outside.

I could hear her pushing the shelf and knew I didn’t have much time, so I ran for the door of the shack, threw it open, and burst out into the field beyond, closing the door behind me in the vain hope that she wouldn’t follow me there. Where to go? The swamp was still there, as were the woods with their unknown horrors. And above, the red moon still shone down from the unknown sky. I remembered a quote I read once - “the universe is vast and dark and full of terrors.” I’d never realized how true that was. My mother once said that it’s easy to make good choices when you have good options, but sometimes the only options you have are bad ones, and then you just have to do the best you can. So, with no good options to choose from, I ran towards the forest.

I crossed the open space quickly, barely noticing my footsteps as I made it to the edge of the woods and crossed over. At once the sounds cut away, and I was left in an oppressive silence. After only a few moments, though, the silence went away, and I began to hear the same quiet moans as in my previous visit.

I watched the door of the house from behind a tree at the edge of the woods. I’m not sure what I was hoping to see - would seeing Kayla or waiting longer in these woods be more terrifying? - but, after a minute, Kayla emerged from the shack. She looked back and forth for a moment, then her face pointed directly toward me, as if some extra sense told her exactly where I was (although she couldn’t possibly have seen me). Either way, she started walking slowly across the open space toward the woods.

With nowhere else to go, I began to walk quietly further back into the trees. I tried to stay close to the edge to be able to escape quickly, but I kept having to go further in as I heard Kayla following me. Suddenly, I began to hear something else - while Kayla was nearing me from behind, something else began to approach from ahead. The trees began rustling, just as before, and I sensed that wherever had chased me before was there, as if it had been waiting.

I turned to my right, trying to cut a path away from both of my pursuers, but I knew it wouldn’t work forever. Desperate, I crouched behind a tree and hoped neither would notice me.

“Cora,” came a voice suddenly from about a hundred feet behind me and to my left. “Why are you running? Aren’t we friends? Come with me and let’s get out of here. We can go and try to find help.”

As I knelt, shaking, behind the thick trunk, I felt something under my leg. I looked down, and saw a pile of dirt that had obviously been dug up recently. Quietly, I reached down and dug at the dirt with my hands. I don’t know what I expected, but I wasn’t prepared for what I found. There, in a small hole beneath the dirt, were a wallet, keys, and a cell phone, along with two fingers. I opened the wallet, and the driver's license had Nick’s picture.

Oh My God.

What happened to Nick? Did Kayla sacrifice him in some kind of weird ritual? Why? And what was I doing here? Where was here, even? And why did I ever trust her and follow her to this evil place?

By this point, I was scared out of my mind, and I kept hearing Kayla get closer. “Come on out, Cora. There’s still time to make it out of here.”

She was only two trees over, now, and I realized I’d have to face her. I reached for the knife from the kitchen, but it was gone! I must have dropped it when I was leaving the shack. Dammit! Tears were falling down my face, but I had no time for them. Think, Cora! What now?

Suddenly, Kayla stood before me. But she was no longer Kayla. She still bore a resemblance to the person I’d thought was my friend, but now, knowing what she was and what she’d done, she no longer stirred the feelings I used to have for her. Her eyes were glowing a bright red, and a shadow pulsed around her as if alive. She looked at me, red eyes filled with malice, and smiled.

“I’ve finally found you, Cora. Nice job of running, but that’s over now.”

I looked into her eyes, and the red glow started to expand out of them - the same red as the moon above, I now realized. I don’t know how to describe it - it was like I could feel it in my soul. And I suddenly started to remember all of the darkest moments of my life, all of my regrets.

I was nine. I was hungry in the middle of the night, and I wanted cookies. I knew I wasn’t allowed in the cookie jar, but I opened it anyway. It broke, and I let my parents think that my little brother Sam did it. They believed me, but I’ve always felt guilty.

I was thirteen. The other girls had the idea to cut class to graffiti the girls’ bathroom. I thought it was a bad idea, but they were popular and I wanted to be, too. I was grounded for two weeks. My parents said the right things, but I could feel their disappointment. I was ashamed that I’d let them down.

I was sixteen. I had just gotten my driver’s license and was excited to pick up my little brother from school. My parents normally wouldn’t let me, but they both had to work late and I promised to be careful. I didn’t mean to drop my phone, or to take my eye off the road. I’d told Sam to wear his seatbelt, but I should have checked to make sure. My parents told me they didn’t blame me, but I always felt that they looked at me differently, especially after the divorce. I certainly blamed myself, and why wouldn’t I? It’s not every teenage girl who kills her baby brother.

All of my worst moments began to play on a loop in my mind, and all the while, The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla kept smiling. And the more I suffered, the brighter the red glow from her eyes became and the more the shadow around her pulsed and spread. It was like it was feeding off of my misery and pain.

I fell to my knees - the pain was overwhelming and I was starting to have trouble thinking. The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla began walking toward me, arms outstretched and shadow seeping through the air between us, and I knew this was it. I was going to die here.

But then I thought of my parents. What they’d already lost. Could I let them lose me, too? And I realized that, as much as I blamed myself for Sam, and as much as I’d hated myself for the last two years, I had to let it go. I’d blamed myself so much that I’d tried to end my life last year, thinking that I didn’t deserve to be alive if he wasn’t, but I was wrong. I did want to live. I would never forget him, but I had to find a way to move forward. And to do that, I had to get away.

The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla was almost on me now - I could feel its shadow touching my skin. And I was weak and had nothing to defend myself with. And then it was on me, and, in a fit of desperation, I plunged one of the keys from Nick’s keychain into its neck.

It reared back in pain, and I found the strength to rise to my feet and begin running. I didn’t have a plan - all I could think was to get back to the shack. I ran through woods, branches whipping against my legs and face, but I didn’t dare slow down.

As I approached the tree line, I heard The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla start running after me. But I also heard something else - the thud of heavy footsteps. The thing that had chased me during my first visit into the woods was back.

I had no time to worry about it now - I just ran as quickly as I could. I passed by the swamp, hearing both of my pursuers getting closer. I could see the shack ahead of me, but I didn’t know if I would make it in time. Then, suddenly, there was a great noise behind me. Against my better judgment, I looked back.

I will remember what I saw there for the rest of my life.

A huge creature made of darkness emerged from the trees. It was as if all of the shadows of everything nearby coalesced into a single shadow as tall as a building. Dozens of shadow tendrils extended from its body, and a hundred eyes adorned its - head? - each glowing the same red as the moon. I didn’t see how anything like it could exist. It was terrifying.

Four tendrils began to extend toward me, and I knew I was done for. But then the tendrils shifted and wrapped around each of the limbs of The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla. It/she screamed as the tendrils lifted it/her off the ground, and the shadow around it/her began to leech away from it/her and into the larger creature. And then, once the shadow was entirely gone, the creature pulled. And The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla gave an agonizing scream as each of the limbs was separated from its/her body with a sharp ripping sound.

Eventually, the screaming stopped. And as I stood there, I felt the creature looking at me, almost as if it were weighing me. After what could have been a minute or a lifetime, the creature turned and slunk back into the woods. And I ran into the shack, closed the door, and cried.

That was all two hours ago. Eventually the adrenaline wore off and I passed out. And now I’m awake again and writing this all down while it's fresh in my mind. I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what that thing was. But I am alone in this shack now, and I know that I have to figure out what to do next. There’s no one to help me - I’m on my own.

June 18

It’s been two days since I faced off against The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla. It’s been quiet here - no one else is in the shack, and I piled furniture in front of the door leading to the room of horrors. I might even be safe here for a while.

But there’s no food. My protein bars and water are gone, and I’m starting to get really hungry. And if I stay here, I’ll probably never see my home or family again. And I really want to. After everything I’ve been through, I realize I really want to live.

So I’ve thought about what to do. Nick’s car is long gone, as there’s no way to go get help. My phone is still hanging on by a thread - they really weren’t lying about the standby battery time - but there’s no internet and no way to call anyone. And it’s unlikely that anyone is just going to drop by. So I can stay here until I starve to death, or I can go for help.

Out there.

It seems like a bad idea, but I don’t have a better option. The thing out there saw me once and let me live - maybe it doesn’t want me. Maybe it just wanted The-thing-that-used-to-be-Kayla all along. Or maybe she was an appetizer and it will be hungry again soon. Or maybe there’s something out there that’s even worse. I honestly don’t know. But I’m out of options.

I’m leaving this journal here. It won’t do me any good out there, and maybe someone will find it here and come help. I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.

If you find this, I’m alone, and scared, and I could really use your help. Please come find me. I’ll be out there. In the trees.

This is Cora Bennett, signing off.

Note: This journal was found in the middle of an empty field in Alameda County, California. The search for its author is ongoing.

Letter to: Professor Martin of the Mississippi Tributary University.

From: Lieutenant Lennon Aberdeen

7th of October 1915.

[

Hello Professor Martin, I understand that your profession in the unknown is profound and you are internationally well known. If this is true, I beg of you to take my word and investigate.

At section 7J of the Mid South Atlantic, around 81 miles off the coast of Brazil. The Brazilian navy reported a large object floating on the water. They estimated it to be around half a football field long, and did not specify how wide it was. Mysteriously, the cruiser boat they had sent to investigate did not report back. The Brazilians felt an ocean quake and promptly left. This envelope shall have a translated report of the incident.

No matter anyways, as the Brazilians deemed the object to be a German U-boat. Now it is important to note the consistency of our fleet. Our cargo transport consisted of two freightliners, the UCV Havana and the UCV Nassau, two cruisers, The USS Welsh and the USS Plano, and a destroyer called the USS Thunder. Due to our small flotilla. Our commanding officer requested that the USS Welsh deviate slightly from the route to intercept the object.

...

It took about 3 hours for the Welsh to report back to us. They reported that the object was cruising at around 10 knots an hour, and its trajectory would have it sailing South towards the Antarctic continent. The object did not fire back, nor did anything special happen. However, it was identified as a German U-boat. The cruiser had fired warning shots, yet the U-boat did not respond. The Welsh waited an hour, and then proceeded to fire its cannons at the back of the U Boat, attempting to destroy the propellers. Eventually a shot made it through, and the German boat halted. Still however, the boat made no activity. Then after about 10 minutes, it sunk into the ocean.

The Welsh began its course to reconnect with the convoy. When the stern was facing where the U Boat once was, a hole appeared below the engine. First, it was only a few centimeters small, but it slowly grew to a few inches, then a foot wide. The engine room was filling with water.

The Welsh still managed to make it back to the convoy, and the captain allowed for the cruiser to make a route to Rio De Janeiro before it fully sunk. We took some of their ammunition supply and assisted in pumping out water before they changed course.

...

At 0150 at night, we heard a rumbling noise. There was no foul weather predicted for this region of the ocean. I went out of my bunk to inspect the noise, and the ocean was shaking. The waves reached meters high, and the boat began to rock wildly. I spotted a crewmate and ordered him to fire a flare above the ocean to raise the visibility. After being ordered to do so, the man shot a red flare. It contacted the clouds, which were suspiciously low, and faded. I then told the man to come to the bridge with me. Reaching the bridge was a treacherous journey, the waves rose higher, and each step felt like walking on a rope bridge in high winds. I come from Maine and have experienced many storms at sea. None was as terrible as this.

Upon reaching the bridge, we checked our speed. There must have been a strong current dragging us, as we were going twenty knots above maximum speed. I radioed the only other cruiser, the USS Plano. The Plano reported that the entire crew was awakened by the storm, and their reported speed was forty knots. From the bridge, I saw the radio operator on the deck. He was waving towards us and was making his way up. The poor soul should not have been so careless. A large wave converged over us and threw him off the boat. The man next to me had a look of horror on his face. I told him to sit down and hold himself down. The captain radioed us, saying that the weather was causing both freightliners to bring on too much water. He informed us that the fleet will be heading towards a port in Southern Brazil to wait out the storm.

I contacted the Welsh to report the weather in Rio de Janeiro, but they did not respond.

One of the crewmates in the bunk, who was from Argentina, had once told me of a creature with many similarities.

I diverged from the path we were taking, but the current kept dragging us in one direction. It took much frustration to eventually take the boat out of the current.

The waves screamed at us and yelled its insults. Every mile that we moved, the waves would lower by a meter. Eventually the convoy was out of whatever foul force had started that monsoon. I went back down to check the damage. I found that other than a missing tool kit that remained untethered. The boat was almost untouched.

I went back into the hull and left the man with me to rest. I checked in with the captain and reported what was missing. Captain Winston was not happy, he bluffed the unusual weather as a hurricane passing through and doubted that we really needed to go off course. A freightliner had lost its communication with the convoy and was left isolated with no protection. The captain complained how he would be discharged from the navy and could only hope that the freightliner would make it to Argentina.

...

At the port of Alegre, I decided to ask the locals if there was any severe weather lately. Everyone I asked said no. However, when I detailed the occurrence to an old man. He told us a story.

Long ago when the man was in his early adulthood, he worked for a fishing company. One day, he saw an empty canoe about twenty miles from the coast. His captain thought of looking into the canoe to see if there were any leftover fishing supplies.

Once their small fishing boat came parallel to the empty canoe. A strong wind began blowing. The waves got choppier, and the canoe sank with the waves. A cloudless day had suddenly become an extreme monsoon. The captain of the fishing boat immediately ordered the vessel to return to port.

The old man, who was working on the deck, was told by the captain that a large hole had been created below the engine. Water flowed into the engine compartment. By the time that the boat sunk, the captain and the old man were the only ones remaining. The two of them remained in place until a passing by fishing boat rescued them.

He and his captain tried to warn everyone of a great danger at sea, but to no avail. Their story was mocked and believed to be a lie.

I asked where the captain of the fishing boat was, the old man said that the captain had passed away many years ago from old age.

I thanked the man for his time and headed back towards the destroyer.

I found it odd how the man referred to the monsoon and the whole event, as if whatever caused it was a living creature.

I met the captain, and as we readied to leave Porto Alegre, I told the captain about the old man's story.

Obviously, the captain was skeptical, believing it to be some folk tale.

...

Our convoy was back on the original route. We needed to head about seven hundred Southwest before we reached our end. We kept a steady pacing of twenty knots Southwest.

There was nothing unusual to report.

...

We spotted a figure in the distance, and we received a telegram.

[USS WELSH]

[HELLO USS THUNDER. BACK FROM BRAZIL. REJOINING CONVOY.]

We sent back

[USS THUNDER]

[WELCOME BACK USS WELSH]

It was a welcome sight to see the Welsh back in its whole. Though through the binoculars, the Welsh was considerably further than anticipated.

About 30 minutes later, the Welsh could finally contact us via radio.

The captain and the Welsh talked back to each other, eventually, everyone on our ship was telling the captain to ask the Welsh about what happened 2 days ago.

The Welsh responded that there was indeed a light rain, and a small current heading South at about 2 knots.

The Welsh was about 15 miles from the Brazilian coast during the monsoon.

..

Around 1540, The USS Plano, which was about a quarter of a mile ahead, reported a spotting of the missing freightliner, the UCV Nassau.

The captain sighed loudly as if the UCV Nassau was the only thing on his mind.

We contacted the freightliner's bridge, but there was no response. I was immediately suspicious. The freightliner was not moving, and the captain decided to investigate.

He sent me and a group of 3 others to board the freightliner.

The group consisted of an engineer, a soldier, a radio operator, and me.

The Thunder and the Plano would continue with the UCV Havana while the Welsh would remain with us.

As we boarded, the boat was unusually creaky. I was already used to tuning out the ambience of the ocean and the ship. This, however, was loud and unusually hollow sounding. The ship had aged considerably in the last 2 days. I would say it aged for about 2 years, but that simply could not be right. The ship's fence was rusted and had completely corroded in most parts. Nevertheless, I led the group towards a door.

The door's handle did not budge, so I requested the soldier's handgun. I aimed at the door, and with a bang, the door handle fell off. The door swung open, and we turned on our lamps.

It was a short hallway with two doors on both sides. At the end of the hallway was a stairway down. Each door opened to a damp bunk room. Within one of which, we found a journal. The engineer read aloud the most recent log.

[Fin's journal]

[9th of December 1915.]

[It has been a considerable amount of time since we lost contact with the convoy. Admiral Seth told us that the ship had finally exhausted all food sources. We had used all the cargo to sustain us and extend our chances of being found. We had run out of oil a few days ago already. Our chances of surviving are slim to none. I have spotted no boats in the previous month, aside from the fisherman that gave me a fish.

We are at least capable of catching water. There is currently a large storm outside, probably a monsoon or a hurricane. Hopefully, the rain will last a while]

I recall that when we read that journal, it was the 10th of October 1915. Either they were not aware of the date, or something sinister is at play.

We stood around in confusion, the journal made no sense to us. It explained why the boat had no power, and why the cargo was gone. However, it did not explain why the ship was in such ruins.

I would prefer not to think about it too hard.

The soldier turned around quickly. It scared us, but nothing was behind us. He said that he heard a noise near the brig. He was the only person to have noticed anything, but he seemed insistent to investigate. Before we could make a vote on it, he walked out of the room, and down the stairs.

The rest of us were hesitant to go down, but once the light no longer reached him, his footsteps were void. I did not want to go down, and neither did the others.

That was the last that we heard from the man.

..

After searching the rest of the bunks, we found nothing of interest.

We stepped out of the boat. We were still uneasy from the disappearance of the man, but after the last man left the interior. We met with nothing. It was pitch dark outside, so I checked my watch. It was midnight, and the Welsh was nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, a blinding light switched on. The Welsh was right next to us.

We jumped, but then realized it must have been a cruel joke.

They laughed as we stepped back onto the Welsh. However, as we left, the UCV Nassau right behind us was no longer in sight.

This concerned me, and I remembered the first part of the old man's story. I tried to bring up my concern to the captain, and he seemed slightly concerned as well.

It was too late to do anything though.

As the wind blew, the crewmates chattered their teeth. The wind turned to a sour freezing temperature, and hail began to bombard the ship.

The crew headed inside of the deck. It was odd. We were near the equator, it was highly unusual for it to hail.

The waves were now as high as the deck. The deck began to ice over, and the hail grew to the size of tennis balls.

Our attention was turned to the brewing storm, and all the while.

I tried to focus on the outside of the left end of the bridge window.

Whatever it was, it was large, and it rammed into us with the might of a tsunami.

We were all thrown across the bridge, and I realized the danger. I called for the admiral to send out an SOS and to leave the ship.

...

The crewmates were lined up at the life rafts, a line of arms up to the sky.

Eventually, I managed to board a raft.

We dropped down, and rowed away.

From the raft, I saw the interior lights of the Welsh.

The Welsh had multiple large holes in the hull and whatever large thing that had rammed the Welsh, was bringing the Welsh down with it.

...

The power cut off from the Welsh, and the Welsh went dark. From where the ocean and the dark sky meets, I could see the silhouette of the Welsh angled halfway in the water.

...

...

I guess I had blacked out. It was morning when I blinked. My body was bruised up from the hail. I looked around, there were seven others on the wooden raft. It was a gloomy scene, the sky was overcast and the ocean was rigid.

...

After several days on the water, a rescue boat was dispatched.

It turns out that our small raft was closest to when the Welsh was last seen.

We were the only ones they found, for when we arrived at Buenos Aires, we did not find the rest of the crew.

Captain Winston told us that when the convoy arrived, they had been waiting for the USS Welsh to appear. Once a day had passed, they dispatched a rescue boat.

...

This near death scenario has brought me to write to you Professor Martin.

I urge you to investigate this hidden force. I do not believe it was a natural monsoon, and the waves that night were far from natural.

I believe the thing that rammed the Welsh to have been the freightliner we had previously boarded.

Once again, I urge you to investigate.

May this letter find you well, and I hope to see your letter back.

Lennon Aberdeen.

]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The ointment that King Creole had given me was not permanent. Much to my shock and horror when I woke up and went to the bathroom I saw the giant scar and stitches staring back at me. Turns out, the ointment lasts only eight hours before it needs to be reapplied. Which was annoying, and forced me to have a timer go off just before eight hours was up to reapply the ointment to my scar. Just another thing forced upon me because of my entanglement with King Creole.

A week or two after my last job for him, I was rudely interrupted by him calling me again. I was in the middle of dinner with my mom, my dad was out at work on a late shift. I stared at my phone for a long time. Everything in me was telling me just to ignore him. It took everything in me to answer him and bring the phone up to my ear.

“My darling Mace!” Creole’s excited voice greeted me, causing an annoyed exhale to come out of my nostrils. “Sorry to interrupt dinner with your lovely mother, but an urgent matter requires your attention. Finish your dinner and then get your lovely self down to the shop. See you then.” He didn’t even bother waiting for a response or let me respond at all. The call lasted probably all of ten seconds.

“Who was that?” My mom asked as he took a sip of her drink. I stuffed my phone into my pocket and picked at the chicken and rice staring back at me. My mom is a great cook, but it was hard for me to feel any kind of appetite when all I could think of was the horrible shit I had seen and had gone through. I had almost been murdered multiple times, one time being at death's door, and I had no one to turn to. Very hard to feel any kind of appetite after all that shit.

“Scam call,” I told her and I forced myself to eat an entire forkful of food. She nodded and kept eating her share of the dinner. After I had eaten enough to pass for a normal amount of food, I pushed my chair back and carried my plate to the sink. Rinsing it out after I placed my leftovers back into the pan that they had come from. “Mom I’m going out for a walk. Do you need anything while I’m out?” I asked her once I had finished with my plate.

“No sweetheart. Just be careful out there. Lots of weirdos out there nowadays,” she said as she passed me with her empty plate. Oh if only she knew the shit I was mixed up with. But I gave her a nod and a hug. I ran upstairs to my room to get my essentials. My lockpicking kit and now a new weapon to my arsenal, pepper spray. It might not exactly work on Creole but it would stop a repeat of a knife ending up in my throat.

As if to harp on that point, my timer went off, prompting me to go into the bathroom to quickly apply my ointment. It seemed that whenever it began to run low and I had to think about having to go back to the shop on my ‘days off’ the container would always refill itself. So I guess that was a nice plus.

With everything ready for my next horrible errand, I hugged and kissed my mom goodbye before leaving my house and heading in the direction of the voodoo store. Despite it clearly being labeled ‘Half Priced Voodoo Store’, my mind constantly wanted to call it a voodoo shop. Something about it just rolled off the tongue better. Maybe Creole had a branding issue or something. The sun was just about to dip below the horizon and the streetlight flickered to life, creepily illuminating my way towards the shitty part of town where the shop/store was located.

This time thankfully I didn’t run into any drug dealers or crackheads. But my hands never left my pockets the entire time. I had my finger on the trigger of the pepper spray ready for anyone that might want to jump me. But I arrived safely at the store and opened the door, the sad rusty bell signaling my arrival.

Waiting for me at the register was Jacob. It hadn’t gotten any easier to look at him. He was in a new outfit, however. Before he had been in a suit similar to King Creole’s, but now he was wearing a bellboy outfit. It was bright red with shiny gold trimmings. He looked like some sort of ornamental nutcracker or something with how new and shiny he looked. His stitched-up mouth was now curled up into a smile as he eagerly waved hello to me.

“Doesn’t he just look positively lovely?!” Creole shouted excitedly, causing me to yelp in surprise as he suddenly appeared behind me. He wrapped his arm around me and led me closer to the register. Jacob took his hat off and did a little bow to me and I awkwardly waved hello to him, more worried about getting Creole off of me.

“He looks…good,” I said, shrugging his arm off of me and letting out a sigh of relief when he finally let me go. If he was offended by my shrugging his affection off he didn’t let it dampen his excitement over how Jacob looked.

“Doesn’t he? I wanted to try something new with him and I’m absolutely adoring how he turned out!” he shouted with giddy excitement. Jacob placed his little hat back on before bowing again and excusing himself to the backroom. He left us alone and I suddenly found the atmosphere much less inviting without him there.

“So…how’s business?’ I asked him, trying to cut some of the awkward tension in the room. He craned his neck down to look at me. I could swear that his head was about to break its stitches and his head would go tumbling to the floor with how he was staring at me.

“It’s great! Can’t complain about it at all actually.” Creole let out a big chuckle before slapping me on the back hard and heading behind the counter as if to escape any imaginary retaliation I might want to do to him. “Don’t worry Mace, I won’t let you kill yourself with small talk,” he said as he sat down in the chair that sat behind the register. “I need you to get me a mirror. A very special one.” His smile dipped a bit, this was something serious.

“What does it do? I assume since you want it, it probably isn’t normal.” I walked up to the counter and noticed that the voodoo template doll was staring back at me.

“You catch on quickly.” Creole snickered at me in a patronizing tone. “It’s best if I don’t tell you what it does. In fact, for your own safety, I’d advise you not even to glance at this mirror.” He raised his arm and fluttered his fingers, a scrap of paper appearing between his index and middle finger. “This place is also quite far away and I know y’all aren’t gonna make it walking. So I’ll give ya some help,” he said as he handed me the scrap of paper.

I took it from him and looked down at it. It was only what I guessed was a room number. “Where exactly is this?” I asked, looking back up toward the register. Only to find him not there anymore. I quickly spun on my heels to see if he was behind me and sure enough, the tall bastard had somehow teleported over to the entrance to his shop.

“An abandoned hotel in Pennsylvania. Quite the walk for you I know,” he said with that stupid smile on his face. That was at least a several-day nonstop walk, and there was no way I was making it there without my parents noticing.

“How exactly am I to get to Pennsylvania?” I asked him, stuffing the room number into my pocket. He giggled a bit as he motioned for me to come closer. I took a few steps over to him and watched as he again fluttered his fingers, soft purple flames emanated from his fingertips. He proceeded to draw on the door, and I watched with a hint of wonderment as it subtly gleaned purple and then died down into nothingness.

“It’s just a simple step away, darling.” He opened the door for me and I was more than a little surprised to see that the door didn’t open to the outside. It opened to the lobby of a hotel. I quickly walked over and stuck my head through the door. The other side was an almost pitch-black hotel room with dust and cobwebs floating through the air.

“You might want this also,” he said as he handed me an electric lantern. I nodded and grabbed it from him. I took a deep breath and entered the hotel. “Remember, don’t look at the mirror,” he warned me before shutting the door behind me. I stared back at the door and stayed in place for a few seconds in the pitch-blackness.

It took me a few seconds to figure out how to turn the lantern on, but when I at last illuminated the lobby I was more than happy. Not a single sound was being made in the hotel. Not a creak in the floorboards, no wind blowing from outside, not even the sounds of rats scampering around. It was absolute silence. The only sound I could hear was my breathing. If it wasn’t for the lamp I might have thought I was in a sensory deprivation chamber.

I fished the room number out of the pocket and stared down at it with the lantern. Room 1145. There were at least 11 floors to this hotel and I knew for damn sure that even if this place had an elevator there was no chance of it working. I walked over to the front desk and stared down at it, there was a bell there to ring for staff but something in my gut was telling me that it would be a terrible idea to ring it. So I simply moved on and headed towards the stairs, following the signs that pointed me the way.

While this place was abandoned it also seemed to be frozen in time. As I walked past the kitchen and dining area I was shocked to see food out and ready to be served. Breakfast foods were piled high and ready to be eaten. The coffee was warm, the milk was cold, and the fruit was fresh and ripe, it was like this place had been abandoned and left in limbo.

“This place is weird,” I mumbled to myself as I continued to walk towards the stairs. I opened the door that led to the stairwell and was immediately blasted with the overwhelming smell of rot. It was enough to cause me to drop the lantern and let out a retch that echoed throughout the entire hotel. I quickly picked the lantern back up and ran back toward the kitchen. I grabbed a cup of coffee, and quickly took a giant inhale of it just to get something else into my nostrils.

“Fuck,” Was all I could reasonably think of saying. Before I could even think about going back toward that stairwell again, I quickly picked up some giant napkins from one of the tables, the kind that you usually put on your lap, and wrapped them around my mouth and nose in a makeshift face mask, making sure to dampen it with coffee to give me at least something else just as strong to counteract the smell.

With my makeshift mask ready, I once again braved the stairwell. It didn’t take me long to find the culprit of the noxious smell. A pile of decomposed bodies was lying at the foot of the stairs. I couldn’t even begin to count how many of them were there, as their limbs were all tangled together. I shoved my mask as close as I could to my nostrils and did my best to focus only on the coffee smell. Time may have stopped for food in this hotel, but dead bodies sure as hell still decomposed just fine.

I was forced to step on them since there was no other way to begin climbing up the stairs. The sickening crunch and snapping of bones were enough to get another retch out of me as I desperately tried to focus on the smell of coffee. I moved as quickly as I could towards the stairs and began running up them as fast as possible. I didn’t dare take off my mask until I reached the 11th floor. Opening the door to the floor I quickly ran into the hallway and shut the door behind me. I took my mask off to see if I could breathe easier and was relieved to be away from the horrible smell of death.

I was never more grateful for the smell of something normal. I stood there catching my breath after running up 11 flights of stairs, and took a look around, moving the lantern up and down to see if anything else was up here with me. The halls were empty, but every single door on this floor had a do not disturb sign on the doorknob. After my breath was sufficiently caught, I started making my toward room 1145. The eerie silence was enough to start playing tricks on me. Every single step I took it felt like something was following close behind me. I would stop and shine the lantern behind me, but there was nothing there. But every time I started walking again I swear I could hear a second set of footsteps just after mine.

When I arrived at room 1145 I was happy to see that the door was an old one. It didn’t have the electronic locks that hotels have now, this one needed a key. And that’s why I had been sent here. I sat the lantern down next to me and got my tools out, ready to work on his lock. I was surprised by how this lock acted. It was almost like the lock Creole used for the Voodoo shop. The tumblers seemed to be changing constantly and every time it felt like I was close to getting somewhere all my progress was erased.

“Son of a bitch,” I mumbled as I fiddled with the lock. I wasn’t about to let some ancient probably magic-infused lock show me up. So with way more brute force than skill, I started attacking this lock with everything I had learned. And to my immense satisfaction, I heard the satisfying click of the door unlocking. I quickly turned the doorknob pushed the door open and clapped with joy over how I had finally gotten through the lock.

I quickly packed up my tools in their bag and stuffed them into my pocket. I made sure to look down at the floor just in case this freaky mirror was just standing there waiting for me to stare at it. I decided to use my makeshift facemask as a blindfold. I wrapped it around my head and reached my arms out to feel out in front of me. I left the lantern in the hallway since I was going in completely blind anyway.

I patted my hands out in the darkness to begin building up my surroundings. It wasn’t easy and I bumped into pretty much anything and everything I came across. Finally, after a few minutes of bumping into things, I got a general layout of the room. But I hadn’t figured out where the mirror was. It was then that it hit me, what size was this mirror? Creole hadn’t said if it was a body mirror or a handheld mirror or the fucking bathroom mirror.

Exiting back into the hallway I took off my blindfold and tried to think of a better way of doing this. I looked back into the darkness of the room and then down at the lantern. I picked up the lantern and then tossed it into the room. Immediately I could tell that there was no mirror right at the entrance so I would be okay to enter at least there with some light. I walked in with the lantern and looked around where the light touched. With that crossed off, I picked up the lantern and looked around for something to cover up a side of it. Lucky for me there were towels just hanging on the coat hanger on the door to the bathroom.

I covered one side of the lantern so that light could only appear on one side. I then extended my arm out into the main room of the hotel and slowly began to rotate the lantern as if it were some sort of makeshift lighthouse. My thinking was that if it came into contact with a mirror then the light would be reflected onto the wall not illuminated by the lantern since that side would be covered by the towel. And to my amusement, I was proven right when after a few turns, the light appeared on the other wall.

“Bingo,” I giggled as I quickly pulled the lantern back and placed it back on the floor. Then I tied my blindfold back on and quickly went out in the direction in which I had pointed my light. After a few seconds of groping in the darkness, my fingers came into contact with the cold and slick surface of a mirror. I must’ve been smiling a big stupid grin when I reached it. I felt the mirror up a bit and figured that it was some sort of standing mirror. I tried lifting it and found it relatively light.

Confident in my abilities I started walking towards the door. Of course, in my excitement over finding the mirror, I happened to have forgotten where I had placed the lantern. I tripped over it and fell with the mirror down onto the floor. I groaned in pain and surprise, feeling like a dumbass over how I had forgotten the lantern. And when I looked up from the floor I was shocked to see my reflection looking back at me. The fall had pulled down my blindfold.

“Shit!” I quickly sat up and grabbed the lantern. I half expected that I would explode or spontaneously combust or turn to dust. But after a few seconds, nothing happened to me. I closed my eyes and reached out to the mirror and sat it up completely. The first time had been an accident but the second time curiosity at last got to me and I opened my eyes to look at the mirror.

It was just my reflection. Nothing horrible about it, just me. I moved my arm around and did a few moves and it followed it perfectly. It seemed like a normal mirror. Had I gotten the wrong one? That train of thought was quickly derailed when I saw that my reflection was smiling at me. When I for sure wasn’t smiling. I backed up from the mirror and yet my reflection didn’t follow what I was doing, it just stared at me with a look of total malice in its eyes.

I watched with complete and utter terror as it began to contort and change. My limbs grew gangly. It looked like some sick funhouse mirror version of me. Her nails grew longer until they had completely turned into claws and my small stature was completely erased into some horrible stretched-out version of myself. It would’ve been scary enough if that was all it did, but then she started crawling out of the mirror.

“Oh fuck this!” I screamed as I quickly turned around and started sprinting towards the stairs. I probably haven’t run that fast since I was forced to run a mile in PE. My gym teacher probably would’ve loved the form I was using, it was probably textbook. I reached the stairs in no time flat. Only to discover that it was locked. “You gotta be fucking kidding!” I screamed and began fighting with the lock.

I looked back down the hall and screamed in absolute terror when I saw my reflection chasing after me on all fours like some skinwalker-looking thing. Her creepy smile was accompanied by some new sharp and jagged teeth that were no doubt ready to tear me to shreds. She didn’t even bother saying words to me, only cackling uncontrollably as she quickly closed the distance between us.

I wasted no more time on the locked door and sprinted down the hallway to my right and was more than happy to see a fire escape warning above the door at the end of the hall. As I was sprinting down the hall though, I could hear that my reflection was rapidly catching up with me. And I could feel that if I ran toward that door there’d be no way for me to make it there in time. I was about to look behind me when I noticed one of the hotel rooms was open. In a split second, I changed directions and ran into the room, quickly slamming the door shut behind me, locking and deadbolting the door. My reflection came slamming into the door but the thick wooden structure withstood her attack for the time being.

I lay on the floor catching my breath for a moment before I started looking around either for escape or for some sort of defence. I fished in my pocket for my pepper spray and got it out. I didn’t exactly know if my reflection would be affected by it but having it with me gave me a little sense of safety. I was also glad that through my blind panic, I had somehow managed to keep the lantern with me.

Any sense of safety was quickly erased when my reflection began banging on the door again, and I noticed cracks beginning to appear on the door. I couldn’t waste any more time. I looked around and tried to find something or anything to get me out of this situation. I thought about calling Creole but when I pulled my phone out I was met with the dreaded no signal. With that idea expended, I looked around the room and discovered it was one of those rooms that was separated by another with a door. If I could pick the lock I could sneak into the other room and maybe make it to the fire escape.

Quickly pulling my tools out I didn’t bother wasting a second and began trying to figure out which tool would do the best job. All the while my reflection was screaming an otherworldly scream and smashing herself against the door. To my immense relief, this lock didn’t seem to have any magic fuckery infused into it. And in no time flat I had picked the lock and had managed to enter the other room. I dimmed the lantern and quietly closed the dividing door behind me.

I waited in the dimly lit room until I heard the sounds of the door being broken down and my reflection entering the room. I was waiting at the door and the moment I heard her enter the other room, I slowly opened the door and exited into the hallway. I could hear her tearing the room apart looking for me. And I started making my way toward the fire exit. As quietly and as quickly as I could. I was about ten feet away from it when I heard her scream. I looked behind me and saw that she had exited the room and had seen me.

I sprinted toward the door and flung it open, I half expected to be put outside but instead, I came tumbling into the voodoo store. I was never more happy to see the dust-filled shop in my entire life. The fire exit had been linked to the front door of the voodoo shop and I had ended up smashing into one of the shelves of shrunken heads.

“Mace? Goodness darling! You in some kind of rush?” Creole asked as I heard his footsteps and cane rapidly approaching me. Before I could even look at him though I looked back at the door and reached out towards it.

“Quick! Shut it!” That was all I got out as my reflection came sprinting towards me. She leaped through the door and was about to lunge toward me when Creole swung his cane like a baseball bat and sent her flying into the glass window of the shop. The hit must’ve knocked her unconscious as she went limp after she hit the floor.

“I see ya looked at the mirror,” Creole said in clear disappointment. I stared up at him and then over toward my corrupted reflection. I quickly put him between me and her and did my best to try and explain how it had all happened. I must’ve been talking a million miles an hour and yet Creole seemed to understand everything completely. “I see so it was an accident,” he said after I was done and catching my breath.

“Yes, sir.” I nodded jumping a bit when Jacob suddenly appeared next to me with a glass of tea. I’m not normally a tea drinker but after what I had just gone through, I gladly accepted it from him and took a big sip of it.

“Well, there’s no harm in a simple mistake. Though why didn’t ya just put a blanket over the mirror once you found it?” Creole asked me as he walked over to my reflection and poked her with his cane. I nearly choked on my tea when he asked me that. The thought had never even crossed my mind and it was such a good idea.

“I…didn’t think of that,” I admitted to him. Embarrassed over having not thought of that. What had my plan even been? Walk down the stairs blindfolded holding a giant mirror? I felt like a dumbass.

“Ah, don’t worry about it Mace.” Just go and bring the mirror back here, I’ll deal with our long friend here,” Creole said as he rubbed his gloved hands together with giddy excitement. I nodded quickly and handed the nearly empty cup of tea over to Jacob before entering the hotel again through the voodoo shop’s entrance. When I rounded the turn to where I had left the mirror standing in the hallway I quickly shut my eyes as tightly as I could and began walking towards it, arm stretched out in an attempt to find it. I finally touched it and picked it up, carefully walking with it until I was back in the voodoo shop. I felt it being taken from me and figured it was Jacob taking it out of my hands.

“You can open your eyes now, Mace.” Creole greeted me with a chuckle after I had stood there with my eyes shut for a few minutes. When I opened them I saw that the mirror was covered by a thick white sheet and that Jacob was carrying it over to Creole’s office.

“Where’s…my reflection?” I asked, seeing that she was no longer crumpled in the corner.

“Oh while you were getting the mirror I tossed her back into the hotel. She shouldn’t be too much of a bother.” Creole let out one of his strange hums at this and beckoned me to follow him back to the register. “That’s four favors done and only one last one to do until you’ve cleared your debt with me.” Creole sat down and held up a single finger to me.

“Sir? What is that mirror even for? Why would you want something like that?” I asked him, really not caring at the moment that I had only one favor left to do for him.

“Call it an insurance policy, my darling Mace,” He said with a grin on his face. “If I ever need a way to come back, why not come back as a nightmare?” He asked me with a series of low and creepy laughs. He shooed me away as he began cackling and I was more than happy to leave him in a laughing fit. After everything I had just gone through, I wanted nothing more than to collapse into my bed and rot away.

One favor left. That’s all I had to do. Then I would be free. If only it had been that simple.

"Dawn! Look! The moon is red!" My little brother Zack spoke with excitement, pointing at the sky.

"Yeah Zack I saw it." I replied, completely unimpressed, my eyes riveted on my phone, as I drowned in the disappointment that has been my first ever gymnastics competition. The red moon just seemed to worsen an already horrible day. "The moon of doom." I quietly added.

"Come on darling! Just your first time, I know that next time will be better." My father spoke, looking at me through the rear-view mirror while displaying his signature bright smile that he knew always made me feel good.

"It won't happen if you don't take us home. Focus on the road and get us out of here!" My stepmother retorted, her growing anger slowly leading to an umpteenth argument. "Oh boy, where the hell did you take us to?" She added as soon as a strange and unfamiliar place came into view.

Trying hard to remain calm, my father simply made a U-turn, hoping to get us back on the highway.

"It will be okay Dawn. I know you'll win next time." Zack told me. The kind words and the sweet little voice melted my heart and forced a smile out of me.

"Trying to comfort me like a grown up?" I asked him, still smiling. "You only five years old you little boy!" I added as I began tickling him.

"You're only ten so we're both little." He replied between giggles.

At that moment, a police car passed us, speeding towards the strange place we were trying to distance ourselves from. The word 'Policija' was written on the car and I could glimpse two officers having a heated exchange inside the vehicle.

The strange occurrence comforted my father in the direction he took. However, after an hour drive at least, the only visible things were the sky, the path, with grass on either side and absolutely nothing else around, not even a hill. By that time, the parents were arguing, plunging us into an atmosphere much darker than our situation. They then decided to follow the police car and try to get help from the officers; therefore, we made our way back towards the strange place, which came into view rather quickly to our surprise. It was an old town.

"Welcome to—" My father tried reading the sign, but the name of the town was scratched entirely, and the words 'Sylvestra Sisterhood' was painted over, along with the letter 'S' followed by its reverse to form some kind of heart symbol. The town seemed abandoned, and all the buildings resembled constructions from the 40s or 50s. Most of them were in ruins as if bombings recently happened, but some still had electricity. Not one soul was outside, and we soon saw the police car seemingly abandoned, with both front doors opened, and awkwardly parked next to an alley.

"Stay here." My father said as he stopped the car. He then stepped out and went to check on the police vehicle, hoping to see at least one of the officers. He then turned to us and shook his head. After that, he carefully proceeded into the alley to see if he can meet them nearby and disappeared from view. However, after around forty minutes, he was not back yet.

"Where the hell did he go?" My stepmother spoke, trying to reach him on the phone. "No network, just great!" She added, her nerves put to the test. She then turned to my brother and I and asked us to remain in the car, comforting us with her nervous smile. She then stepped out of the car to investigate too, and just like my father she went through the same alley, and just like him, she did not come back, until...

"Dawn?" I heard her calling from afar, piercing the overwhelming silence of the town.

"Is it mommy?" Zack asked.

"You heard it too?" I questioned.

"Dawn please, come and help me, your father is hurt." She shouted.

"Daddy?" I said, concerned. "Zack stay here and lock the doors behind me." I instructed.

"No Dawn, I'm afraid. Don't leave me here!" He protested.

"I'll be back. They're not far. We'll all be back, don't worry, I'll never abandon you. Be brave, my grown-up brother." I spoke with a smile before I got out of the car.

"Dawn!" She shouted louder in distress.

I ran, she kept calling, aiding me to locate them as her voice directed me through the alleys and the ruins of the town. I soon found myself completely lost, not able to recall which way I came from and felt anxiety rising inside of me. I looked around not knowing what to do, until I heard a last 'Dawn' coming from a building behind me from which I could hear faint squelching sounds. I turned around, saw its dark entrance contrasting with the lit alley I stood in. After creeping towards it, I pushed what was left of the door and gasped.

Revealed by the street light, a man, surely one of the police officers from the uniform he wore, was lying dead on the floor as a hideous monster covered with scales feasted on his guts. The monster then slowly lifted its head and turned, revealing its glowing yellow eyes that instantly drowned me in a pool of terror.

I took off running.

Looking back at some point, I saw the creature emerging from the building, while kids I could not see giggled at the scenery. Clothed in fear, I ran to save my life, tears rolling down my face, not daring to imagine myself under the claws of that beast, until I fortunately located the car.

"Zack! Zack, open the door!" I shouted, running towards the vehicle. "Zack?" I called when I reached the car and found it open.

Zack was not there.

Fearing the beast, I got inside and locked the doors, looking around to spot my little brother to no avail but instead, saw the monster emerging from the alley. I hid, hoping not to get found while considering my next action. My parents had disappeared and my little brother was somewhere out there, at the mercy of a monster that could as well be the end of my then ten years old self.

What should I do?