My father leaned forward, his mighty horns brushing against the near by trees. The velvet shimmer of short black fur cast a dancing sheen of evening’s sunlight across his marvelous body. He breathed in slowly, deeply. The wind which came racing along the mountains and caressed his forest flowed steadily into him. The fortitude of life was his alone in that moment. His emerald eyes narrowed before he cast his gaze upon me.

He spoke to me with an earth rattling gravitas, and the whispering of forest animals stopped to heed their king’s words. “Soon a day will come where I decay and the madness will corrupt me, as it does all our kin. When the day comes, you will need to make a choice, my cub.” He then quietly arose, standing tall and strong like a great hemlock. “These lands have been cleansed and blessed by the blood of our family time and time again as kin have killed their father.” He began to stride forward, and I quickly hopped off my rock to join him by his side.

My father continued to speak, “You will have to kill me. And when I die, so too will a part of you. You will lose an innocence that can only be given once and never earned back.”

“But I don’t want to kill you,” I whispered, my voice trembled and was barely audible over the rustling brush. The very thought of it sunk it’s fangs deep into my heart.

My father stopped and turned toward me. The rocks sunk into the moist earth beneath his feet. “That is a choice that you must make, even though it will be painful.” He lowered his head, and his eyes locked onto mine. Beautiful accents of gold raced through his eyes, and then he touched his soft snout to my forehead. “The hardest battles are the ones we have yet to face.” The breath of his words wrapped around the thorns of my mind, dulling their unwanted sting.

My father bowed his head, lowering his horns to the ground in front of me. “Grab on, child.” He beckoned. I climbed up on my father’s side and came to rest upon his shoulders, holding onto his antlers. He slowly lifted his head, and me, high into the brisk air to be bathed in the setting western sun.

Night was fast approaching as my father continued to lead us across the moss laden earth. Shadows stretched and twisted, merging into a single dark mass. My father moved silently, his black fur blending into the darkness. Only the glow of his eyes—reflecting the moonlight—and his sharp white teeth betrayed his presence.

The air soon brought a chill, carrying with it the scents of pine and dew. My father made barely a sound as he moved. Each step was light and deliberate, as though the forest itself shifted to accommodate his passage.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To a place that remembers,” he answered simply, not looking back.

A shallow mist cautiously rose from its slumber, drifting upward but still hugging the forest floor. My father’s footsteps sent delicate swirls to dance alone in the fog. I watched the spirals be birthed from nothing, lived their brief moment of grace, and then returned themselves to the whole once more.

I then listened to the emerging whispers and murmurs all around us. Tiny voice crawled forth from the smallest cracks and darkest crevices, a melody that was orchestrated by the march of the night. The chirps and calls echoed in the boundless expanse.  

The rise and fall of my father’s shoulders as he breathed became the pulse of the night, a rhythm steady and strong. With each deep inhale, the mist seemed to draw closer, wrapping tighter around us; with each exhale, it loosened and drifted away, like the tide ebbing and flowing against the shore. I felt myself drifting too, becoming weightless and untethered, lulled by the gentle cadence of his breaths. My eyes fluttered shut, and I slipped into a place between waking and dreaming, where the boundary between myself and the forest blurred and disappeared altogether.

The edges of my awareness began to wash away. I felt as though I began to lift, to drift upwards. I moved outwards, and my being felt at peace. I moved through the membranes of the forest as a spirit, feeling the heartbeat of time pull me forward, further away. Soon, I encroached upon a budding darkness, but I did not feel fear.

My body materialized at the edge of the abyss, and I stood upright, alone. An ethereal glow bloomed from the nearby dream lilies and the air hummed with a power that I can only describe now as “complete”.

 I turned back toward the abyss for a moment, feeling like I was deep under water. My vision shifted back, and I was in the presence of the past guardians.

They did not speak, but their presence filled the space between us. I felt their gaze like the weight of the forest itself, pressing gently yet firmly, urging me to look deeper, to see beyond what was merely visible. My breath caught, and I glanced around, searching for my father.

He was nowhere to be seen.

A soft murmur rose up, a ripple in the silence. The guardians’ eyes shifted—each one reflecting something different. I saw in their eye’s scenes of the forest in bloom, of fire, of storms that tore through the canopy, of creatures both small and great falling and rising again.

“Do you know why you’re here?” one of them whispered, sounding like the rustle of wind through dry leaves.

A figure stepped forward, its antlers gleaming with a soft, golden light. “Not yet,” it said quietly. “But you will.”

The others shifted, and I could feel the weight of countless seasons, of every breath and every heartbeat they had ever taken, layering themselves over me. The air grew thick, and I struggled to keep myself upright. My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to stand tall under their scrutiny.

Visions of millions of years of growth flashed before my eyes. I watch the first fingers of my home break the soil as they began on a journey to craft everything we’ve ever known. I watched the first creatures emerge from the water’s edge, and as more crawled and slithered from beneath the rocks. I watched the first predator take a life, and I watched that predator die of old age, only to be consumed by that which it once ate.

 I watched as fires and floods brought my home to the precipice of existence, and I saw the forest recover time and time again. I saw the beauty of my home. I saw the majesty of my forest. I saw the owl and the mouse, the fox and the rabbit, the raccoon and her precious young. I saw everything I came to love.

Then I saw him, my father, or what was left of him. He was hunched over on all fours, looming like a broken shadow over the mangled remains of forest creatures. His breaths came in harsh, ragged gasps. His once-glorious fur now clumped upon his ruined body. It clung to him in filthy, matted patches. Deep gashes crisscrossed his form, crimson cervices cutting through his hide like lightening cuts the sky. Every streak leaked blood that soaked into the greedy earth.

His fangs, sharp and stained, bared in a twisted snarl, and dark red saliva dripped in slow, viscous trails from his maw. The regal antlers that had once crowned him as a symbol of authority were reduced to charred, crumbling remnants; blackened and brittle, as if burned from the inside out. His eyes, once shimmering pools of emerald and gold, were now clouded over; a wild, frenzied grey that saw nothing, recognized nothing.

“Father!” The word slipped from my mouth before I could catch it, my voice breaking through the silence like shattering glass.

His head snapped up, and the air around him seemed to ripple. For an agonizing second, those vacant eyes locked onto me. Then he moved—sudden, violent—charging at me with the force he used to raise mountains. The very earth seemed to tremble under the weight of his fury.

His mouth yawned open, wider and wider, until it stretched beyond the limits of flesh and bone. The jaw unhinged as it opened so wide that the entire shape of his head folded back, and I could see the hollow darkness of his inner throat. He was close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, the sickening stench of decay mixed with the blood of all the things I had once loved.

Deep in the void of the throat, two shimmering emeralds cloaked in gold pushed forth. The wet face of my father twisted and writhed its way through the throat, stopping just halfway up.

My father’s voice, small and weak, barely manage to escape from deep within the decaying throat “Stop me when it is time, or this is what I will become.” Hearing him like this, so diminished, sent a shiver down my spine and a set a sorrow deep into my bones.

“Father, I-“

His gaping jaws snapped shut.

I awoke with a burning fear, sitting upright and panting heavily. The world stayed cloaked in my dream like haze. The earth around me felt different now, the ephemeral connection between worlds growing and fading and growing again as the events of the dream weaved their images once more in my mind.  

“Do you understand now, cub?” My father spoke in a slow and tired tone that matched my reverie. He laid next to me. The break of dawn was upon us, and we sat on the edge of a goliath cliff that rose far above our home. I’d been here once before, when the mountain spirit committed its body to the earth it lived to protect.

I stared at the forest I’d been borne to protect. Visions of the fox, the mouse, the owl and the rabbit laying mangled at my father’s feet gnawed at the corners of my eyes. “I understand now, father.” My voice came out in near whisper.

The first light of dawn spilled over the edge of the world, reaching out with delicate fingers to caress the treetops below. I felt its warmth settle on my skin, but it did little to chase away the chill that gripped my mind. The remnants of the dream still lingered, curling like smoke in the recesses of my heart. The specter of my father’s ruined form and his flesh, broken and twisted, his eyes blind with rage, loomed over me.

A single bird called out, its voice clear and pure. Others soon followed, their songs began weaving together a gentle greeting to the waking forest. Their melodies floated on the breeze, lifting and falling, until the whole woodland hummed with the delicate harmony of morning’s arrival.

I turned my gaze to him, my king, my father. His presence solid and whole beside me. He sat bathed in the light of morning. His glorious mane swayed with the breeze, shimmering like obsidian dust. His emerald eyes stared far below, And I could see that he was deep in thought.  There was no trace of the monster I had seen. And yet, something in the air around him felt different; charged, like the presence before a storm.

“Father,” I whispered, the word trembling in the space between us. The vision of his jaws stretched impossibly wide; of glistening eyes sunken deep in darkness, flashed before my eyes. “What I saw… is that what you fear you’ll become?”

He did not answer at first. His gaze was distant, watching the horizon as though it held the answers he sought. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and delicate, like the wind brushing through the canopy.

He spoke softly but resolute, “The vision you were shown… what did you see?” His question hung in the air, beckoning a tale I would rather forget. I breathed deeply, as father does, and steadied myself.

I recounted the details of my dream to him, the darkness, our family, the memories from the beginning of our home. I told him of our forest, and of his ruin.

He breathed deeply, then turned to look at me, the glimmer of dawn reflected in his eyes, transforming them into whirlpools of roaring gold. “I trust in you, my child. I trust in you to bring me peace when I can no longer find it.” Droplets of the morning dew gathered and fell from his eyes, feeding the hungry cliff.

Small flowers emerged from where they fell, their petals unfurling like tiny suns. Their scent drifted through the air; it was sweet and soft, wrapping around me like the quiet embrace of moss-covered roots. Feelings stirred in me, emerging from somewhere deep inside. I felt like a hollowed log of a once mighty tree that still remembers the warmth of the life it once held.

The silence that followed was filled only by the symphony of the waking forest. Birds sang their morning hymns, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, whispering secrets only they could understand. Yet, beneath this serene facade, a storm brewed within me. A tempest of fear, anger, and sorrow fighting for dominance.

I glanced at my father, his majestic form at once both the meaning of strength and the harbinger of my greatest challenge. The knowledge tore at me, the desire to preserve and protect clashing with the inevitability of my purpose.

"Why me?" I finally asked. It wasn't just about duty anymore; it was about the tearing of my soul between what must be done and what I desperately wished could be different.

Father sighed, a sound so laden with millennia of grief and acceptance that it nearly broke me. "Because you, too, are made of this forest, of its past and its future. You hold within you the spirit of every guardian that has walked these paths before you. And just like them, you will rise to meet your fate, however cruel it may seem."

I turned away, looking over the vast expanse of trees and mist, the land that had nurtured me and would one day demand my ultimate sacrifice. My heart ached with a profound love for this place, and a fierce protectiveness surged through me, grounding my resolve.

“How will I know when it is time?” I asked.

My father rose to his feet, and he quietly walked away from me across the narrow cliff’s edge. “You are the only one that will know when it is time” he said while facing away from me.

Years slipped by like leaves carried on the swift currents of the river. Each season etched its passage into the land and into my being. I grew, both in stature and spirit, my body hardening with maturity and age, my mind sharpening against the whetstone of wisdom passed down through generations. Slowly, the buds of my youth burgeoned into the proud antlers of a prince, branching skyward with the weight and promise of my lineage.

Soon, the forest changed with me. The trees thickened, their branches interlocking in a protective canopy above. Animals, great and small, recognized my passage through the underbrush, nodding their heads in respect and caution.

Yet, as I ascended toward the zenith of my destiny, my father succumbed to the twilight of his reign. The vibrant emeralds of his gaze dimmed, veiled by the milky mists of time. His once formidable antlers, emblems of his regal splendor and strength, commenced their melancholy fracture and splinter, relinquishing shards of his storied grandeur with each waning moon. The velvet of his pelt, once as dark as the abyssal night, now speckled with the silver of waning stars like the embers of a fading celestial fire.

He moved slower, conserving the vitality that once seemed inexhaustible. I watched him, my heart torn between admiration for the life he had led and a creeping dread for the role I would soon have to play.

As the years mounted, so too did the signs of his impending madness. His moments of clarity grew rarer, often replaced by distant gazes and hushed words to unseen spirits. The forest's whispers grew louder, a chorus not of welcome, but of warning.

On a crisp autumn dusk, as the sunset cast the sky in a tapestry of orange and crimson, I discovered him by the riverbank, gazing into its vigorous currents as if beholding visions veiled to mortal eyes. His coat caught the twilight's last gleam, and for an ephemeral moment, he stood regal and resplendent, a sovereign of a bygone era.

“Father,” I called out, my voice a stable timbre against the tremble of encroaching fears.

He turned, his penetrating gaze slicing through the encroaching dusk between us. “It is nearing, isn’t it?” His voice was a golem of sorrow and resignation, echoing the fall of leaves in the silent forest.

“Yes, Father,” I conceded, the memories of my juvenile self resounding within me.

The silence between us, dense and fraught with the echoes of an ancient past, seemed to stretch into eternity. I held his gaze and witnessed his mind slip. I watched as the king lost connection. And I watched the madness wash over him.

His teeth then bared in a snarl, a primal display of raw power and imminent collapse. The growl that rumbled from his throat was not just a sound but a deep, resonant dirge for the end of his era, vibrating through the crisp autumn air.

He took a step closer, his movements heavy and uncertain. He seemed to grow, regaining the stature of his past. The forest around us responded by holding its breath for fear of incurring the wrath of its mad king.

My father stood before me, his mighty form casting shadows across the clearing. Each breath that left his nostrils sent a gale of air rippling through the field. His low growl rumbled deep within his chest, the resonance spreading through the ground and reverberating in my spirit. The grey ash of his eyes now blazed with a bright, burning ferocity that made the very sky shudder. And when he charged, it was as if the entire forest moved with him.

I braced myself, feeling the weight of his prominence cascading down on me. His antlers, once the symbol of peace and protection, now carved through the air like twin scythes. I reeled and fell under the first swing, feeling the wind whistle above my ears, and I barely rolled away from the next one as his hooves struck the earth with ground-shattering force.

A deafening roar erupted from him. There was no recognition in his gaze, only madness and wrath, a primal force unleashed. He lunged again, faster this time, his jaws snapping at my shoulder. I twisted away, but not before the jagged teeth tore through my flesh. Pain flared hot and sharp. I shoved my father back as I moved away.

“Stop, please!” My plea fell on deaf ears as he continued his assault. He was a tempest of rage, a maddened creature beyond reason or remorse. Blow after blow rained down upon me, and I could feel myself weakening, my muscles aching from the sheer effort of avoiding, falling, and enduring.

I screamed. A sound like the symphony of thunder and falling boulder, of crashing waterfall and splintering tree ruptured in the silent forest.

And then it happened. A moment of clarity—a sliver of hesitation. He paused, his head rearing back as if fighting against an invisible chain that pulled him to a standstill. Summoning every ounce of strength, I lunged forward. My claws struck true, sinking deep into his sides. My hands met inside his chest and I gripped his erratic heart.

A deafening roar split the air, and he staggered, but instead I pulled him in close. Blood, rich and dark, poured from the wound, soaking into the earth. He struggled and bayed, scratched and tore, then began to slow, and whine. The mad king soon whimpered and swayed, his great frame trembling as he struggled to stay upright.

“Father…” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Slowly, he turned his head toward me. For a brief, beautiful moment, I saw it—the faintest glimmer of recognition. His eyes, once clouded with rage and pain, softened. He slowly, gently placed is soft snout on my forehead, and then spoke his final words “My cub…”

And then he fell. The forest seemed to hold its breath as he crumpled to the ground, his massive body collapsing like a mountain cleaved in two. Silence swallowed the clearing. The vibrant, living pulse of the forest dulled to a heavy stillness. I stood there, panting, my limbs shaking from the exertion and the shock of what I had done.

Time became meaningless. Days passed as I remained at his side, watching him. A cold numbness seeped into me, anchoring me to the spot. Grief wrapped around me like the thick roots of ancient trees, binding me to the earth.

And soon the forest stirred. One by one, the creatures of the wood began to emerge. Tiny birds fluttered down from the canopy, delicate fawns stepped forth from the underbrush, and even the smallest insects crawled over the moss-covered rocks. They all came, drawn by some unseen force, their eyes reflecting the sorrow that now hung thick in the air.

The first bird landed gently upon my father’s still form. It cocked its head, studying him with something akin to reverence before it delicately plucked fur from his mane. A fox padded forward next, its nose quivering as it sniffed at his side. With a soft whine, it took a small tuft of fur between its teeth and turned back into the forest with her pups. A bear and an old rabbit then shambled towards him together. The bear lowered its head as it approached his ribs. It looked down at the old rabbit by its side, then back to my father. The bear pulled a loose tuft of his hair and gently dropped it in front of the rabbit. The old rabbit took the fur and sauntered out of the clearing. The bear remained and sniffed my fathers wounds.

I watched as he cleaned the blood from my fathers fur and returned to woods.

Slowly, they gathered around him, each taking a small part—a piece of flesh, a drop of blood, a tuft of hair. No part was taken with malice or hunger; it was a ritual, an act of communion. They consumed him with a gentleness I had never seen in nature before, as if honoring the life he had lived and the power he had wielded.

I watched as bit by bit, my father’s body disappeared. His once-proud form was returned to the earth and sky through the creatures he had once ruled over. The last to come were the insects—beetles and ants that worked tirelessly until nothing remained but his skeleton, gleaming white in the soft light of dusk.

And then, when it was all done, they all withdrew. The clearing fell silent once more.

For a long time, I stood alone beside my father’s remains, feeling the void of his absence. Yet another night crept in, and still I remained. It was not until the first light of dawn broke through the canopy that I noticed it; a tiny green shoot pushing its way through the soil between his ribs. Slowly, impossibly, it climbed toward the sky.

The shoot thickened, its leaves unfurling with each passing hour, until it stood as a young sapling. I watched in awe as it continued to grow, roots delving deep into the soil, branches stretching wide. Within days, the sapling became a tree, its trunk twisting and turning as it wove itself around my father’s skeleton. As the tree grew, it steadily consumed what remained of our king, our father.

The bark was a deep, rich brown that shimmered with gold in the evening sun. Leaves of the darkest green, like emeralds, covered the mighty tree’s branches. The wind which came racing along the mountains and caressed the forest flowed steadily across the leaves.

A mighty hemlock now stood where my father had fallen, its roots embracing his bones, holding them tight. The forest seemed to exhale a sigh of relief, a breath of renewal that swept through the trees and stirred the air. And though pain still gripped my heart, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me.

My father was gone, but he had not left me. He would always be here, in this place of memories and dreams. His essence had returned to the soil, to the sky, and to the very life of the forest.

I rose slowly, feeling the weight lift from my shoulders as I turned to leave the clearing. The hemlock stood tall and proud behind me, a guardian of its clearing. I glanced back once, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw him—the outline of his form shimmering in the dappled light, his eyes soft and kind.

I breathed deeply, feeling the fortitude of his life. “Rest well, Father,” I whispered, and the wind carried my words through the leaves, through the trees, and into the endless embrace of the forest.

The forest has changed in the long silence that followed that fateful day. The years have crept upon me like the quiet passage of seasons, one flowing effortlessly into the next. Moss and time have covered my wounds, and the agony of losing my father, once a sharp-edged torment, has softened into a distant echo—a note of sorrow carried gently upon the wind. Now, I stand beneath the mighty hemlock that rose from his death, its branches a testament to all that was and all that has yet to be.

It has been centuries since I saw him fall, since the soil drank his essence and gave birth to this magnificent tree. The roots have sprawled deep and wide, entangling with those of the ancient oaks and birches, weaving a subterranean web that whispers secrets only I can hear. And from this place—this sacred, unchanging glen—I have watched the world shift around me.

I was here when the humans first came. At first, they were little more than a curiosity—a stumbling band of creatures who could not read the language of leaves nor understand the speech of birds. They moved with an awkward urgency that startled the wildlife and drove them into the deeper recesses of the woods. Yet there was something about them—something resilient and curious—that drew me closer.

I remember watching them from the shadows, eyes glowing faintly in the night as I observed their strange rituals. They built small, fragile shelters from branches and leaves, huddled together around the warm, flickering light of fire. They ate together, sharing food from the forest that they worked all day to gather.

Years passed, and their numbers grew. They felled trees, cutting deep into the flesh of my forest. I seethed at first, a raw anger bubbling within me, and I came close, so very close to driving them out. But something stayed my hand. There was a look in their eyes that reminded me of the creatures of my home, the fox, the owl, the rabbit, a look of fear and awe and longing. A look that spoke of a deep yearning to understand and belong.

Curiosity quelled my anger, and I began to approach them, inch by careful inch, until one night, a child with hair the color of dying leaves found me. His wide eyes, full of wonder and innocence, met mine without fear. He stretched out his tiny hand, and I, against all reason, lowered my head. The touch was tentative, light as a moth’s wing, and yet it burned with an intensity that surprised me.

That was the first bond I forged with a human.

The child returned often, babbling words I could not comprehend, drawing symbols in the dirt that meant nothing to me. But I listened, and I watched. I began to see patterns in their speech, shapes in their signs. I learned their tongue, first in halting, broken sounds, then in smooth, flowing sentences. And in time, I spoke to them. Quietly, at first, afraid to startle them.

They called me many things: a spirit, a guardian, a god, a friend. I call them fragile, fleeting, and impossibly brave. They welcomed me into their village, and there, I marveled at the things they built; not just the structures of stone and wood, but the worlds they created within themselves. Stories flowed from their lips like rivers, carrying me to places I’d never seen.

One night, a young woman sat beside me, a book cradled in her lap. She spoke of letters, of words etched in ashen water that could capture a voice long after it had faded. I listened as she read, her voice weaving a tale that held me captive. And for the first time in a long time, I felt something new stir deep within me. It was an urge to leave my own mark, to speak of what my life has been.

She taught me to read and write in the still hours of the nights. My claws, once meant for tearing and climbing, awkwardly grasped the quill as I scratched out letters on parchment. I fumbled and struggled, but with each stroke, a new story was told.

Years bled into decades, and still, I remained. The child who had first found me grew old and passed into dust, as did his children and theirs after them. But I stayed, as eternal as the forest around me, watching as human hands shaped and reshaped the land.

Now, I sit beneath the hemlock tree, my father’s tree, quill in hand, parchment spread before me. My fur, once sleek and strong, has become grizzled and weathered, streaked with the silver of countless moons. The hemlock’s branches sway gently overhead, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the pages.

I write these words a final time to honor what was and what is. To speak of the life I have lived, the beings I have known, the humans I have come to cherish.

But they are also something more. They are creators, destroyers, dreamers. And in their stories, I have found a reflection of my own. I have watched them rise and fall, seen them weep and laugh, struggle and endure. I have mourned their losses and celebrated their triumphs. And now, I set my tale down beside theirs.

My forest is quieter now, the voices of the wild less frequent, but there is a new song that fills the air. It’s the sound of children’s laughter and voices as they tell their own stories under the shade of my father’s tree.

The hemlock stands tall, its roots intertwined with the bones of the one who gave me life. As I write, I can almost feel him here beside me, his presence as strong and comforting as it was all those centuries ago.

I am the last of my kind, the lone keeper of this place. I never did split my soul to continue the cycle. But through these words, I will endure. And perhaps, when I too am gone, someone will read this and remember. They will know that once, there was a guardian of the forest who walked among them, who watched, who learned, and who loved.

And that someone is now you. With you now lies the tale of my father, my forest, and my life.

I trust you to bring the world peace, because I have already found mine, my sweet sweet cub.

Hey all! Here is a video I produced the other day in partnership with u/rukania and JadeWidow.Drives in a new series of 'spooky night drives'.

Come hop in the passenger seat as we explore the dark and twisting back roads and I'll tell you all about The Skonvik Wildman.... Enjoy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_V5DEoX3niQ

Hi everyone,

I'm a new narrator to the spooky/paranormal space, primarily on Youtube.

Background is a bit all over the place but I've done several years of acting/voice acting and an in-home studio for professional grade narrations and audio design.

As my reddit/YT channel name might imply, I like to explore where the line is between fact and fiction and am looking for any urban legends, allegedly-true personal encounters ("my friend told me" stories also fine), or otherwise paranormal/spooky content to narrate.

The primary rule I have is nothing that's openly fiction (again, 'allegedly true' is fine), or obviously unbelievable (The Time Vampires Conquered San Francisco). Obviously the more 'believable' or detailed the story is, the better, but in no way am I asking you to 'prove' anything.

Essentially just looking for eerie, strange, dark, and spooky content that's believable/plausible/allegedly real at a minimum, major bonus points for anything that steps towards the 'facts are stranger than fiction' or 'urban legend explaining a real event' side of things.

Feel free to respond here or DM me; would love to work with you!

(For a feel of the series I'm working on, here's my latest video: The Swedish Yeti (youtube.com))

Hello, I'm trying to build my own audience so I have a couple short stories that would be free to narrate. My only caveat is that I want to link my page in the comments on the video. They're all horror but they fall into different sub-genres like mystery, romance, and fantasy.

DM me or comment here and we can talk.

I stood alone on the deck of the research vessel "Nautilus," gazing out at the vast, unending Pacific Ocean.

The horizon stretched endlessly in every direction, a seemingly infinite expanse of deep blue that reflected the sky's shifting moods.

The gentle sway of the ship beneath my feet was a minor comfort against the storm of emotions churning within me. Excitement, anticipation, and a whisper of fear mingled together, creating a sensation I had never quite felt before.

My heart raced in rhythm with the waves, each beat a reminder of the monumental journey I was about to undertake.

Today was the day I had dreamed of for years—a chance to dive into the Mariana Trench, the deepest part of the world's oceans. As a marine biologist, this moment was the culmination of my life's work and preparation.

The countless hours spent studying, the rigorous training, and the meticulous planning had all led to this singular point in time. I would be descending over 36,000 feet into a world that remained mostly unknown to humanity, a place where the pressure is so immense that it crushes almost everything in its grasp, and the darkness is so absolute that even the faintest light struggles to penetrate.

This dive was more than just a scientific expedition; it was an exploration into the very heart of the Earth's mysteries.

What secrets did the Mariana Trench hold?

What lifeforms had adapted to survive in such an extreme environment, where the laws of nature seemed to be rewritten?

These questions had haunted my thoughts for as long as I could remember, driving me forward even when the challenges seemed insurmountable.

The ocean breeze tousled my hair as I stood there, lost in contemplation.

I knew that the descent would not be easy.

The journey into the unknown was fraught with risks, from the immense pressures that could crush the submersible to the unpredictable nature of the deep-sea environment.

But these dangers only fueled my determination.

The fear was real, but it was tempered by the thrill of discovery, the knowledge that I was on the brink of witnessing something no one else had ever seen.

As I took a deep breath, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. The fear, the anticipation, the excitement—they were all part of the experience, a reminder that I was about to step into a world few had ever dared to explore.

The dive into the Mariana Trench was not just a journey into the depths of the ocean; it was a journey into the depths of my own resolve, my own desire to push the boundaries of what we know about our planet.

And as the preparations for the dive continued around me, I knew that I was ready to face whatever awaited me in the darkness below.

My training had been grueling. I had spent months preparing for this mission, including mastering emergency protocols and learning to operate the intricate systems of the submersible alone.

I endured countless hours in a hyperbaric chamber, acclimating my body to the crushing pressures of the deep sea.

Physical conditioning, mental fortitude exercises, and meticulous simulations had all led to this moment.

Despite the training, a part of me remained apprehensive.

The immense pressure down there could be fatal, and the isolation was profound. But the allure of discovering new species and contributing to our understanding of Earth's final frontier made every risk worth it.

The submersible, "Deep Explorer", was an work of engineering, designed for a solo journey into the abyss.

Its sleek, elongated teardrop shape was built to endure the enormous pressures of the deep sea. The titanium hull was reinforced with layers of composite materials, and it was equipped with high-definition cameras, robotic arms for collecting samples, and a suite of scientific instruments. The interior was compact, designed to accommodate me and the essential equipment. With just enough space to operate the controls and conduct my research, it was both a marvel of engineering and a tight squeeze.

As I donned my thermal gear, designed to protect me from the freezing temperatures of the deep, a rush of adrenaline surged through me.

The crew worked with practiced precision, performing last-minute checks and securing the submersible. With a final nod to the team, I climbed into the submersible and sealed the hatch behind me. The cabin lit up with the soft glow of the control panels, and a low hum filled the space as the systems activated.

With a final nod to the team, I climbed into the submersible and sealed the hatch behind me, the sound of the outer world muffling into silence.

The cabin lit up with the soft glow of the control panels, each light representing a different system coming online. The low hum of the engines filled the space, a steady reminder of the power and technology that would carry me into the depths.

I adjusted my seat, double-checked the instrument readouts, and took a deep breath, trying to quell the mixture of excitement and anxiety bubbling inside me.

The final command was given, and the "Deep Explorer" was lowered into the water.

The transition from air to water was seamless, the submersible gliding smoothly beneath the surface. As the surface above quickly receded, I felt a growing sense of claustrophobia take hold.. The once-bright sky faded from view, replaced by the inky blackness of the ocean's depths.

Initially, the descent was through the epipelagic zone, where sunlight still penetrated, casting the water in hues of blue and green. Fish darted around the submersible, their scales catching the light in flashes of silver. The water was alive with motion, teeming with life in a vibrant aquatic dance. But soon, the sunlight began to weaken, the bright rays filtering down in delicate, shimmering beams that grew fainter with every passing meter.

As I continued downward, the mesopelagic zone—the twilight zone—enveloped me. Here, the light was dim and eerie, a perpetual dusk where the outlines of creatures became shadowy, and bioluminescence began to dominate the scene. The submersible's lights revealed schools of fish with glowing bodies and eyes like lanterns, creatures adapted to the eternal twilight of this realm. The temperature dropped noticeably, and the pressure began to increase, causing the hull to creak softly.

Further down, I entered the bathypelagic zone—the midnight zone. All traces of natural light were gone, replaced by an all-consuming darkness that pressed in from every direction. The submersible's floodlights cut through the blackness, revealing strange, ghostly creatures that seemed more alien than earthly. Giant squid, translucent jellyfish, and other bizarre life forms drifted by, their movements slow and deliberate, as if conserving energy in the cold, oxygen-starved waters.

Finally, the abyssal zone came into view.

The darkness here was absolute, a void that seemed to swallow the light entirely. The pressure was immense, almost crushing, a force that could obliterate any vessel not specifically designed to withstand it. The water was near freezing, a hostile environment where only the hardiest of life forms could survive. It was in this foreboding realm that the "Deep Explorer" would continue its journey, deeper still, into the unknown.

«Entering the abyssal zone,» I murmured to myself, trying to steady my nerves. «All systems normal.»

My heart pounded as I descended further into the Mariana Trench.

The pressure outside was immense, and the depth was overwhelming. The trench itself is a colossal underwater canyon stretching over 1,550 miles long and 45 miles wide, plunging nearly seven miles deep. Here, the pressure is over a thousand times greater than at sea level, and the temperature hovers just above freezing. It's a realm of perpetual darkness, where only the most resilient creatures can survive.

As the "Deep Explorer" continued its journey, the world above seemed a distant memory.

Each moment brought me closer to the profound, unknown depths of the Mariana Trench. Alone in the submersible, I felt like an intruder in this alien world, yet the thrill of discovery pushed me forward. This was my dream realized, and the mysteries of the deep awaited.

The descent continued, and as I passed the abyssal zone, the darkness deepened, and the pressure increased. I had been alone in the Deep Explorer for hours, the only sounds were the steady hum of the submersible's systems and my own breathing, amplified by the tight confines of the cabin.

I focused on maintaining calm, though my heartbeat was a steady drumbeat against the silence.

Physically, the pressure was starting to make its presence known. I could feel a slight, almost imperceptible tension in my chest, a reminder of the 1,000 times atmospheric pressure pressing down on me. My muscles ached from the prolonged stillness, and the cold was penetrating, despite the thermal gear. The temperature inside the submersible was regulated, but the cold seeped through in subtle ways. Every now and then, I shifted in my seat, trying to alleviate the stiffness, but the confined space left little room for movement.

Mentally, the isolation was the greatest challenge. The darkness outside was complete, a vast, impenetrable void that seemed to stretch on forever. My only connection to the world outside was the faint glow of the submersible's instruments and the occasional flicker of bioluminescent creatures passing by. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, the scientific mission that had driven me to undertake this expedition.

As I descended further, a brief crackle of static over the comms signaled the inevitable—the connection to the surface was lost.

I had anticipated this moment, knowing that the extreme depth and crushing pressure would eventually sever the fragile link. The electromagnetic signals that enabled communication struggled to penetrate the dense layers of water and rock.

The deeper I went, the more the signal deteriorated, until finally, it could no longer reach the surface.

This was no cause for alarm, though; it was an expected consequence of venturing into one of the most remote and hostile environments on Earth. The Deep Explorer was equipped with advanced autonomous systems designed to handle such isolation. It could record data, navigate, and operate its instruments without external input, relying on its pre-programmed directives and my manual control.

Yet, despite the advanced technology, the loss of connection was a stark reminder of how truly alone I was. There was no longer a tether to the world above—no way to call for help, no reassurance from the crew. I was entirely on my own in this pitch-black void, relying solely on the integrity of the submersible and my own skills to complete the mission and return safely to the surface.

The Deep Explorer was holding up well. Designed to withstand the immense pressures of the hadal zone.

The control panels were alive with data, and the floodlights cast a stark contrast against the encroaching darkness. The sub's robust titanium hull, reinforced with layers of advanced composites, ensured that I remained safe.

Passing through the hadal zone was like entering another world entirely. The hadal zone is characterized by extreme pressure, near-freezing temperatures, and complete darkness. The submersible's advanced sonar systems painted a picture of the surrounding terrain, revealing towering underwater mountains and deep ravines. It was a landscape of harsh beauty, sculpted by forces beyond human comprehension.

As I approached the ocean floor, the anticipation was palpable.

My eyes were fixed on the monitors, eagerly awaiting the first glimpses of the trench's floor. The pressure outside was immense, but the submersible's integrity was holding strong. I had prepared for this, but the reality of reaching the deepest part of the ocean was both thrilling and daunting.

Finally, the submersible touched down on the floor of the Mariana Trench, ending what had felt like an eternal descent into the abyss.

The descent was complete.

As I settled onto the floor of the Mariana Trench, the enormity of the moment began to sink in. The darkness was absolute, an almost tactile presence pressing in from every direction. The only source of illumination was the submersible's floodlights, slicing through the murk to reveal the barren, alien landscape that stretched out before me.

A profound sense of solitude enveloped me, more intense than anything I had ever experienced.

It was as if I had journeyed to the edge of the world, where no light from the sun could reach, and no other human had dared to venture. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional creak of the submersible's hull adjusting to the immense pressure. In that moment, I realized just how isolated I truly was—miles beneath the surface, with nothing but the cold, crushing deep surrounding me. The weight of the ocean pressed down not just on the submersible but on my very soul, a reminder that I was a lone explorer in a place few had ever seen.

The landscape was otherworldly, a stark contrast to the vibrant marine environments I had explored in the past.

The seabed was a mix of fine sediment and jagged rock formations, sculpted by the unimaginable pressures of the deep. Towering pillars of basalt rose from the floor, their surfaces encrusted with strange, translucent creatures that pulsed with an eerie bioluminescence.

The terrain was dotted with hydrothermal vents, spewing superheated water and minerals into the frigid water, creating plumes that shimmered in the floodlights. Around these vents, life thrived in ways that defied the harsh conditions—tube worms, shrimp, and other exotic organisms that seemed more at home in a science fiction novel than on Earth.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself of the extensive training that had prepared me for this moment.

The robotic arms of the Deep Explorer were nimble and precise, allowing me to collect sediment and biological samples with ease. The seabed around me was a surreal landscape of alien formations and strange, glowing organisms. The samples I gathered felt like a triumph—each one a key to unlocking the secrets of this remote part of the ocean.

For a while, everything seemed to proceed normally. The bioluminescent creatures danced in the submersible's floodlights, their ethereal glow providing a mesmerizing view of the trench's ecosystem. I carefully maneuvered the submersible to capture these creatures and collect sediment samples from the ocean floor. The data was consistent, the samples were intact, and the mission was going according to plan.

Then, something changed.

I noticed a shift in the behavior of the creatures around me. The once-active bioluminescent jellyfish and deep-sea fish suddenly vanished into the darkness.

An uneasy stillness settled over the trench floor. My pulse quickened as I scanned the area, trying to understand the sudden change.

I strained to see beyond the reach of the submersible's lights, but the darkness was impenetrable.

The floodlights illuminated only a small, controlled area, leaving the vast majority of the trench cloaked in shadows.

That's when I saw it—movement in the darkness.

It was elusive, just beyond the light's reach, but unmistakable. The sand on the ocean floor began to shift, disturbed by something unseen. And then, the legs emerged—long, segmented, crab-like appendages that seemed to belong to a creature far larger than anything I had anticipated.

As I adjusted the controls, the submersible's lights swept across the area, and I caught more glimpses of these legs moving through the sand.

The sounds of scraping and shifting sediment grew louder, and I realized that multiple creatures were moving around me. The legs moved with an eerie grace, and every so often, I would catch a fleeting view of one of these beings passing through the gloom.

One of the creatures drew closer, coming within the periphery of the submersible's lights. It was still too far for a detailed view, but it was clear that this was no ordinary crab. The appendages were enormous—much larger than the so-called "Big Daddy," the largest crab known to science.

My heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement. Could I have discovered a new, colossal species of crab?

Determined to document my findings, I activated the submersible's high-definition cameras and focused them on the area of activity. The images on the monitor were grainy and unclear, but they captured the shadowy forms and the massive legs moving through the sand.

The idea of having found the largest crab ever recorded filled me with excitement.

But as the creature drew closer, a sense of unease began to overshadow that initial thrill. The movement was not just large—it was deliberate and methodical, as if the creatures were deliberately surrounding me.

My training had prepared me for many scenarios, but I had never anticipated encountering a potential swarm of massive, unknown creatures.

The submersible's instruments began to register fluctuations, and the sediment around me seemed to churn more violently. I noticed that the creatures were not just moving—they were converging, as if drawn to the submersible's presence.

The sense of being watched grew stronger, and a chill ran down my spine despite the warmth inside the cabin.

But then, silence descended like a heavy curtain, and the darkness around me seemed to swallow even the faint glow of the submersible's instruments. I waited, my senses heightened, searching for any sign of the giant crabs, but nothing moved, no sound, no glimpse.

The sand around remained still, as if the aquatic life had been repelled.

Then, a subtle sound emerged from the side of the submersible, a sort of light tapping, as if something was exploring the metal walls with curiosity. I quickly turned, my eyes fixed on the metal surfaces that formed the cabin's shield.

What could be on the other side?

The ensuing silence seemed to challenge me to find out.

Suddenly, a loud bang shook the submersible.

The window glass rattled and I nearly jumped out of my seat, my heart pounding. With instinctive speed, I whipped around to face the source of the noise, my eyes locking onto the main viewing port.

To my horror, I saw that something had slammed into the thick glass, leaving a web of crackling marks etched across its surface. The jagged lines spread like fractures in ice, distorting the murky darkness outside

A cold sweat broke out across my skin as the terrifying reality sank in—if that glass hadn't held, the submersible would have imploded under the crushing pressure of the deep. In the blink of an eye, I would have been obliterated, killed in less than a second, with no chance to even comprehend what had happened.

The pressure down here was so immense that the slightest breach would have meant instant death, my body crushed and flattened like an empty can underfoot.

I forced myself to steady my breathing, trying to make sense of the chaos outside. Through the murky darkness, I could see shadows moving with a disturbing, unnatural grace. My mind raced as I tried to identify the source of the threat.

I stared in horror, my voice barely a whisper as the words escaped me: «What in God's name are those things?»

The creatures I had initially thought were crabs revealed their true nature as they drew closer.

They were not mere crustaceans; they were towering, nightmarish humanoids with multiple legs that moved more like giant, predatory spiders than crabs.

Their bodies were elongated and gaunt, standing at an unsettling height that made them all the more menacing. Draped in nearly translucent, sickly skin that glowed with a ghastly, otherworldly light, they looked like twisted remnants of some forgotten world. Their torsos and waists were unnaturally thin, while their long, spindly arms extended forward like elongated, skeletal claws, ready to ensnare anything that crossed their path.

As the creatures drew closer, I noticed another unsettling aspect of their appearance. From their spindly arms and along their gaunt backs sprouted membranous appendages, resembling the delicate fronds of deep-sea algae.

These appendages undulated and drifted with their movements, almost as if they were alive, giving the impression that the creatures were part of the ocean itself. The algae-like strands were thin and sinewy, some stretching long and flowing like tattered banners in the current, while others clung to their bodies like decayed fins.

The effect was eerie, as if these beings had adapted perfectly to their dark, aquatic environment, merging with the deep-sea flora to become one with the abyssal world around them.

These appendages added to their grotesque appearance, making them seem even more alien and otherworldly. It was as if the creatures had evolved to blend into their surroundings, their bodies designed to navigate and hunt in the inky darkness of the trench.

The sight of these algae-like membranes, shifting and pulsating with each movement, made them appear almost spectral—ghosts of the deep, haunting the dark waters with their unnerving presence.

Some of these horrifying beings were wielding crude, menacing spears, crafted from what appeared to be bone or a dark, coral-like material. The spears were jagged and barbed, adding to the grotesque aura of the creatures.

Their heads were shrouded in darkness, but I could make out a pair of eerie, pulsating orbs where their eyes should be, casting a malevolent, greenish glow that seemed to pierce through the gloom.

As they drew nearer, the creatures began to emit low, guttural sounds—an eerie mixture of clicks, hisses, and what almost sounded like a distorted, unnatural whisper. It was a chilling noise that seemed to resonate within the submersible, making the very air vibrate with an otherworldly hum.

At first, I assumed these sounds were just mindless animalistic noises, a natural consequence of whatever twisted physiology these beings possessed. But as I listened more closely, I began to realize there was a rhythm to the sounds, an almost deliberate cadence that suggested they were not just noises, but a form of communication.

The clicks were sharp and rapid, like the tapping of claws on glass, while the hisses came in slow, deliberate bursts. The whispers were the most disturbing of all—soft, breathy sounds that almost seemed to form words, though in a language I couldn't begin to understand.

The noise sent a shiver down my spine, heightening the sense of dread that had taken hold of me.

It was as if the creatures were communicating, coordinating their movements, or perhaps even discussing me, the intruder in their world.

The thought that they might possess some form of intelligence, that they were not just mindless predators but beings with a purpose, filled me with a new kind of terror.

As I observed them, it became evident that the loud bang I had heard moments earlier was the result of one of these spears striking the glass of the submersible. The sight of the menacing creatures and the damage to the glass intensified my fear, underscoring the growing danger they represented.

The creatures advanced slowly, their spider-like legs moving with a deliberate, almost predatory grace.

They pointed their crude, jagged spears directly at me, their eerie, pulsating eyes glinting with malevolent intent. 

As they closed in, a low, guttural sound emanated from deep within their throats—a noise so alien and foreboding that it resonated through the walls of the submersible, making the very air seem to vibrate with dread

Panic surged through me, and for a moment, I was utterly lost.

The realization that I was completely alone, with no way to call for help, hit me like a wave of icy water. The communication link with the surface had been severed as expected upon reaching these depths, but the finality of it now felt crushing.

I had always believed I was prepared for anything this expedition might throw at me, even death if it came to that. Yet now, face-to-face with these monstrous beings, I realized how desperately unready I was.

My mind raced, but no solutions presented themselves, only the terrifying certainty that there was nothing I could do to stop them.

My entire body was gripped by a paralyzing fear.

The submersible, designed for scientific exploration and equipped with only basic instrumentation, was utterly defenseless against such a threat.

My hands shook uncontrollably, and in my panic, I accidentally brushed against the control panel.

To my surprise, the robotic arm of the submersible jerked into motion. The sudden movement caused the creatures to flinch and scatter, retreating into the dark waters from which they had emerged.

As they backed away, the eerie sounds they had been emitting shifted, becoming more frantic, the rhythm faster and more chaotic. It was as if they were warning each other, or perhaps expressing fear for the first time.

The quick reaction of the robotic arm had inadvertently frightened them, giving me a precious moment of reprieve.

Seizing this unexpected opportunity, I scrambled to initiate the emergency ascent. My fingers fumbled with the controls as I engaged the ascent protocol, the submersible's engines groaning to life with a deep, resonant hum. The submersible shuddered and began its rapid climb towards the surface.

Each second felt like an eternity as I watched the dark, foreboding depths recede behind me.

The terror of the encounter was still fresh, lingering in the back of my mind like a shadow that refused to dissipate.

My thoughts spiraled uncontrollably as I imagined the countless ways the situation could have ended if the robotic arm hadn't jerked to life at that critical moment.

I could vividly picture the glass shattering under the relentless assault of those monstrous beings, the submersible imploding under the crushing pressure of the deep, and my body being torn apart in an instant—an unrecognizable fragment lost to the abyss.

As the submersible accelerated upward, every creak and groan of the hull seemed amplified, each one a reminder of how perilously close I had come to disaster.

My heart pounded in my chest, and with every passing second, I found myself glancing back into the dark void, fearing that the creatures might regroup, their malevolent eyes locked onto me, and launch a final, relentless pursuit.

The rush to safety was a desperate, frantic bid to outrun the nightmare that had emerged from the depths, a horror so profound that even the vastness of the ocean seemed small in comparison.

Yet, amidst the overwhelming fear, another thought gnawed at me—an unsettling realization that I had encountered something more than just terrifying monsters.

These beings, grotesque as they were, had exhibited signs of intelligence.

The way they wielded their weapons, their coordinated movements, and even the eerie sounds they emitted suggested a level of awareness, a society perhaps, hidden in the deepest reaches of the Mariana Trench.

When we think of intelligent life beyond our own, our minds always travel to distant galaxies, to the farthest reaches of the cosmos where we imagine encountering beings from other worlds. We never consider that such life might exist right here on Earth, lurking in the unexplored depths of our own planet.

The idea that intelligence could evolve in the crushing darkness of the ocean's abyss, so close yet so alien to us, was terrifying.

It shattered the comfortable illusion that Earth was fully known and understood, forcing me to confront the possibility that we are not as alone as we believe.

As the submersible continued its ascent, the questions persisted, haunting me as much as the encounter itself.

What else lurked down there, in the depths we had barely begun to explore?

And had I just witnessed a glimpse of something humanity was never meant to find?

The darkness of the ocean's depths might hide more than just ancient secrets; it might conceal a new, horrifying reality we are not prepared to face.

Free story to anyone interested in narrating. About 2k words long.

It follows a pair of technicians who are monitoring the patient of a mental link technology that allows them to see thoughts.

Things take a dark turn when the patient dies and they see the other side.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1abzxYMacsW8PZA1wc8tL-sW6HuJnBlWG_DDg4yfCC_c/edit?usp=drivesdk

I'm making this record as a warning to all who may come across it - never, NEVER! attempt to enter the catacombs of Paris through secret passage that lies hidden beneath the streets of the city. For within those dark and winding tunnels, there is something inexplicable and evil that resides the forbidden tunnels lurking beneath the City of Light.

First I would like to point out that the people I will mention here have had their names changed with the intention of protecting their memories and their identities. I hope that my decision is understood and respected by all.

With that in mind, I will now begin the account of my Paris catacomb experience that forever marked my life.

Like any other young person my age, I was very adventurous and loved exploring unknown places, always looking for thrills and challenges.

My parents were always very strict with me, forbidding me to go to places they considered "inappropriate" like parties and going out with friends. I felt trapped, like I was being deprived of experiencing the outside world like other young people. Which only fueled even more the desire to venture outside the limits imposed on me.

Like any other young person my age, I became rebellious.

I lied to my parents that I was going somewhere, but I was breaking into an abandoned house or exploring some tunnel or underground cave with my friends who shared the same interests.

But that wasn't enough.

I wanted to go further, see new things and feel more of that butterflies in my stomach that only adventure can provide. That's why when my friend "Zak" called me and said he'd discovered a location on an unsealed sewer entrance to the Catacombs of Paris, I was all for it.

If you've never heard of this place or have only a brief acquaintance, the Paris catacombs are a gigantic underground network of tunnels and galleries that extend for about 300 kilometers under the city of Paris, France. The catacombs, originally built as quarries around the 18th century, were turned into public ossuaries in the late 18th century, and are currently visited by tourists as a historical and cultural attraction. The catacombs contain the remains of millions of Parisians who were moved there after the city's cemeteries closed.

Due to their age and fragility, the catacombs have strict access rules to protect cultural heritage and the safety of visitors. In addition, the catacombs are a real underground labyrinth, it's not difficult to get lost in there. For these reasons, visits are highly regulated and controlled. Entering the Paris catacombs beyond the permitted areas for visitation was strictly prohibited, violating this rule could result in fines and other legal penalties.

I should have stopped there but at that time all my rebellious mind had in my head was: everything forbidden tasted better.

We called another friend "Sebastian" and started planning everything. When are we going, what would we take and how would we not get lost. The last one was solved by Zak, we would use luminescent paints.

And yes, when I look back I realize how stupid this all was from the start.

I don't remember what lie I told my parents, but they believed it. And I was able to meet my two friends without any problem.

Entering the catacombs of Paris through a secret entrance in the sewers was always going to be the adventure of a lifetime. I was very excited and looking forward to this adventure so different from the ones I've done before.

Zak led the way, he took us down to the sewer where the entrance to the Ossuary is said to be. It took us about twenty minutes to find that entrance, because Zak actually didn't know of a location at all, he just heard a rumor that there was an entrance here.

The entrance was narrow and dark, with only a shaft of light coming in through the crack at the top. Zak was the first to enter, followed by me and Sebastian. We managed to smell the strong and unpleasant smell of sewage in our nostrils, but that didn't stop us from moving forward.

It was then that we saw a steep staircase leading even deeper. We walked down the stairs cautiously, carefully watching each step we took. The sound of water running through the pipes echoed throughout the place. But that didn't bother me, after all, I was focused on finding something new.

We arrived in a huge underground room with dirty damp walls and a slippery floor. The flashlights we carried illuminated only a small part of the room, and the surrounding darkness made it even more frightening.

At first I wasn't sure if we were entering the Ossuary or if it was just one of the sewer corridors, but then our flashlight beams began to reveal a few bones here and there, until an entire walls adorned with bones and human skulls gave us a macabre welcome.

As we made our way deeper into the catacombs, the air grew stale and musty. The damp walls seemed to close in around us, and the darkness was all-consuming. But instead of feeling afraid, we feel like those brave youtubers with channels aimed at urban explorers who enter forbidden places like this. And that was amazing.

The Paris catacomb was an incredible gallery of macabre art. It was impossible to deny the morbid beauty of that place.

The walls were lined with stacked skulls and human bones, forming grotesque and frightening images. I couldn't help feeling that I was being watched through the hollow eyes of hundreds of skulls.

I grabbed my cell phone and started filming around, capturing every detail of the historic structures, until an eerie sound echoed through the dark tunnels.

Everything was silent, until Zak said "Relax you pussies, it must have been just a car passing overhead" He emphasized his statement by pointing to the ceiling above us.

We relaxed after that, Zak's words made sense. We were somewhere under the city, there couldn't be anything here, the sound could only have come from the surface.

As time went on, my earlier enthusiasm was turning into another feeling, which I refused to show to my friends, as I didn't want to tarnish my facade of a great and courageous adventurer. But I couldn't deny that little voice telling me something was wrong was getting louder.

Filming Sebastian walking side by side to a wall full of piled up human bones as he said "look at this!" "This is so cool!" helped me to recover a little. Until then I noticed Zak enter a different corridor and move further and further away.

"Zak! Don't go wandering around aimlessly, you know it's easy to get lost around here!" I shouted, but Zak just responded with his typical arrogance.

"Easy, Mom! I just want to take a look around these halls. Before you know I'll be back"

I rolled my eyes and continued filming Sebastian. I was used to Zak's habit of drifting away from the group and somehow never getting lost.

It was from that point on, that our adventure turned into a nightmare.

Suddenly Zak screamed from one of the hallways, causing me and Sebastian to turn around in alarm.

I shouted his name and shined the flashlight on all the corridors entrances nearby, but I couldn't find him. Then sounds like bones creaking and clinking echo through the galleries, making my blood run cold.

"Zak, this isn't funny you bastard!" I yelled loud as I shined every entrances I could see, believing Zak was purposely trying to scare us.

And then I realized that Sebastian was frozen, looking with eyes filled with utter terror in my direction, more specifically behind me. And then I heard a low, inhuman snarl.

Slow and terrified I turned around. The flashlight shook in my hands, but I kept the grip as tight as I could to illuminate whatever was behind me.

I had explored many unknown places in my life, I saw so many things, so many stories to tell, but never, never I had never seen anything like it before.

Before me was a creature that could only be described as something resembling a giant centipede made up mostly of several bones of various widths and thicknesses, and what appeared to be exposed tendons and muscles. In place of its head was a massive human skull with large, sharp teeth stained red whose origin I refused to believe.

That gigantic thing moved slowly with its many twisted legs towards us, staring at us with large empty eye sockets as it rose with the front part of its long body until it surpassed our height and almost touched the ceiling.

For a moment, we simply stared, unable to believe what we were seeing. Until the grotesque creature released a high-pitched, screeching sound that made us shiver to the bone.

We ran without looking back, trying to keep a strong and steady pace, following the luminous paint that Zak used to mark the way to the exit. But it was when we heard the creature heavy footsteps and its jaws grinding that the adrenaline took over our body.

I dropped the backpack to get rid of the weight and Sebastian did the same. At some point in the panic I lost my flashlight and cell phone too, but at that moment material things didn't matter.

Miraculously I managed to make my escape to the exit, but when I looked back to see if that monster was still following me, I realized with horror that Sebastian was no longer behind me.

I headed back to the entryway again, even though all my instincts told me not to. I screamed Sebastian's name as loud as my lungs would allow, but the darkness only answered me with silence.

That experience changed me forever. I will never be the same fearless adventurer I was before. I managed to escape with my life, but the price I paid for my recklessness was high. I lost my best friends and now I live with this bitter and deserved guilt for the rest of my life.

I don't know if I should reveal this, but I've kept this dark secret for so long, I can take it no more. Humanity should know. I'll probably be gone tomorrow if you know what I'm talking about, but what does it matter, my body can barely keep up anyway.

So here goes..

Since I was a child, I had always been fascinated by the mysteries of the universe. When I was selected to be part of the team behind "Project Nyx," I knew it was an opportunity of a lifetime. Our mission was simple but groundbreaking - to observe what was inside a black hole for the first time.

Me and my space fellas woke up from our cryogenic sleep as the spacecraft approached the black hole. I still clearly remember how everyone on the team was excited, but also nervous. We knew that this was uncharted territory, and anything could happen.

We positioned ourselves at a safe distance from the Event Horizon, preparing for the experiment. Each of us was at our designated station, ready to carry out Project Nyx. The pressure was mounting, but we kept our focus on the task at hand.

The experiment worked as follows: the ship would launch a concentrated beam of light, which would enter the black hole. According to our calculations, 58% of the concentrated light would manage to leave and return to the ship. It was a risky maneuver, but it was the only way to get a glimpse of what was inside the black hole.

When we initiated the experiment, there was a moment of tension and suspense, as we waited for the results. Then suddenly, the monitor flickered to life, and we saw something incredible. The data showed that the beam of light had managed to penetrate and miraculously escape the black hole, and we could see what was inside.

It was a breathtaking sight - a swirling mass of matter and energy, moving in a seemingly chaotic dance. The colors were vibrant and otherworldly, like nothing we had ever seen before. As we processed the data, we knew that we had made history.

"Project Nyx" had been a success, and we had unlocked the secrets of a black hole.

Or so we think.

The monitor started processing more data again, there was something else there, alive.

Deep, inside the black hole's heart, resides a creature of massive size, something so hideous and terrifying, that to this day I can't forget.

I don't know what the exact shape of that thing was like, because as I said before, almost half the amount of concentrated light can't overcome gravitational force. But I'm sure I saw on the monitor its many tenyacles writhing and slithering and what can only be several red eyes glowing with intensity.

At first, we are in disbelief. How could anything, let alone a creature, survive inside a black hole?This could mean that... all black holes had one of these things in there?

Well, fortunately that massive being seemed to be trapped inside, unable to escape the gravitational pull of the black hole.

Me and the whole team were both excited and terrified by our discovery. On one hand, we had made an incredible scientific breakthrough that would change the way we thought about the universe. On the other hand, we had also discovered something that could potentially pose a danger to life as we know it.

So we decided to leave the space beast where it was and head back home.

Now, if my memory serves me right, according to Stephen Hawking's, theory quantum fluctuations in spacetime allow particles to be constantly created and destroyed. When one of these particles appears on the edge of a black hole's event horizon, it can be sucked in by the strong gravitational pull and disappear into the black hole, while its opposite particle escapes into outer space. This process of emitting particles, known as Hawking radiation, causes the black hole to lose energy.

You probably didn't understand a word.

Well, what I mean is that the black hole will shrink and shrink until, one day, it will disappear.

And I fear, that when that day comes, the Leviathan will break free.