If you didn't know Albert then you weren't a local in my town. Albert was that kind of guy that everyone said hi to and he would smile the happiest old man smile you'd ever seen. The purest of people and would do anything for a complete stranger. That's just the kind of person he was.

Mr. Duncan is what people usually called him and he preferred it that way, he was even mayor a few times before he stepped down to take care of abandoned farm animals on his ranch. There was just no end to his kindness.

One Saturday afternoon, a neighbor of his went walking over to his ranch to drop off some much needed supplies and noticed that the animals he took care of weren't grazing, let out of the barn and weren't fed. When checking in the house, they found Mr. Duncan sitting up right at his kitchen table, he had passed away the night before while eating dinner, fork in hand while the few dogs laid at his feet whimpering.

The town was struck with grief and just made everything seem so gray that day, people called their people and everyone who passed by one another cried, hugging one another.

Mr. Duncan never had family, no one that anyone would know cause the town was his family, all he ever had so you could understand the heavy grief everyone felt for him.

A few nights later, the town had a wake service for him, everything was payed for, even his headstone, thanks to the people of the town. Everyone showed up that night to say goodbye to everyone's best friend Alfred Duncan.

He was buried the next day and again, everyone showed up with their tears and sympathies... But for some weird strange reason, this was just the beginning of a dragged on mourning.

The next morning, the town's people started calling one another which some calls were made during the early hours of the night from two to three in the morning. Rumors had started to spread that Mr. Duncan had been seen walking along the highway dressed with the suit he was buried in. Another witness had seen him walking along the rivers edge just before sundown and another seen him casually strolling through the park.

One person who was out of town had just gotten back from a trip and parked to talk to him and he apparently seemed coherent, a full out conversation with Mr. Duncan and the person asked "you going to a social? Why are you all dressed up?" And he never replied but just smiled that happy smile.

Many seem him and it was really scaring the town's people. So that afternoon, everyone went to the local graveyard to view his mausoleum plot to make sure no one was doing some weird things with his body and proping his remains on places, that was the most reasonable explanation.

Upon coming to the mausoleum where he was placed, they found the stone block where his casket was laid had been moved and his casket laid out on the floor with the door casket wide open. The security cameras didn't catch the person who took Mr. Duncan's body but all they seen was Mr. Duncan walking off the premises.

The whole town was alerted about the strange occurrence that was going on in their town, a dead man walking around is what they had and most didn't want to believe it. Where could he have gone? What or how was this even possible? Dead people just don't walk around and talk?

No one could find him, don't think anyone wanted to find him cause of the state he was in. It was a really eerie thing to not want to discover. Then it happened. Like always, the news spread fast.

Someone decided to check his property and to their suprise. Everyone showed up that early evening to see Mr. Duncan again, sitting in the same spot where he died in the same position l while wearing his funeral suit... Pale, stiff and very much dead.

That same night, his body was taken back to the mausoleum and into its rightful place to be at rest, security was set up right outside the cemetery for good measure also. But he never "arose from the dead" again.

Some say he didn't want to leave his property and animals unattended cause that big heart of his was full of caring. Maybe that's why he was compelled to go back home. Stories are stories and some can be true and some can just be down right too insane to believe, but the town outside of Addison Illinois knows what happened and they won't speak of it.

Mr. Duncan, that man with so much love in his heart that he just refused to let even death stop him from caring...

The end

This happened when I was in my freshman year in high school. Me and my friends decided to go trick or treating since we weren’t ready to give it up. Halloween came and I went with three of my friends Dylan, Mark, and Sarah. We visited a ton of houses and got lots of candy, we decided to stop for a break and then we continued. Later on almost everyone went back into there homes so we decided to go home since it was getting late, it was Friday so we could stay up later and have a sleepover but then I decided to look back randomly and saw a person dressed in all black following us who wasn’t really far behind us.

I got paranoid and told everyone that I didn’t want to take the path because of the person, they all agreed and we planned on sleeping at my house, but just as we looked back the person was charging towards us “RUN” Mark yelled. We all started sprinting towards my house but then whoever the person was managed to tackle and strangle Dylan, Dylan is a pretty strong man so he managed to fight back by putting both of his thumbs in the persons eyes, they screamed and we released it was a man. While the man was on the ground we took off running until we reached my house, when we reached my house we looked back and the man was gone. We ran inside and slammed the door and locked it.

I made sure Dylan was okay and my friends still decided to stay for the night cause they were still scared. The next morning we all got an amber alert that two boys bodies were found in the path we planned on taking, and the suspect was arrested that same day and it was the same man. I haven’t trick or treated ever since and neither have my friends. I always wonder what would’ve happened if I didn’t turn around while we were walking.

Friday, October 8. 22:22

"......Breaking news! Our top story tonight, sources say that a group of three residents were found brutally eviscerated at the hands of an unknown assailant in a bride's dress. Nearby residents claim that the entire place had lost power at the time of the murder. They also claim that at the time, they could hear guttural screams after which, it all grew uncomfortably silent. As the police arrived, they were only met with a horrifying sight. The walls and the floor were littered with eviscerated corpses and scattered flesh that have been completely covered by massive pools of blood. It almost seemed as though the bodies have blown up from the inside. The nearby residents were evacuated on-site and the scene of the crime has been closed off. It seems as though the authorities have provided no form of communication in terms of the progress on the investigation and they remain......."

A Week Before The Encounter

Thursday, October 2. 22:22

"Dan! Dan! Wake up Bitch! We have arrived." I look up with my camcorder and I see Sam awkwardly smiling as he points at my window. I look out and I see Priya and Mary waving at us from the entrance as we pull up on the motel parking lot. I give them a small wave as I step out of the car. I immediately get jumped and hugged by them. Behind them stood someone I did not recognize, it was a bride. I pointed her out to my friends and as I looked back, she was gone. Realizing that I was still in stress. I was given another hug and I simply chalked it up to my imagination or trauma. Reminding me of my mistakes. Perhaps, this was purgatory.

(Dan talks to the camera as he moves to the side)

I really needed that. Especially after what happened. I really did. I am grateful for having friends like this, although to be fair, I doubt anyone else would actually go through this for the sake of another. Friends like this only exist in fantasy novels. But hey, guess I am a lucky guy. Let me add a quick video for you guys to watch as we all head in to prepare everything. It will explain everything. It should.

Thursday, October 2. 19:20

Before I proceed, I should give some context on what happened and what you would be seeing shortly. A month ago, my brother died in a car crash. It was on impact. It was all my fault. I was negligent, irresponsible and at the time, completely intoxicated. I swerved to avoid hitting, what I thought I saw was a bride standing in the middle of road. But the dash cam, didn't show anyone. It was all... my... fault. I should'v-... I-.. Fuck!

Thursday, October 2. 20:22

Apologies for the abrupt ending earlier. I needed some time. I am currently out walking in the park, just to grab a bit of fresh air before I head on over to Sam's to meet with the others. It seems the others really wanted me to find some closure and therefore, decided to hold a seance in a motel room, in hopes that whatever we encounter, does not stick around at our places. Sorta evil when you think about it. Here I was, paying money to a shrink to help me accept what an asshole I am and now I get to ask my brother's ghost to forgive me. Even if he does, I cannot forgive myself for that. No shrink, no ghost, nothing on this fucking cursed world can ever help me set it right. NOTHING AT ALL!! FUCK!! WHY NOT ME?? WHY DID HE HAVE TO DIE?? WHY.....?

(The recording gets stuck in frame and resumes after a few seconds to find Dan looking at the ground and the audio cuts off. Dan picks up the tape and it reads, "Don't Look". The recording ends".)

Thursday, October 2. 23:23

The seance ended with nothing really happening. Leaving the group to feel disheartened. But, Sam decided to surprise them with a few drinks and a few hits to dance to. It was an eventful evening, until Dan brought up the tape that he found. After a brief debate on whether or not to read it, it appears that Mary managed to convince the group to watch it first before they hand it over to the authorities. As they began to play the tape, Sam held up the camcorder. The recording froze up and after a minute, it resumed to the group yelling and screaming in abject fear as the lights in the room went out.

As the night vision turned on automatically, Priya could be seen sitting in the corner on the left side of the room and she kept repeating the words,

"Don't look at her or she will see you".

"Don't look at her or she will see you".

As the camera panned to the right, Mary could be seen pounding at the closet door and scratching it, in hopes of having it opened. Sam tried to open the door but was immediately scratched by Mary. Soon after the door opened, a figure that of a veiled bride could be seen entering the room and at that moment, Mary started to spasm out of control before her body exploded internally, drenching the walls and the floor in blood with patches of her skin, slowly sliding against the wall as it reaches the ground. Seeing this, Priya let out a wail as she began crawling towards the bride and begins pleading for mercy. The bride gently caresses Priya's head before she rips it off her neck and shoves it back, deep into her gut.

The brides head turns towards Sam at an unnatural rate. She tilts her head to the left as she slowly moves towards Sam. Staring at the imminent threat, he decides to make a run for it. As he crosses the threshold of the room and he steps outside, he gets pushed down to the ground, leaving the camera to face him and the room. Sam was seen struggling to move. A few seconds later, he stops moving. His head can be seen shuddering as his body can be seen getting twisted in unnatural ways as he then lets out a guttural scream as he explodes, layering the walls of the entrance way with blood and parts of skin sliding off the walls, the echoes of his demise slowly start to fade. The recording stops as the door slams shut.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------THE END--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emily’s sightseeing expedition through Avalon included a trip to some of the notable local historical landmarks and the remains of an ancient Celtic settlement - one of many dotting the area surrounding our new home.

‘This town has a lot of history,’ Emily told me as we trudged past a pair of standing stones. They stood facing one another on either side of the road running to the left of us. 

‘I’ve been reading up about it at the library. It's quite the rabbit hole to dive into.’ 

I could tell from her look that she was hoping I’d ask her for details. 

‘So what did you find out?’ I asked. 

Emily proceeded to launch into a lengthy explanation about the Bavarians who lived in the area during the Middle Ages who had laid the foundations of the current town. 

‘But the history here goes back way before then, to the middle and late iron ages. That was like 900 - 550 BC. During this period the Celts lived here. They were an offshoot of the Hallstatt Celts; some of the oldest tribes of Celtic peoples. They were the first groups to migrate and build a settlement here. These stone ruins you see around the edges of town belonged to them.’ 

‘One of the most fascinating things the Celts left behind were their myths and legends. Stories like the Tale of the Cursed Brothers. If you didn’t know, it's a local folktale children here are told to scare them. Apparently. I learned about it from a librarian I spoke to yesterday.’ 

It was this tale she told me of next, at my request. I had a feeling she was going to explain it anyway; that or one of the other myths she’d read about. 

Happily, Emily gave me a rundown of the legend as we meandered past a series of hollow stone cylinders which dotted the grassy plains; disorganized sentries which followed the line of encroaching trees. 

I gazed out into the faded, gloomy depths of the forest as I listened to her story. 

This is how she told it: 

‘A council of powerful druids and tribal chiefs ruled the community of Celts. Unfortunately, they were very cruel and selfish. They brought the tribe into many unnecessary conflicts, leading them on an endless path of bloodshed. They treated the women and children in the town to horrific abuses. And they punished mercilessly anyone who tried to stand up to them. 

The group of Celts settled in the area around Avalon to brave the coming winter.

Enter the two protagonists of this Legend. One day soon after the tribe's arrival two young warriors named Issaut and Imurela went out hunting together, searching for food and medicine for Issaut’s family. For hours they looked and looked up and down the forest but found nothing useful. 

Imurela (who was a well versed healer) finally spotted an abundance of useful herbs growing within a beautiful clearing. 

As they neared the clearing a bear crawled out from the shadows of a tree nearby. The bear was huge, hulking and territorial. The hunters kept going anyway. They would willingly kill it and take its meat back to feed the tribe if they could. 

So, they confronted and fought the bear.

The battle was brutal. Imurela nearly lost an arm defending Issaut, and in return Issaut fought off grievous wounds to fell the beast and end the miserable fight.

The entity which silently observed them during their fight was impressed by their bravery. Afterward it approached them in the form of a tall and proud, golden haired man. 

The ‘friend,’ as he called himself was there to make them an offer. He offered them an end to the years of hunger and misfortune. A way for them to forge a new path for their tribe. 

The brothers thought he was a madman. Then he gave them a demonstration of his powers. He healed both of the two brother’s wounds with no more than a flick of his hand, leaving them invigorated and strong like they’d never felt before. 

The man offered them a deal. In exchange for the boons he could provide them with, they would pledge the allegiance of themselves and all their descendants to the man, worshiping him forevermore as their god. 

The two brothers were suspicious and already suspected the man’s true nature. However he informed them, ‘I foresee years of tyranny for your tribe - never ending tyranny which will lead to your tribe's eventual destruction. You can allow that, if it is your wish. Or you can take the lesser of two evils - a bargain with me, and forge a new future for yourselves and your loved ones. Make a sacrifice yourselves so the ones you care about most may have a future.’ 

The demon elected to give them a month to make up their minds. On the eve of the next full moon the brothers came back to him and they formed a fateful pact. Issaut and Imurela pledged their souls and those of their future children in exchange for the power they needed to take the tribe for themselves. 

Having completed their bargain with him, the brothers returned to the settlement to challenge the tribal druids and their warriors. 

No one thought they stood a chance that night. The elders ordered the brothers restrained and imprisoned. But the two men fought back. They each had superhuman strength, speed, and skill with their spears. Imurela could predict the attacks of the people he fought against and Issaut could disappear and reappear at will effortlessly.

Not only that, they seemed practically invincible in battle. They were immune to pain and tireless. They challenged and fought sixteen of the tribe’s strongest warriors, groups of them at a time. The two brothers would not be felled. When no more warriors would face them they confronted the elders and made them pay for their sins. 

With the elders dead, the remaining warriors bent their knees in submission. 

It was simple for the two to proclaim themselves leaders once the fight was over. In fact, it was practically done for them by their people. The tribe was theirs now.

The others in the tribe would from that day forward believe the pair were blessed by the gods. It was a lie the brothers allowed them to think.  

From that day on there they ruled the tribe fairly and justly, as best as they were able. Issaut’s family recovered in a couple weeks. The tribe flourished and grew, supported by trading with Roman and later Bavarian and Slavic peoples. The brothers were blessed with an unnaturally long life and they hardly aged at all over the next decades, which further solidified their deity-like status among their people. They became local legends. 

Issaut was a warrior, and Imurela became a druid. They worked and thought differently. This was their strength, but in time it also became their greatest weakness. 

Over those years Issaut and Imurela had plenty of disagreements. They saw different visions for the tribe’s future: Imurela wanted them to form alliances with other nearby tribes, while Isaut thought they should conquer or subjugate any not under their rule. The disagreement over the principles of ruling created a rift between them. 

Imurela in particular grew increasingly discontented. He eventually became convinced his brother would lead the people of the tribe to their downfall with the choices he was making for its future. 

Imurela summoned the demon again in private and expressed these feelings. The demon claimed that he could take his brother's power for himself - if he could win against him in a fair fight. 

Imurela, though a great warrior, had never been a match for Issaut in combat. Because he knew he would lose a duel between them, he decided on a different approach. 

Imurela lured Issaut out into the woods and stabbed him in the back with a dagger coated with a specially crafted poison. But Issaut fought back. He took the dagger from Imurela and cut him with it. Following their fast and brutal altercation, they both died from the poison coursing through their veins and their fate was sealed.

The demon was furious at the outcome and decided they had both failed him. It cursed their spirits to become twisted deities of the woods, separate urban legends each in their own right. Issaut, the Faceless One, and Inurela the Deceiver.  They’ve been wandering the woods as haunted spirits ever since -’ 

‘Hey, what the -’

A woman had grabbed Emily’s arm. She was haggard and old. I was close enough to Emily to smell her overpowering perfume and sweat. She held Emily’s arm in a vice-like grip. 

Emily attempted to pull her arm away. The woman was stronger than she looked, but she let go as fast as she’d grabbed her and took a couple steps back. 

‘Do not speak of them,’ she hissed. ‘It brings bad luck - and perhaps worse things.’ 

Emily frowned at her. ‘Is-’ 

The old woman pressed a finger to my sister's lips to shush her. ‘Do not even speak of their names, child! Please!’ 

Emily apologized and the woman did too, appearing a little embarrassed with herself. We both went off on our own way. It was one of the first indications I would have that the people of Avalon were a bit of a superstitious lot. 

There was also the limping homeless guy with haunted eyes I met the first time I visited the town weeks earlier. He kept insisting that the town was cursed and screamed some nonsensical curses when I didn’t react to his words. 

Avalon was an eerie place, in its own unique way. 

‘I could discuss the history Celtic peoples here for hours,’ Emily declared once we’d put some distance between ourselves and the old woman. ‘They’re such a fascinating culture; so mysterious, complex and so many other things!’ 

She must have noticed I looked preoccupied because she switched her attention over to me. 

‘How are you feeling about things, anyway? Do you like the town?’ She asked hopefully.

‘No.’ I said. ‘What’s there to like?’ 

‘Oh come on, it’s beautiful,’ Emily cried, gesturing around her at the slopes and steep hills of deep green rising up past the town. 

‘I hoped it would be a little warmer,’ I mumbled. ‘Why is it always so cold around here?’ 

Emily rubbed her shoulders in acknowledgement. ‘It’ll be better in the summer’, she said. 

‘It’ll be worse during winter,’ I’d countered, and Emily pouted. 

After we finished touring the local ruins, Emily made me take another trip through town with her. She drove me through streets filled with colorful and majestic houses, some of which were built against the steep foothills of nearby mountains. Emily wanted to show me around town, sharing with me the best restaurants, bakeries and cafes. She took me to the big library, the busy Italian Plaza, and then the medieval church. She was near desperate to prove how nice the town was. 

‘It’ll be better here,’ she said, nudging me by the arm. ‘It will. We’ve both got an opportunity for a fresh start.’ 

She must have noticed I wasn’t really listening to her. ‘What are you thinking?’ She asked. 

‘About our father,’ I told her. ‘I miss him.’  

‘I miss them both,’ she murmured. ‘Mom and dad.’ I felt her wrap an arm around my shoulders and tug me closer. 

‘Come on Tristrian. Give this place a chance. Please?’ 

After a moment I relented. ‘I’ll be fine. You should focus on yourself. On your degree. Getting accepted into Samara University was a big deal!’ 

Emily smiled at me slightly. ‘I will. But I want to see you do the same thing. You have to try to get a fresh start here.’ 

I nodded. I tried to put some resolve in my voice as I affirmed my commitment to making something better of my life. 

I have no idea if Emily bought my act. I felt like acting like I cared was all I could manage at the moment. I wasn’t quite ready to let myself feel emotions properly again. 

After a couple of hours of touring and a light lunch at Emily’s new favorite cafe in town, I made an excuse about meeting my uncle back at home. She looked like she was about to protest, and I was relieved when she decided not to. 

She hugged me tight and ruffled my hair. 

‘Call me, okay? Regularly. Like once a week, at least,’ she said. ‘You know how much of a nightmare I’ll make life for you if you don't.’ 

‘Sure,’ I said, tiredly. ‘Of course.’ 

She continued to eye me for a long moment before returning to her car. 

Emily turned to look back at me before driving away. Her face was one of concern, her gaze filled with unspoken words. 

We were both pretending to be okay, I realized. Only Emily was much better at it than me. I tried my best to smile. She smiled sadly back. 

It happened 7 years ago when I changed my school and got admission into a new school (a girls' school).

It was a government school, so the building hadn’t undergone any reconstruction for I don't know how many years. The walls of the classroom were yellowish, and the plaster was chipping; however, the classroom was quite big and appeared wholesome because of the educational paintings and posters.

Once my teacher helped me find my classroom, I went in and greeted my teacher and fellow classmates happily. I was so excited for the first day of school. But the day turned out to be very dull for me because I got my period right after entering the classroom.

I'm very sensitive when it comes to my periods.

When I realized I got my period on this very special day at school, which I was so excited about, my excitement started to dull. I asked my teacher, "Can I go to use the washroom?" To make me more embarrassed, she said, "NO." Now the whole classroom was getting curious about why I approached the teacher and came back to my seat!

I couldn't take the gossip in the classroom, so I got up again from my bench and approached my teacher again, saying directly, "I need to use the washroom because I got my period." She approved!

Here comes the most embarrassing part: I came to my bench again and, rather than taking the pad out for use, I picked up my bag and went out of the class without a single word! (Actually, I’m embarrassed to take my pad out in front of the other girls. Usually, I have one in my pocket, but this time I forgot to stuff it in my pants. And yeah, that’s what I mean when I say I'm sensitive about my periods, or rather, I’m shy to admit that my period has arrived!) My teacher was shocked, like, "Why in the world is she packing her bag and where is she going?" She stopped me and asked, "Why are you taking your bag with you?" I said, "My things are in this bag for the washroom." Maybe she was confused or speechless; I don't know, but she let me go without saying anything.

So, our school's washroom isn't attached to the school building; instead, it’s in the corner of the courtyard (separately built). I went there, and to my surprise, the whole school, including my classmates, could watch me from the windows. That’s why I had my school bag with me and why I was carrying it to the washroom? Yeah, I felt watched by the whole school (I think so), so instead of going normally, I awkwardly ran to the washroom. I heard laughter as I made it into the washroom.

I calmed myself down and started to find a pad in my bag. Once I got my pad, I actually looked at the washroom, and it was quite dirty with other girls' used stuff and tampons, and it had a very unpleasant smell of urine. I felt my breakfast coming up to my throat. It only had one fragmented window. I opened one of the doors to use the toilet, and it was clogged, so I tried another toilet's door, and to my surprise, it was clogged too! The others were in the same condition, and some of them didn't have water supplies.

Soon, a girl came, and rather than going to the toilet, she just sat on the washroom floor and started to pee in front of me!! I was so shocked! Then after some moments, I realized that the floor of the washroom was actually wet, and it didn’t seem like water to me! She zipped her pants and left, giving me a very mean look.

After she left, I locked the washroom door and started to do my stuff. Once I was done, I went to the only shattered basin and opened the tap, but there was no water coming out of it! I checked the other taps of the toilets too, but NOTHING. I started to leave the washroom, but suddenly I heard water running. I turned around, and to my surprise, the basin tap was working, and the water was flowing, so I washed my hands and started to leave. But suddenly, I heard the water running again, but this time the sound was coming from one of the washroom toilets. I checked all the toilets and found the running one and turned off the tap.

I heard the sound of water again, but this time it was different. It sounded like water droplets were slowly dropping into a water mug (tip* tip* tip*) that was already filled with water. It was already late for me; the bell rang to confirm that it was time for another class, so I started to open the doors of the toilets one by one hurriedly.

Once I came to the last door, suddenly the wind blew hard, and the last piece of the window’s glass fell to the floor and shattered. I turned abruptly to the window, and just at that moment, I heard a whisper in my right ear. I turned again to my right just to hear that the water droplets sound, which now seemed to me more annoying than before.

My hand reached the handle of the last toilet door, and as soon as I opened it, the hair on the back of my neck rose, and the water droplets stopped IMMEDIATELY! I opened the door fully, and to my surprise, the toilet area was filled with water, and the tap was off. I checked again, but the tap was off! I started to close the door again, and SUDDENLY...

The water that had filled the toilet area started to flow and wet my shoes! It happened in just five seconds! Suddenly, my brain asked me a question: Why didn't the water flow when I opened the door, and why was it flowing now without any reason or without adding any water to it? I came back to reality again when I heard another whisper in my left ear, and this time a chill ran down my spine. Instead of turning to my left, I turned right, and as I was about to take a step ahead, I heard the water droplets sound again!! I don’t know why I turned back to look at it, but yeah, I did, and saw that the tap I had turned off tightly was now dripping water, and with each passing second, the water flow started to increase, filling the toilet area again.

At that moment, I forgot where I was and just looked only at the tap from which the water was flowing increasingly now. SUDDENLY, the water that came out of the tap stopped, and I was now staring at the water-filled area of the toilet. It was when I realized where I was when I suddenly heard a loud BANG on the washroom door! It was one of my classmates who was continuously chanting my name and telling me to come out. I immediately went to the door and unlocked it.

She said that the teacher had sent her to check on me to see if I was okay or not. I said I was fine. It was then that she asked me, "Why did you lock the door, and how did you manage to lock it because it was broken?" (since she didn’t know how long it had been). She waited for me outside the washroom while I picked up my bag hurriedly, and we started to walk toward the school building.

I looked back at the washroom before entering my classroom, and fear was real.

After that incident, I caught a high fever; I don’t know if it was because of my period or the terror I felt remembering that episode at school. I cried in my sleep (which had never happened before).

Soon I became healthy again and went to my school regularly, making a lot of new friends. I told my friends about that scary episode, and that’s when I came to know from them... “A year before my admission to the school, there was an old washroom, and many girls complained to the principal about some sort of weird experiences and noises, but the principal thought that the girls were just making stories to scare others and didn’t treat the complaints as rumors. It was one incident that happened right before summer holiday in the school’s washroom that made the principal aware that those weren't just rumors or stories—right before the summer holiday, a girl went to use the washroom and didn’t come back. They started gossiping about it, so the teacher herself went to check on her. When the teacher went to check on her, the door was locked from the inside, so she called out to her, but she heard no answers. When the teacher started to go to call for help, she suddenly heard screams coming from the washroom. The teacher got afraid and started to scream for help. That’s when the principal arrived at the spot, and with the help of the watchman, they opened the door with much difficulty. According to the girls of the school, a girl who was in the washroom continued screaming until the door was opened, and once it was open, the screams of the girl inside stopped abruptly. The girl lay unconscious on the washroom floor, and her fingertips and lips were turned purple. They took her to the hospital, and she was safe, but when the principal asked her what happened, she said that she didn’t remember much and didn’t scream at all; right before she lost consciousness, she heard someone whisper in her ear, and after that, the world went blank, and she opened her eyes in the hospital.”

That’s when the principal approved the construction of a new washroom building and demolished the old one. (But the issue remained because the new washroom was built right after the old one, and you could still see the plaster and brick of the old washroom remaining there. Some girls still complained about it, but nothing serious ever happened)

The creepy man called Barney has been secretly recording under women's skirts. Barney has always been a creep and he has had warnings from the police many times in the past. Barney lives alone and does what he feels like doing, and he has never been able to fully function in society. He has never had proper friends and never really had good experiences. Even as a child Barnet had exhibited creepy behaviour and unfortunately his elders has failed to help him grow. Barney is a creep who does creepy things and now he is secretly recording under women's skirts.

He followed one woman from behind and secretly recorded under her skirt, by use of a long stick as well. Then when Barney had a look at what he had recorded, he became horrified at what he captured. He saw a hateful anx menacing face staring at him. He had no idea what it was and even though it was horrid to look at, he couldn't look a way. There was something about this ugliness that kept him glued to thr screen. It looked like that it wanted to hurt him like he had wronged it some way. Then Barney just deleted the photo.

Then Barney followed another woman and had secretly recorded under her skirt and when he looked at the picture, he became horrified again at the picture. It was that hateful and horrid face. This time it was able to scratch the phone and when Barney tried deleting the photo, it kept reappearing and unrelenting itself. Barney just smashed his phone and when his phone laid on the ground all smashed up, it started jumping a little bit until it came to a complete stop. Barney promised himself that he will never secretly record under a woman's skirt again.

Now Barney tried to change his ways and it was the first time he tried to change his ways. Like with all bad habits it's a hard thing to stop. Everything kept tempting him to go back to his old ways and then Barney couldn't help himself and went back to his old ways. Barney started secretly recording under a woman's skirt and when he looked at the photo, he regretted his decisions when he looked at the photo and it was that horrid face.

It started to crack the phone even more and when Barney tried to smash his phone on the ground, the thing was still making its way out. Then Barney tried to light his phone on fire but it was no use, all Barney could do was run.

Then one day Barney woke up to find he was inside something. They he realised he was inside some trousers, then he realised he was a guys ass now. This guy never wears skirts and so no chance of getting out through a picture.

It’s night, and I’m sitting in the crematorium. The surrounding darkness is thick, and in the distance, a few crows are cawing. Every now and then, I hear the rustling of dry leaves carried by a faint breeze. Suddenly, it strikes ten—this crematorium is eerily silent, with no sound except the rhythm of my breath.

"Okay, what’s the date today?" I remember—"Oh yes, it’s Bhut Chaturdashi." As I say this, a shiver runs through my body. "They say ghosts come out on this night. But whether it’s true or false, I can’t say. However, one incident from last year’s Bhut Chaturdashi still haunts me. Just thinking about that night makes my heart tremble, sending a cold wave of fear through me."

"Do you know, exactly a year ago, I was here in this crematorium at this very hour? I came with Rana Babu. A mysterious call seemed to draw us in, and I’ve never found an answer for that day’s experience."

A light breeze stirs. It carries a familiar scent, reminiscent of old perfume mingling with damp earth. This smell feels oddly familiar; it was present that day too.

"You might say I’m lying, or that this is all just my imagination. But no! I am certain—what I saw that day was not a figment of my imagination." I take a deep breath and say, "So, is something similar going to happen tonight? Is something hiding in this darkness?"

One year ago, on the night of Bhut Chaturdashi, I had gone to my uncle’s house for a full month’s holiday. I thought I would relax after Bhai Phota and spend time with my beloved grandfather.

During that month, every evening, I would see a man standing on the porch, watching a man go to the tea shop below. The man wore an old-fashioned coat, his hair was quite unkempt, and despite his old age, he had heavy golden-rimmed round glasses. He always wore a serious expression, with an old, tattered office bag slung over his shoulder.

After getting off the bus, he would silently sit at the tea shop and smoke a cigarette, his face holding an unknown gravity. It seemed as if the people around him didn’t even see him. Nobody spoke to him, not even the owner of the tea shop would go near him. I secretly watched this mysterious figure every day from my grandfather’s window. There were only my grandfather and a caretaker in that house; no one else.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I asked my grandfather one day, "Grandpa, who is that man who sits at the tea shop every day?"

Grandpa turned serious, a strange discomfort in his eyes. In a low voice, he said, “That man… he’s mad.”

Mad! The word shocked me. “But why is he mad?” I asked, but Grandpa sighed deeply and said, “If you have the courage to hear his story, listen. But don’t think it’s an easy one.”

His answer left me even more puzzled. For days, I pondered who this man could be and why everyone treated him with such mystery.

The night before Bhut Chaturdashi, everyone left for the puja after sunset—my parents and the caretaker. I stayed back with Grandpa, hoping to learn more.

Around eight in the evening, as I was talking with Grandpa, my gaze drifted out the window. I saw that man again. He had come again, with his old bag and those strange glasses. There was an eerie aura about him, as if he were not looking at the world through those glasses, but somewhere else entirely.

“Grandpa, he’s back! What’s his name?” I asked.

Grandpa hesitated for a moment, as if trying to dismiss my question. Then he said, “His name is Rana… Rana Babu.”

"Is there anything else I should know?"

“No, don’t go near him. Don’t talk to him too much.” There was an icy caution in Grandpa’s voice, but the more I asked, the more silent he became. Still, his discomfort and fear were evident in his eyes.

The night deepened. The room felt stifling, the outside darkness, combined with the chill of the crematorium, seemed to seep inside. I was lost in thoughts about Rana Babu’s strange mystery.

Unable to contain my curiosity, I headed to the tea shop. The place was mostly empty, with just a few people sipping tea. I ordered a cup and sat quietly. Suddenly, I saw Rana Babu approaching me. His eyes held that same seriousness, and he had a cigarette in hand.

“Do you have a lighter?” he asked unexpectedly.

I hesitated and replied, “No, I don’t smoke.”

He smiled slightly, saying, “Good. These days, it seems everyone your age has started smoking. But you’re a good boy.” His words surprised me; for some reason, there was a strange indifference in his tone. He pulled out a matchbox from his pocket, lit his cigarette, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I don’t need an introduction; I know very well who you are.”

A shiver ran down my spine. After all these years of being back here, he recognized me? It made me feel uneasy, but I pushed my doubts aside and asked, “Then how do you know me? And what’s your name?”

“Me? I’m Rana… Rana Babu.” He smiled lightly, introducing himself.

I paused for a moment. Then suddenly, I asked, “Wasn’t your office closed today?”

Rana Babu chuckled softly in the smoke. “There’s no such thing as a holiday in my office; it has very strict rules. I hardly have time to go anywhere other than work.”

His words felt slightly odd, but I kept quiet. Politely, I inquired, “Where do you live?”

He looked at me for a moment and said, “Not far from here. But I mostly spend my time at the office. You can come visit me one day if you’d like.” There was a chill in his invitation that made me uneasy, as if hidden dangers were lurking within.

I replied politely, “Okay, I will come one day.”

Pausing again, I asked, “And who’s in your family?”

He smiled slightly, saying, “Knowing too much is not always good, you understand?”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. There was a horrifying cruelty in his gaze, as if he held a deep, dark truth that I wasn’t aware of. Instantly, my questions got stuck in my throat, and I felt that this man was not an ordinary person; he held some unknown darkness within him.

“Do you want to see my office?” Rana Babu suddenly asked.

I hesitated. “But the office must be closed. They don’t allow outsiders in now.”

He smiled, “But everyone can enter.”

In a burst of excitement, I agreed. We began walking, but it was already around 8:30. “It’s a seventeen-minute walk,” he said.

As we walked, Rana Babu asked, “Do you want to hear some stories from my life?” I nodded in agreement.

He told me two stories that left a horrifying impression on my mind. The first was about a fish market, where everyone refused to sell him fish. But the outcome was unbelievable—he had gone mad and done something extraordinary.

The second story was about his daughter’s wedding day, where he did something terrifying and unbelievable to a guest who had brought no gift. Just thinking about those stories made me shiver, as if a terrifying shadow was slowly engulfing the night.

At the end of the tales, we reached our destination. I asked, “Where is your office?”

Rana Babu pointed with his finger, saying, “The crematorium.”

I was taken aback and asked, “Are you joking?”

He told me to calm down, “There’s nothing to be afraid of. The crematorium has a haunting environment.”

He then said, “Just wait a minute; I’ll call my colleagues…”

I asked, “Are we alone here?”

He laughed, saying, “The crematorium is empty now; the corpses are roaming around the city.”

He disappeared deeper into the shadows, and as time passed, it became 10:30, but Rana Babu never returned.

I went home and lay down in bed. The next day, I went to the tea shop and asked someone, “Do you know Rana Babu?”

He replied, “I know him quite well.”

“Why was he here?” I asked, to which he responded, “He worked here as a caretaker.”

I was astonished. “Then how do you know?”

He replied, “The previous caretaker was also Rana Babu…”

Now, a year later, I find myself sitting in that very crematorium again, waiting for Rana Babu’s story. The familiar scent of old perfume is wafting through the air again. It feels like something strange is about to happen

Hollywood loves remakes. That's because Hollywood itself is a remake. Close your eyes and imagine a silent film. I bet you're seeing Charlie Chaplin in all of his black-and-white greatness, but what you might not realize is this movie you're picturing doesn't take place in Los Angeles. It's actually three hundred and fifty miles north in Niles Canyon. America's first Hollywood.

Niles is nestled between the base of sprawling foothills and sits at the outside edge of the San Francisco Bay's marine layer. It’s a quaint, little neighborhood. One that remained frozen in the era of its former glory. A classic Americana main street serves as an anchor to craftsmen and Victorian-style homes. At the end of Niles Boulevard is the silent film museum honoring the area's historic past life. And in the hillside that overlooks the retired train station, you'll see big white letters reading “NILES,” in the same style Hollywood made iconic.

Niles has always been connected with something darker, though. For how small the area is, there has been a surprisingly high amount of death. Mostly due to the winding one-way lane roads that run through the steep hills. Naturally, this has spawned a lot of urban legends. Like the one about a girl who walks the canyon road at night asking for a ride back home to San Francisco, only to disappear before getting there. Or the tales about the white witch in the woods, and the stories about mysterious societies that meet under midnight's obscurity. Hell, there's even sightings of Charlie Chaplin's ghost. This is my personal favorite because witnesses always claim to see him in grayscale and moving at sixteen frames per second. I think every town that is old enough, has this kind of lore. Where I figure Niles is a bit different, though, is that it is home to The Secret Sidewalk.

Deep in the foothills is what is known as The Secret Sidewalk. A long and mysterious stretch of cement that slithers through the hills for miles. It's hard to get to and is one of those kind of places that's passed down from one generation of young people to the next. A place that you hear your friend's older brother bragging about for years before they get too old for it and finally shows you how to get to it. Some of my favorite memories were the days my friends and I would ditch sixth period, fill a backpack with beer, and spend all day wandering the sidewalk.

What the quote-unquote, sidewalk, actually is, is an aqueduct that used to carry water from the bay to local reservoirs. Long dried up and out of service, it now rests covered in graffiti with multiple openings pried ajar. Turning the square cement structure into hollow tunnels for urban explorers or anyone brave enough to go in. I can't lie, there actually is a pretty weird feeling when you walk the sidewalk. An adrenaline boost. I don't know if it's the fact that you're legally not supposed to be there, or the suspended train track bridge you have to cross to get to it, or the silent absence of everyday bustle, but the feeling of vulnerability is palpable and hangs in the air. If you go at the right time of year, fog spills down the hill crevices like fingers reaching out for the lower canyon. Adding to the eeriness of it.

Earlier I said that it's what is known as the Secret Sidewalk. That's because it's not the real one. I know this because my friends and I regrettably found the real one a few years ago.

The guys and I were far removed from our teenage youth, and to be honest, at this point, we were too old to still be going there, but we were all together and feeling nostalgic. So, we decided to go.

We were about an hour or so into the hike and disappointingly, nothing too memorable was happening. The sidewalk was still there, as it always was, but now it was without our names adorning the sides of it in bright, obnoxiously bad, spray-painted fonts. Our names, now entombed under the brighter, more obnoxiously bad, spray-painted fonts of Generation Alpha, and Z before them.

The initial rush of adrenaline had worn off, and I forget who finally said it, but we all agreed to call it and head back. I think it was less boredom and more so that we felt a little embarrassed at how immature it all was. I mean, we were closer in age to being the people who say "Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating?" than the people who were a little old to be trick or treating. So, in a collective moment of clarity, we realized that we shouldn't have been doing what we were doing. My friend had to piss before we left, which didn’t help our immaturity rooted insecurities, but he went off to the side to handle his business regardless.

We had explored the secret sidewalk at least a hundred times and felt pretty comfortable knowing our way around. I say this because my friend came back and said he saw something that he had never seen there before. Being the aforementioned stupid men that we were, we couldn‘t resist checking it out.

Through the shrubbery, you could see what looked like a sidewalk on the other side. A real sidewalk, not an aqueduct. Overgrown and beaten, sure, but there was definitely cobble looking stones joined together forming a walkway. We joked and named it the Super Duper Secret Sidewalk.

We decided that we didn't invest years of our life exploring here to not see where it led to. We pushed the branches aside and started to walk it. Walking on this manmade structure in the middle of the wilderness felt unnatural, but the fact that it wasn't destroyed by asshole kids made it feel unexplored by anyone else. That excited us. We all were kind of giddy at the thought of actually discovering something. Usually, all you found out there was crushed Natty Ice cans and the occasional unwrapped condom. This was best case scenario to us because it was new, and also not an unwrapped condom.

Every now and then we'd actually see signs that we weren't the first to walk this path. An occasional sweater, or a beanie, and even a single shoe could be found laying off to the side of the sidewalk. At first, I weirdly found comfort in the discarded clothes. It made me feel less alone that someone had done this before, if that makes sense. Like, trail markers reminding you that what's ahead has been formerly walked. But the further we got, the more that feeling changed.

I didn't clock it at first because of how smoothed down they were, but what I originally thought was cobblestone didn't actually seem to be. It was subtle, but every now and then I'd catch it. Etched in stone were letters and numbers. They were hard to see because the stones were laid out in mosaic fashion. If you just looked at one piece, you could assume they were just scratches, but when you looked at multiple, it became clearer. We were walking on a path made of shattered headstones.

At this point, I noticed that we were growing increasingly irritable. At first, I thought some of us were just tired or hangry, but it got to the point that it was what I would call irrational. Everything seemed heightened and annoying. I actually ended up snapping at one of my friends for dragging their feet and kicking up too much dust. That kind of thing never bugs me, but for some reason, it did in that moment and I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t the only one, either. Simple bickering turned into heated arguments and deep cuts. Our innocent day of nostalgia had become a chore to get through. In retrospect, it’s strange because we were clearly not feeling right, but not once did we talk about turning around and leaving like we planned to previously. Something was luring us deeper.

Finally, we rounded a bend that ended up revealing the last bit of sidewalk just faded away into a big empty field. It felt incredibly anticlimactic. You know the reaction some people have when a movie cuts to black and doesn't stick the landing? The "that's it" kind of feeling? That's how we felt. I think one of us might have even said that out loud. We walked who knows how far and all we got was a lousy field to show for it.

The hills surrounded the field, almost like a cove or a culdesac. Crunchy yellow grass carpeted the ground. In the middle was one, giant, lifeless tree. Which was weird because it was late spring after a really good rainy season, but this tree only wore rigid and empty branches. Once we shook the initial feeling of disappointment, we noticed what looked like pieces of old wood strewn about. Not like fallen branches but more so resembling posts or panels. We felt obligated at this point to investigate it. As soon as we stepped off the path, the air changed. Almost a subtle pressurized feeling.

The wood was clearly from some sort of shelter structure. I couldn’t tell if it was enough to be a house or a hut, but it looked extremely weathered and almost half of the pieces were charred. My friends were trying to puzzle the wood back together, but I couldn’t look away from the tree. One branch in particular. I can’t explain why I was drawn to it. I was standing right under it and almost transfixed. The harder I looked, the more I could hear a sound coming from it. Which didn’t make sense because it wasn’t a windy day, the tree wasn’t visibly moving, but I could one hundred percent hear a sound. Like, a back-and-forth type of sound. Like a swaying that was speaking to me.

A minute or an hour could have passed and I wouldn't have known. I lost track. I was so locked onto the tree, that I hadn’t even noticed my friends heading back to the trail. I don't know if I ever would have noticed, if not for their voices calling my name.

When I looked at them, I saw each one of their faces slowly morph into a confused worry. They weren‘t looking at me but around me. Like when you’re talking to someone and they’re looking just above your eye or something. It didn't seem like any of them were looking at the same thing either. I followed eye lines and couldn’t figure out what they were looking at. There wasn't anything there.

I rejoined the group and no one said a word. I asked what they were looking at and I couldn't get a straight answer from anyone. It was all "I don't know"s and “nothing”s. I don't think anyone wanted to sound like the crazy one. So, like every other expedition we had ever completed, we just left, very unceremoniously. Just headed back to back to our everyday lives like nothing happened.

Before getting too far, I felt the sudden urge to sneak one last peek at the field. I can't say for sure what it was, but I know that I saw something. I think we all did, in our own way. To me it looked like a fuzzy black shadow with two piercing reflective eyelike dots. Like three-dimensional shaped TV static or a dark smudge on a pair of glasses. Almost like a translucent Rorschach test. You could probably draw any conclusion that you wanted to as to what you were seeing. I still haven't quite figured it out.

What I do know is that something was under that tree when I looked back. I know that much. I don't know exactly what it was but I don't believe that it was of this world. Before the silent film era took over Niles, the land was home to Spanish missions and the Ohlone tribe. So who knows what kind of unfortunate entities are blood-bound to those hills.

My friends and I never really talked about that day ever again. I tried, but it was like pulling teeth. Every now and then I'd get a crumb of what someone saw or a retelling of what a friend told another friend they saw. Oddly, it didn't seem like any of us had the same experience. No one else saw the single figure under the tree like I did. Some even said they saw multiple silhouettes. Two big ones off to the side, or a big one and a couple of small ones linked together, or groups of them clashing. None if it made sense to me. How could we all share a completely different experience of the same thing?

I should have known something was wrong though, because we are a reminiscing kind of group. We never hesitated to tell a story we’ve told or heard a thousand times. But a hidden sidewalk and strange figures in a field didn't warrant at least a couple million retellings? It never sat right with me. Our friendships weren't the same afterward. Slowly, we stopped hanging out as much, and talked even less. No one ever tried to give a reason as to why, either. We just accepted it as the way life moves. Friends got married, started families, chased careers, and had less and less time for each other until our friendships dwindled. One by one my friends started to move away. One to Texas, another to Minnesota, one went to Idaho, and one even landed in Hollywood.

I believe the field pulled us there. Some days, I could feel it pulling me back. I’m sure they felt it too. I wouldn't know because they never talked to me about it. When they started moving away, it always seemed like they were trying to get as far away from it as they could. Like, they were trying to escape something.

I didn’t.

I‘m still here. And most days when I'm feeling lonely and miss my best friends, I try to replay my favorite memories of them in my head. But now when I do, I don't hear my friends anymore.

All I'm able to hear is the slow, back-and-forth, creaking of that tree branch.

Ella stood at the edge of the museum. The painting she was staring at suddenly looked like a menacing blue horse charging at her. The air in Philadelphia Art Museum even felt heavy. She was an experimental dancer, with her own studio space where she taught students how to find themselves through dance. The FBI had pulled her from the stage and into a dark world. A serial killer. It wasn’t how she imagined her talent would serve.

They needed her to lure him and she seemed to have just the right height and bravery to be the one they needed. At a tiny 4 foot 9 inches Ella was the perfect pint size to attract perps.

Ella stared over at Tom, his hands tucked into his worn leather jacket. He was rough around the edges, a punk with a history, but Ella could tell right away that he had a spark. They had only been working together for a month, but it felt like more. They were already at the point they were seeking orchards and museums to go to together.

Their romance started while they were going over Ella's part in the sting. Ella had suddenly reached for Tom's hand. She couldn't help it. She felt scared because it was her being used as lure and suddenly she understood the danger. And it was as if their hands were meant to lock together. The connection was electric. Their faces inched closer. He leaned in.

The moment shattered.

Ella pulled away. She had to tell him the truth. "Tom, there's something I need to say."

He sensed the shift. The laughter faded.

"I’ve been diagnosed with cancer," she said, breathless.

His grip tightened, eyes wide with shock. “What? That sounds… impossible.”

Ella explained that she had taken this assignment with the FBI, that she had contacted them with her idea to catch this serial killer. That she had done it because she wanted to be brave and keep her mind off the cancer.

Silence hung. The weight of her words crushed him. “What does this mean for you?”

“Treatment is tough. I’ll fight, but it’s heavy. This... us…” Her voice faltered, yet her gaze held firm. "I didn't want to start something knowing how uncertain life is."

His mind raced. They were on the brink of something beautiful. “You think I’d walk away because of some diagnosis? You’re stronger than you know. Let's build something. Be brave.”

"Let's do it all," he said, "let's do everything you ever wanted to do," Tom said with great spark in his eyes. Ella answered without hesitation. He lit a spark in her.

“I’ll be by your side,” he said, fierce determination spreading across his face. “No matter what that thing is. No matter what it takes.”

Ella felt warmth flood her heart. She hadn’t expected this. She thought he’d hesitate or run. Instead, he stepped closer, a promise in his gaze.

“I thought it was just cancer. But the tests revealed this strange growth. It feeds off me.”

Days turned into weeks, and together they spent their evenings in the surveillance van and their days chasing love. Ella sat in the center of it the sting, an elaborate trap set just for her. She was excited like a moth drawn to the flame.

Her recent headaches made her uneasy. A tumor in her uterus, they said. It was emitting strange hormones. They thought they detected a heartbeat. The doctors were vague, as always. She didn’t have control over it. She let out a sigh as she looked in the mirror. She definitely could pass for 12, the team had done a great job with her clothes.

Tom arrived. He moved with an electric energy. Grimy jeans, a worn leather jacket. A façade of defiance. He was supposed to look like her pimp.

“Hey, you ready?” he leaned against the doorway, a smile that barely reached his eyes.

She nodded.

The dance club buzzed as they entered. Pulsing lights distorted shadows. Ella felt exposed, that the eyes of the world were on her and could they tell she was a detective. She'd never been in a strip club even. But it was her that had made this plan, she had proposed it to the FBI. She had her routine down pat.

She stepped on the stage and tore her school girl uniform open. Tom watched as the serial killer took notice of Ella. Tom knew he was going to take the bait. He clicked on the mic, the second Ella stepped off the stage.

“Wanna grab a bite?” the killer asked Ella.

“Sure,” she replied, trying not to over stare at Tom.

A diner, greasy and flickering, seemed fitting for a criminal. They chatted as if their lives didn’t hang by a thread. Ella’s mind raced. A plan was in motion, yet the FBI’s goals blurred with her own needs. She sought connection, she had done this because she wanted to have sex with a killer. Late-night moonlight cut through the diner window.

“What's wrong?” Tom asked into Ella's mic in her ear, concern etched in his face.

“Nothing,” she lied, almost convincing herself. Then the pain hit her, sharp and sudden. A reminder of the tumor nestled inside.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said to the killer and they ran off down the street and over into an alley. It was dark one, filled with dumpsters and fishbones. Then it happened. That twisted feeling again. An urge. Not just to dance, but to connect.

The killer leaned in, their lips almost touching, when she felt something shift inside her. Her breath hitched.

Then she felt a pulse, a crawling sensation. It moved inside her, something alive.

“Baby girl?” His voice was distant now, a mere echo,"what's on your mind, honey?" He ran his hand up Ella's thigh. The leech-like entity grew restless, it's need to feed controlling it. It craved man meat. She had no room for this…thing... whatever it was. It was not just a tumor.

She pulled the killer close to her, suckling his lips as she beared down and pulled his hand close to catch the living monster.

A tendril of darkness slithered from her school girl costume. Each movement slurping. A living nightmare materialized. It glopped down her thigh.

The killer staggered back, his expression shifting from confusion to horror as he realized it was in his hand. He screamed and dropped it down his open pants. The monster succubus with piranha teeth dined on its dinner. Satisfied with mad blood.

The killer stumbled as sharp teeth sank into his flesh.

Blood spattered. Ella felt the rush of warmth leave her. The feeling was intoxicating. For a moment, she experienced clarity. She was free, liberated. It was everything she could wish for ..but how will she explain this whole incident to...

Tom screamed, “What have you done, Ella?”

He looked at the gaping blood hole of the killer...watched as the fanged leech leapt out of his pants all bloody and surged at him with hunger. Ella felt both disgust and thrill.

The leech let out a noise like a siren.

Ella stood in the darkness. She was still herself, the experimental dancer....but now extra twisted. She was no longer just a dancer on Earth. She had become a vessel for something far darker. She had touched a killer and birthed a leech succubus at the same time. She was the mother of a monster.

As the FBI van pulled into the alley, agents poured out. They arrived to a scene of chaos. But the real capture happened long before. Ella had lured them in without ever meaning to.

Outside and inside, the chase had only just begun.

They’d come for her, but they would never stop the succubus leech she had unleashed.

“Alright guys, I’m out of here,” I said. “Aw, come on. Stay for one more drink,” Jeff said. “I can’t, I gotta get out of here. I’ve already gone over my limit. Besides, I have work in the morning. I can’t walk in too hungover,” I said. “Fine, whatever. Always gotta be the killjoy,” Jeff said with a chuckle. I chuckled and waved as I closed the front door and walked down the path to my car.
Little did I know that this would be the last semblance of peace that I would get to experience. I got in my car and turned the key, feeling the engine wake up and roar as the car vibrated slightly. I pulled away from the curb and as I drove up the street, the lights and the sounds of the thumping music coming from 67 Belrose Ave dissolved, becoming lost and overtaken by the roaring choir of crickets. The cars lined along the curb for the party also disappeared in my rearview mirror.

Once I turned onto Avalon Street, I was alone. I drove along the dark and dingy road, with nothing but woods on each side, maybe a house peppered here or there. I was left alone with nothing but the sound of classic rock music blaring through my speakers while still feeling the euphoria brought on by the alcohol. I approached a bend on the road that eventually straightened out. An idea immediately popped into my head. In my drunken stupor, the feeling of elation I felt mixed with the loud music, I felt my body go on autopilot. My right foot got heavier, and I felt myself pushing down harder and harder on the accelerator. I felt my car gradually getting faster. I watched the needle on the speedometer go past one hundred and almost reach one hundred and ten. I was having the time of my life with a big smile on my face as I raced along the dark and empty road. I had driven along this road hundreds of times in my life, even back when I was a younger and couldn't drive, my parents would drive down this road. So because of this, I knew generally how long it took to travel to the otherside of this road. It took about five minutes to get from one side of the road to another when going at a moderate speed. But because I was drunk, I had not taken into account that I was going much faster than a moderate speed.

Within two minutes, I saw the road begin to bend up ahead. The smile immediately left my face and within an instant, like turning a light off, my face was filled with fear. I suddenly almost felt sober and my body tensed up as I gripped the wheel with both hands. My heart began to pound and my mind raced, thinking of what I should do. Out of instinct and fear, I slammed my foot on the brake. The tires ceased spinning and smoke poured out behind them and I heard the screech of the tires against the asphalt road. I realized that I would’ve driven through the guard rail and into the woods. So, to avoid that I stepped on the gas again lightly and swung the steering wheel to the left as I tried to regain control of the vehicle. My car followed the bend of the road until it straightened, revealing the bridge in front of me. I thought that I had gained control, but the rear end of my car slammed against the guard rail, forcing my car to fishtail. I turned the wheel back and forth in another attempt to control the car. Before I could do anything else, I lost control once more. The car ripped through the old rusted and weak guardrail and flipped. I tumbled down the small hill and landed in the river below.

I laid at the bottom of the bridge, too stunned and in too much pain to move. I began to feel wet, as water began to flow into my car, feeling the impending doom as the water rose higher and higher. My heart rate increased and I felt the overwhelming sensation of fear and panic. It felt like a panic attack to overtake all panic attacks. Like pouring gas onto a campfire. The feeling of helplessness was the thing that scared me the most. It was the feeling of being trapped in a cave, with no exit, or being in a crashing plane. You can see your death approaching you, but there is nothing you can do about it. A mix of fear, panic, pain and drunkenness all clouded my judgment. I couldn’t keep myself calm enough to figure a way out. I panicked and looked around frantically as my mind raced, trying to think of a solution to the issue. The water was rising quickly, and before too long, I knew there was no way out. Once the water reached my chest, I took a deep breath, ready to accept my fate. I was going to drown. I prepped for the awful experience that drowning is. The water had risen to my throat, I took one final breath and held it to extend my life for as long as I could. Even if it was only for a minute.

Before the water could rise above my mouth, the door opened and two men were wading in the water. One took a knife and cut the seatbelt, then the two of them dragged me out. I began to take deep breaths, re-inflating my lungs. The men held me up as they carried me up to the street. It was there I saw the flashing lights of the plethora of emergency vehicles. A couple of police cars, an ambulance and a firetruck. It was then I realized that the men carrying me were paramedics. I should've known who they were by the blue shirts with the patches on the shoulders, but I was in too much of a daze to comprehend anything. The next thing I know, I'm in the ambulance, with two paramedics over me, telling me to stay with them and that I would be ok. Before too long, I found myself at the hospital, but I don't remember going in. I don't even remember the drive there. I also found it odd that I wasn't in a hospital room, or a bed. I was in what appeared to be a waiting room. The floor was a light gray carpet with cream colored walls that were lined with empty gray chairs. I also didn't feel any pain anymore. I was sitting in the waiting room, in my clothes that were no longer wet, and I was no longer in pain. All I could hear was the loud ticking of a clock that I could not find. I looked around for an exit, but there seemed to be no door on the wall, only windows that appeared to show nothing behind them. They were almost like basement windows, located near the top of the wall, where it meets the ceiling, but I couldn’t see anything out of them. It was almost like a state of blankness. Confused beyond belief, I searched for anyone else.

A sense of relief washed over me when I saw a woman walk out from behind a wall and sit down behind a desk. She was dressed in white nurse coat coupled with a white nurses hat. I approached the counter. “Excuse me ma'am, I need some help. I was in a car accident,” I said. She was tapping a stack of papers on the desk to even them out. She looked up at me. “Ah, you've arrived. We've been waiting for you,” the nurse said. “The paramedics brought me here, but I don't know where they went,” I said. “Paramedics?” The nurse questioned. “Yeah, they pulled me from my car after the accident, and drove me here in the ambulance,” I said. The nurse just stared at me, with a look of confusion, and I picked up on it. I imagine it's the same look I had when I arrived here. Her confused look grew into a smile. “Oh, the paramedics, of course,” she said with her smile. She stood up and walked over to a cabinet and sifted through some files. She pulled a cream colored folder out and opened it up, flipping through the pages. “Ok, here you go. Head on down the hall to wait. They're ready for you,” the woman said with a smile as she handed me the folder. Still confused, I grabbed the folder and saw my name in the corner. “Wait, I don't understand. Who's ready for me? The doctors?” I asked. The nurse didn't say anything, she sat behind the desk, flipping through papers. “Ma’am?” I asked. “Where do I go?” I continued. She failed to acknowledge me once more, so I looked to my left and saw a cream colored door. I walked towards it. I put my hand out to grab the handle, but before I did, I spun around to look back at the nurse. She was gone. I hadn't heard her stand up, and the speed at which she would've had to move to be gone like that, would've caused some noise. I stepped back over to the desk and looked around. The stack of papers she was flipping through was gone as well. All that was left was me in an empty room with that ticking clock that I still could not locate.

With no other options, I approached the door once again and braced myself. I pulled down on the handle and pulled the door open, stepping into the hall. The door closed behind me, and when I tried to pull the handle again out of curiosity, it wouldn’t budge. It had locked behind me. I had no other choice but to continue down the hall, so that's what I did. I proceeded with caution. “Hello?” I called out. There were no sounds, and no sights of people. I took this moment of silence to open up the folder and flip through my file. The first thing I noticed was the small journal and a pencil. Behind the journal, there were papers showing different dates. The first page was March 10, 2002, my birthday. It said on the paper facts about my birth. I was born at eight pounds, at 11:00 A.M. I flipped through the pages. When I started going to school. There was a date when I started Pre-School, first grade, fifth grade, ninth grade and twelve grade. There were papers describing my first and last day of each of these grades. Then there were papers on the day I started my first job, my first day in my relationship and the last day of my relationship. It seemed to be the dates of all important life milestones.

I stopped flipping through the papers, as each paper I flipped through, the more confused I became. I continued through the bright lit hall with cream colored walls and a textured carpet. The walls on either side were peppered with wooden doors with windows next to each door. Most of the windows had blinds covering them, but there were a few that I could see through. They all seemed to be small rooms with a desk with a computer. They almost seemed to be rooms you'd find in an office building, a far cry from the hospital I assumed I was in. I pushed open one door out of curiosity, and I looked around the small office room. “Where the hell am I,” I whispered to myself. All the drawers in this room were empty, the computer was off and the chair was pushed in. Nobody was currently there it seemed. As I stepped out back into the hall, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walk by a little further down the hall. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. It seemed to be nothing more than a silhouette that disappeared behind a wall. I felt a sense of fear rise up in me due to the circumstances. It all seemed too weird. It was too quiet, too empty. This wasn't any hospital I had ever seen. Why wasn't I in a hospital room already? Why couldn't I remember the drive here? Why is there no one around? What hospital was I at? I had so many questions.

I moved down the hall toward where I saw the person walk by. I came upon a door that had been left ajar. I pushed it open and stepped into the room, which seemed to be a conference room. There was a large circle wooden table surrounded by chairs. There was a projector on one of the ends of the table, pointing at a white screen. Behind the projector, I saw a desk with a glass door built into it, and below it there was a locked drawer. There was a plaque above the glass door that said “Place your past.” I pondered for a minute before I realized what it meant. I opened my folder and took the first page out, the page of my birth and opened the door. I placed the paper inside and closed the glass door. I heard the drawer below unlock and I slid it open. Inside lay a tape labeled “Birth.”

I grabbed the tape and placed it in the projector. I looked around for the light switch, and found it by the door. I flicked the switch and the lights went out. I turned the projector on and sat in the chair. The scene popped up on the screen, and it was a hospital room. It was a recording of my family. My mom, dad, brothers, aunts, uncles, grandparents.They were all taking turns holding a baby. It was me. The video was the day of my birth. A smile grew on my face seeing my grandparents alive again, and seeing my parents and brothers all younger. I saw the big teddy bear my uncle had bought me when I was born that was still in my closet. I got to see my grandmother, who passed away when I was a baby, so I didn’t remember her. Everyone in the video had smiles as they were holding me. My mom was in the hospital bed, looking tired as she had been drugged up for the birth. I remember her telling me the story. My mom was so drugged out she could barely talk, but in this video she seemed to be coming off the drugs. It seemed to be a day filled with joy. I found myself continuing to smile even after the video had ended. I took a minute to decompress before grabbing my file off the table, thinking about what to do next. Should I have stayed and waited for someone to come and greet me? Or should I keep moving. I chose to leave the room and continue searching for someone.

I stepped back out into the hall to continue searching. After reaching the end of the hall, I rounded the corner to be faced with another long hall. This one looked a little less polished than the previous one. The walls weren’t as well painted, and some of the rooms were empty. No desk, no computer and no chair. It seemed to be a hall that wasn't finished yet. I contemplated even walking down the hall, as I figured I was in the wrong part of the building. Just when I thought about turning around, I heard something coming from the end of the hall. It was the sounds of a normal office day. Phones ringing, people talking and the clicking of keyboard keys. “Finally, other people,” I muttered to myself. I found myself walking at a fast pace out of excitement, the sounds of other people alleviated my fear and confusion, and maybe I’d find some answers about what was going on. All of this excitement and relief was shattered when I turned the corner to see an empty room. It was filled with cubicles, and each cubicle had a phone and computer. But the sounds of people were gone. The feelings of fear and confusion returned as I looked around, wondering what was making that sound. There was no mistake, I know what I heard.

I jumped back when I saw a woman walking in the distance. I could see over just over the cubicles. It was the same woman from the front desk, wearing the same white coat and hat. She walked into a room that was about fifteen, maybe twenty feet away from me, and I quickly walked around the cubicles and entered the room behind her. I stopped in the doorway when I saw the room had a similar layout to the room I was just in. It had a long circular table with a white screen and projector, but the woman was nowhere to be found. “What the hell?” I said aloud. Just like before, there was a wooden desk along the wall but this time it had four glass doors. There were plaques above each. They read, The Day School Began. End Of Chapter 1. Year 5 Begins. Year 5 Ends.

It seemed straight forward, and I found the files that contained the information about my first day of First Grade and last day of Fourth Grade, as well as the papers containing my first and last days of fifth grade. I placed the papers in the small compartments and closed the doors, hearing the locked drawers below unlock one by one. I grabbed the four tapes, shut the lights off and inserted them one by one in the projector. I began to relive the memories, seeing my mom drop me off on my first day of first grade as I ran up the walkway with my backpack swinging side to side as it was a little too big for my tiny body at the time. As soon as I entered the building, the tape ended. The next tape showed my last day of fourth grade. We were in the gym standing in lines, I was being handed my certificate, then the scene switched to show me hugging my mom. I was wearing a red and orange plaid shirt, and she was wearing a striped white and black shirt. The next tape was my first day of fifth grade, I was in a new building with all new people. I remember that day, thinking back I remember being excited and nervous. I exited my moms car and merged with the sea of new fifth graders as I walked down the hill. I entered the building and the tape ended. Then I watched the next tape, showing my last day of fifth grade. The tape started as I emerged from the side door of the building, and walked up the hill towards the street where all the students and teachers were standing. Some kids were getting onto buses, while others were getting in the car with their parents. Some were walking down the street away from the building. The video ended as I walked towards my moms car. I again found myself smiling at the videos. These were the most fun times of my life, and I yearned for these days to return.

But, despite the excitement I felt, I couldn’t shake this certain feeling I had about the videos. They seemed odd, but I couldn’t figure out why they felt so odd. It was almost like, they shouldn’t exist. I brushed the feeling off after the last tape ended, and I stood up and turned the light on. Even though I was feeling painful nostalgia and happiness with each video, once the video ended, those feelings faded almost instantly and the feelings of fear and confusion returned, seated themselves in my mind. I had to find someone, I needed to know what was going on. Where was I? How did I get here? Why am I here? How did they get these tapes of my life? Why did they have these tapes? What was the purpose of watching them? These were the questions rolling around in my head like marbles. As I was opening the door, I saw a man. He looked like a doctor, he had on a white coat and was holding what looked to be a clipboard. I saw him walk down a hall and disappear behind a wall on the other side of the cubicles. Quickly, I hustled, moving in a light jog around to the other side of the cubicles. I rounded the corner, expecting to see the doctor, but I saw…nothing. Just another long empty hall. This one looked a little worse than the last. The walls weren’t fully painted, and the floors weren’t fully carpeted. “Hello!” I yelled.

I saw the doctor again, though I’m not sure if it was the same one I saw before. I only caught a quick glimpse of him as he emerged from the right and took only two or three steps and disappeared out of view as he entered a room. My fear and confusion was taken over by anger. They were messing with me. I began to jog down the hall, moving faster and faster until racing that of a sprint down the hall and I reached the room the doctor was in. The door was half closed. I pushed it open aggressively to see yet another projector room. But the doctor was nowhere to be found. “Son of a bitch!” I yelled as I swung my arm forward, knocking a cardboard box off the top of a cabinet. The lid popped off as the box hit the ground, and blank sheets of papers flew out, scattering across the floor. I slammed my file down on the table and placed my hands on the table looking down in aggravation. All these rooms seemed to have the same look to them. Dark wooden walls with the same colored wooden circular table surrounded by empty black chairs. The walls were mostly empty, except for some paintings. The paintings in the first rooms were nice. Paintings of an ocean and one of a lake. But the paintings in this room were a little different. They were almost creepy. There was one of a skeleton, and one of a man with a blank face. I also had been noticing the analog clocks in each room, each of them were stuck at the same time. 2:17 a.m. That was the time I had crashed my car. I looked to my left and saw the desk with the glass doors. I sighed heavily and aggressively as I walked over to the desk with the familiar glass cases. This time there were three. “Ok, what now?” I said quietly.

The plaques read, End of Chapter 2. Journey through Chapter 3. End of Chapter 3. After only a minute or two of contemplating, I inserted the correlating papers and unlocked the drawers. The first tape that played was my last day of eighth grade. It was a recording of the gym and all of the students were sitting in chairs in the middle of the gym while the parents sat on the bleachers. I remember that day, it was hot in the gym. Everyone's faces were beat red and we were all sweating. That old building didn’t have air conditioning, they had big fans near the doorways, but all that did was circulate the hot air around. I watched myself go out and shake my principal's hand as he handed me my certificate. That was truly the day everything changed. It was shortly after that, we had moved and I was away from all my friends, and my depression began.

The next tape was a montage of moments through my high school years. My first day of freshman year and a few good times I was having with friends that year. Messing around outside during gym, me trying to flirt with a girl, running up and down the hallways, taking pictures with my friend Kasey in health class and throwing a football around in the hallway right outside of the locker rooms.The one thing I noticed about each clip from my freshman year, was that I had a consistent smile on my face. The last day of eighth grade might have been the day that my life changed. But freshman year was the last time I was ever truly happy. The tape then switched over to sophomore year. The smile that had grown on my face from watching me being happy immediately faded the second I realized it was sophomore year. I could tell just by the way my face looked. I looked empty inside, because that’s how I felt. My depression had taken over and was eating me alive. It was my worst year. I didn’t know how to handle depression. So the way I dealt with my depression was by being angry. I was mean to people, and started arguments a lot. I lost so many friends, and I had to relive these moments again through this tape. Seeing me lose my friendship with Madison, Amelia, Gianna and Maria. They were, at different times that year, who I considered to be my best friend. But my depression, negativity and anger drove them all away.

I was looking away as I was rewatching the arguments that were taking place. I couldn’t rewatch them. That’s when I realized what was so eerie about the tapes……who was recording them? I realized something was wrong when I kept seeing my mom in all the old videos, because she would’ve been the one recording. But I figured it may have been my dad recording. But my parents separated when I was in fifth grade. He wasn’t there for most of these occasions, except my last day of eighth grade. The videos in highschool showed me in school walking through the halls, so was someone stalking me throughout high school taping me? How did no one see them? How did I not see them? Some of the videos show me within less than five feet of the camera, even walking towards it at times. The tape ended halfway through my junior year, it was the year that stupid pandemic ruined everything and made us all homeschooled. Junior year was becoming one of my best years. I had passing grades in all my classes, I was surrounded by friends, no one hated each other, I didn't hate anyone or myself anymore, and everyone had smiles on their faces again. I was almost sad when the video ended.

The last tape was my graduation. The tape started in the hockey arena for the local college team where the high schoolers graduated. I could see all the students in the cap and gown sitting in rows. The camera zoomed in on an empty seat. It was the seat I was supposed to be in. I hadn’t gone that day. Because we were homeschooled all senior year, it almost felt unearned. Not to mention my anxiety about dressing up like a moron in that dumb cap and gown and walking across a stage. After the camera zoomed in on the empty seat, the screen went fuzzy and became all warped. A few seconds later, the screen came back and the camera was recording a house. It was my old place, the house we lived in at the time. The camera walked up to a window, and through the blinds on the window, I could see myself inside, laying on my bed watching tv. I immediately turned the projector off and ran to turn the lights on. I stood there confused for a minute, feeling scared. Someone was outside of my house that day recording me? My heart began to race the more I thought about it. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that someone had been stalking me throughout my whole life it seems. It took a few minutes, but I eventually collected my thoughts and left the room, leaving the file on the table.

I continued through the building, turning the corner and I was faced with another long hall. It almost seemed like the building was nothing but a big square, and I was going in circles around it. This hall was even worse than the last. The floor was all cement, and the walls were barely painted. Most of the lights didn’t work in this hall either. I caught a glimpse of something a little ways up the hall. Because of the distance between myself and it, and due to half the lights not working, I couldn’t see it too well. But after taking a few steps forward, my eyes were able to focus on it. It was a head, more specifically someone's eyes peering around the corner at me. My heart sank like a heavy boulder. My chest began to feel tight and I felt that burning sensation you get in the middle of your chest when something anxiety inducing happens. My stomach twisted and my brain felt like it was spinning in circles as it tried to put together the situation. I couldn’t say anything. I just found myself rooted to the floor, staring at those cold dead eyes at the end of the hall, while they stared back at me. Finally, the eyes disappeared behind the wall, and I was able to move forward, slowly. I got to the end of the hall and I stood at the corner that the person was looking at me from. I took a deep breath and quickly turned the corner. No one was there, I was faced with nothing but a dark hall. In fact everything around me got very dark. There was a small table next to me, it was in the spot where the person would’ve been standing. It had a flashlight on it. I grabbed the light and turned it on.

The light revealed the dark hall to be the worst looking one in the building so far. The walls were not painted, they weren’t even finished, revealing the wooden studs and the pipes behind it. The floor was all cracked cement and the light fixtures were hanging from the ceiling. I walked down the hall, almost shaking in fear. Almost every door I had passed by was shut, except for one. It was left slightly ajar. I didn’t think anything of it as I approached the door, shining the light around and scanning my surroundings. I approached the door, and it still took me a few seconds to realize. I noticed something about the door. In the space between the door and the wall, I could see something. My eyes focused on it. It was someone's face. I could only see one half of their face. My heart began to race, and I got that uncomfortable feeling in my chest once more. I raised the light, expecting to see a full reveal of the person's face. But the light revealed something much worse. All I could see was a dark hood, one of their eyes and below their eye, I saw half of a devious almost bright white smile. The door then slammed shut, startling me, causing me to tense up and step back. As I hustled away from the door down another hall, trying to put as much space between me and that door as possible, I began to hear crying, it was the cry of a female. It began as only small distant whimpers, but became more rhythmic and louder wails as I got closer.

After turning down a few halls, seeing the walls get worse and worse, my light stopped on something that seemed to be the source of the whimpers. A girl sitting down with her knees hugged to her chest and her face buried in her knees, crying. I couldn’t help but feel scared. It stunned me finally seeing someone else. I tried to call out to her, and she looked back at me. I felt like I recognized her, but it was hard to tell. She stood up and ran. I chased after her, trying to call out to her, telling her I wasn’t going to hurt her. I turned the corner and saw her run into a room. Already in my head, I knew what was in that room. I followed her into this room. There it was, a projector on a table with a white screen in front. The room however, looked like all the others. It wasn’t destroyed like the hallways. But the paintings in this room were much more disturbing than all the other ones. I saw a painting of a person, but their head was a skeleton with their face on the ground next to them. I saw a painting of a figure with a ghostly disturbing face. The two that disturbed me the most was one of a man surrounded by figures with long black robes, and one of half of a smiling and creepy face staring out through an open door. Almost exactly what I had seen at that doorway a few halls back. The clock in this room still said 2:17 a.m. My heart almost shot out of my chest when I heard something. I jumped and turned around, seeing my file sliding across the floor towards me. I shined my light around but saw no one. I picked up the file and opened it. “DON’T HIDE FROM IT,” was written in big red marker on the first page, with only one other page behind it.

I quickly and frantically ran to the desk and placed the page into the glass door that had no plaque above it. The drawer unlocked and I placed the tape in the projector. My heart stopped when I saw the videos being played. It was all the ways I had been ruining my life. The fight I had with my mom that forced me to move out and never speak to her again, the fight with my brothers after my oldest brother's wedding that distanced me from them, and the worst one, the fight that ended my relationship with my girlfriend whom I had been dating since highschool. This fight continued to play in a loop. Even after I had taken the tape out, it didn’t matter. The memories replayed in my head over and over again of all these fights. Especially the one with my ex-girlfriend. I had to relive these moments, yelling at her, flipping the kitchen table, throwing the chair and breaking a vase. Hearing her cries again broke my heart. I had regretted the fight ever since the moment it ended. What was this place? Who was recording that fight? Why was my life being recorded? Does every human have some invisible stalker, recording your every moment? I sit here, listening to the cries of my ex-girlfriend. That’s when I realized how similar of a cry it was to that girl I saw in the hall. That girl that was crying in the hall was my ex-girlfriend….

The man looked up from the notebook he had been writing in, dropping his pencil. The sounds of the fight continued to replay in the man's head over and over again. The yelling, the screaming, the crying, everything. He stood up and did everything he could to stop the sounds. He first tried to cover his ears, but it didn’t help, then he pushed the projector onto the ground, breaking it. That didn’t stop the sounds either, they continued to play loudly in his head. He looked up and saw an apparition of his ex-girlfriend standing in the doorway. It wasn’t really her, but a forced manifestation of her energy. She approached him, but he ran past her, running frantically through the halls as whispers filled his ears. He began to stumble into the walls, as these arguments circled in his head. He couldn’t feel scared, sad or angry. He felt broken down. The whispers drove him crazy, no matter how tightly he covered his ears, the whispers were just as loud because they were in his head. The halls began to warp and bend, becoming increasingly personal to him.

Cages would appear with large chains locking the cages shut, behind it were bad memories replaying, but this time they weren’t a memory on a screen. These were memories being replayed in front of him. He walked up to one cage, and stood there as he watched a replay of the fight with his ex. Seeing another version of himself and his ex as she was that day. He watched himself throw the chairs and yell. He couldn’t see his face, it was blurred, but he could see everything else. The feeling that filled him when rewatching it out again was indescribable. He felt sick. He tried to run away down the decayed and destroyed hall, but it was lined with cages on both sides, each containing a bad memory behind it that played out as he walked by. Replays of the fights with his mom and brothers. A replay of the moment he began drinking and when he fought with his best friend, ending a twelve year friendship.

All his memories that he had regretted and buried deep within him, were locked behind these cages. Reliving these memories in his head was bad enough, but seeing them play out again, with him being forced to watch, was driving him insane. He kept seeing a hooded figure, the one he saw peering at him from behind the wall. The man would see this figure inside the cages, standing in the corner, holding something in his hand. He couldn’t see any facial features of the man. Outside of his eyes, the rest of his face seemed to be nothing more than a dark void. The man was holding what seemed to be a camera, pointed at each of the memories. There was nothing left, he was going in a loop, walking in circles around the increasingly destroyed halls, seeing the manifestation of his girlfriend crying and hearing all the whispers that had now turned to yells. He kept running, never looking back at his girlfriend. He couldn’t face her. He began to feel distorted and delirious. He was forgetting things, like memories were being erased. The panicked runs and jogs turned to slow staggers. He bumped into the walls on each side of the halls as he tried to keep himself steady.

He couldn’t feel anything anymore. There were no more emotions in his body. He couldn’t yell, he couldn’t even form a coherent sentence if he tried. It was like he had forgotten how to talk. His eyes were blank, there were no thoughts behind them. The man's psyche had officially been broken. He collapsed down in the middle of the hall and sat against the wall closing his eyes. Suddenly, everything had gone silent. No more whispers, no more yelling. Not even anymore fear. He felt himself almost begin to regain control of his body. The ringing of a phone began. He opened his eyes to see the hall he was once in was now a dark room. A room of nothingness, just a table with a phone. The man stood up and slowly walked up to the phone. He picked it up and held it up to his ear and a recording of a female voice began talking. “Thank you for waiting, you will be redirected soon. Please hold,” it said. There was a moment of silence as the man looked around, waiting in anticipation. Suddenly, he could hear something on the other end. It sounded like someone had picked up the phone. It was the same woman's voice “I’m sorry, but you didn't face your past, there is no resolve. Entry denied,” it said. The man began to feel wet, as he felt himself almost falling through the floor. A few seconds later, he found himself in his car once again, trapped in his seatbelt. The water rose up, consuming his mouth and then nose. A few seconds later, his car was completely filled with water. He looked out the window, searching for the paramedics. But they were nowhere to be found, all he could see was a man with a dark jacket and hood on, standing at the top of the small hill, recording the car as it sank into the water.

The first time I saw a monster, I was visiting my doctor for a routine checkup. Four years ago, I was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease. My body’s immune system was destroying my nervous system. Sometimes parts of my body, especially my legs, became paralyzed and I can’t move. As you can imagine, it’s wonderful!

Before leaving the hospital, Kato and I always stopped by to see my friend. Kato was my guardian angel, a well-trained German Shepherd service dog.

As we went into Agnus’ room, it seemed different. Colder. The only light, the blue light of the TV, flickered across the space, its sound set very low. I found Agnus’ bed empty. Abruptly, a faint, creepy siren sound, “wee-woo… wee-woo… wee-woo…,” echoed from the other side of the room. It had a random stammering and tone like someone was whistling it.

That half of the place was dim, but I could see sheets crumpled on top of another hospital bed. Underneath the bed, a large silhouette stirred. Kato growled. I said, “Hello, who’s there?”

The eerie whistling stopped. Something slid across the floor and hit my foot. It was the TV remote. I then heard the unnerving voice of a man who tried to sound like a child, “my apologies… my apologies…” He spoke in this disturbing kiddy voice the whole time.

His hand then crept out on the other side of the mattress as he oddly climbed out from under the bed like a spider. Obscured by shadows, I only saw his blocky silhouette and some slight details of his patient’s outfit. I stuttered, “Don’t be sorry. Do you know where Agnus is?”

He crawled on top of the mattress and quickly hid his body under the blankets, “I don’t want you to see me like this. Neither does Agnus. Can you please hand me the remote?” Kato growled. I said, “Where’s Agnus?” Him: “I’ll tell you if you hand me the remote.” Me: “Why did you slide it over if you want it?” Him: “I’m not myself today…”

I swear I was about to quickly get out of there, but then the man reached out his arm into the light, revealing flesh that looked like acid had been dumped on it. Or maybe he was caught in a fire. Kato barked and I shushed him. I felt sad and took a step forward, offering the clicker. The man was about to take it when –

He violently snatched my wrist and pulled me which wasn’t hard as I’m 5’1” and 120 pounds. He giggled maliciously, “kiss for a dead man…” Kato yelped like crazy as the man yanked me closer.

In the darkness, his face didn’t look right. I remember thinking that my vision must have been blurry… His eyes seemed too sunken in. His nose seemed too large. All his flesh looked severely burned. And most shocking, he had sharp horns and barbs growing out of his shoulders and arms. Smaller spikes jutted out around his lips. Or were those his teeth or just strange piercings?

Kato went berserk and was trying to jump on the bed. I blocked him so he wouldn’t get hurt. I yanked back from the Man with all my strength, barely holding my own when nurses rushed in. Two male nurses got the man to let go of my arm. But the man started fighting and had to be restrained. I grabbed Kato and we backed away in shock.

A nurse said, “Please leave the room, miss!” Me: “What’s wrong with him?” Nurse: “Please, just leave. You’re upsetting him!” Me: “Where’s Agnus?” “I’m sorry, Agnus passed away two days ago…” This was just as much of a shock to me as the monster man.

The Sun was setting as Kato and I stood in front of the hospital waiting for our Uber. I couldn’t stop thinking about the man and Agnus. This was the first time I saw the full moon. It seemed bigger and brighter. I thought it was because it was on the horizon.

The image of that man was burned into my mind. And Agnus was gone… just like that. The week before we had talked about me moving into her spare room. Agnus was more of a mother figure to me than my real mother ever was. Moving to a big city from a small town you don’t meet many good friends. I thought of my actual mom’s last text: “You can come home whenever you like. You only have so many good years left. Why waste them out there.” She believed I couldn’t make it. But I had big dreams.

The Uber rolled up and took us to work. I was a valet at a busy hotel. Just kidding, I was a cashier for the valet. The irony not lost on me that I watched people all day run around, and it pained me to walk most days. The W Hollywood was a very popular hotel on Hollywood Blvd. Kato laid underneath my cashier desk. It was fun interacting with so many different people. Most were nice… but as in all of H-Wood… there were some real nasty ones.

I remember a few fights breaking out that night on the driveway. Fights happened, mostly fueled by egos. Yet, more than one was rare. It was a Friday, though. Fridays were always a bit crazier. We always said Fridays were for amateurs. Saturdays for the pros.

After work, I walked by a homeless encampment on my way to the subway. A man fell out of a tent. Another lunged on top of him and hit him in the face over and over with a shoe. Another person pulled them apart. I high tailed across the street to avoid the whole thing making excuses on how crazy H-Wood was.

Not too much further, I felt the tingle in my legs. It came like that mostly. Suddenly and out of the blue. Kato stiffened, sensing it. My legs gave out as the paralysis hit. This was part of my condition. I did my best to gracefully lower to the sidewalk before my legs completely gave out.

My anxiety ramped up. I took deep breaths. My fear always being what if that episode was the last one and I couldn’t ever walk again. My nerves finally and completely destroyed from my brain to my legs. Kato came over and sat next to me. I loved that dog… but then his whimper turned to a low growl.

Nearby, a person huddled at a closed storefront. He had a mess of clothing around him along with two backpacks and an expensive looking purse. He inhaled something as he glared at me. His face was pale and decayed. Eyes so sunken you couldn’t see the whites. His beard seemed to be like fleshy seaweed. It glistened and moved on its own. He wore a dark hoody and the overall effect was like a Grim Reaper on crack. He smirked at my apprehension.

He got up, “I got you.” Kato barked. The man was super sketchy. Me: “I’m good, thank you.” Him: “Want to party? I got something for your dog, here…” I then did something I rarely did as I wanted to get the hell outta there. “Kato, carry!” Kato crouched close and I crawled over his back. He then carried me away. The man laughed like a hyena. I wanted to kick him in his stupid face. Kato has carried me like that a few times. We must look ridiculous.

As we waited for the subway, I regained my strength and I was able to walk again. I was having more of those spells. The doctor thought I was just going through a bad period. There were a couple of druggies who sat in the shadows hiding their faces. Their smoke seeping out of the darkness. I saw the woman’s face for a moment. It looked like she had the nose and ears like the Egyptian god of the dead, Anubis.

At this point, I thought I was seeing things. I was tired and it was a long day. I should mention that I saw death in everyone. I couldn’t help it. I was obsessed with mortality. You appreciate it more when you are constantly reminded that you are deteriorating much faster than everyone else.

We finally got to my neighborhood, Koreatown. Unfortunately, I lived on the ghetto side. When I first moved to L.A. I didn’t know anything. K-Town was perfect because of the price and how close it was to the subway and a giant park for Kato. Usually, the street bustled with activity. Right then, you’d mistake it for a small town. So boring and tranquil. You’d never know that my hood had something like ten different gangs living there – and two of the biggest anywhere.

Even the abandoned apartment building next door was quiet. The place had been broken into by one of the gangs and used as a party spot. They called these kind of places bandos. The place always gave me the creeps but thankfully I never had to walk right by it.

Kato and I entered our building and took the elevator to the top, the fifth floor. I rented a room from an exotic dancer. I had the whole place to myself most nights. Jen was a bit of a mess when she would come home, though. I was just about to tell her that I’d be moving out as Agnus planned to be out of the hospital next month.

I trusted Jen but not her many party friends. I always hid my wallet. Since we were on the top floor, we had an attic. Its opening was in my closet. I used it as my secret stash. Just to reach it, I had to push a chest over, put a step stool on it, climb on a shelf to be able to slide the attic door open and tuck my wallet inside. After I did this, I was exhausted and went to bed. Kato nearby.

I woke up to sirens ringing in the distance. Outside in the street, I heard yelling, screaming and gunshots – lots of gunshots. Kato whined and looked at my closed bedroom door. Thud. Thud. Thud. Footsteps came from the other side. I listened, hoping it was Jen. “Jen? That you?”

I got no answer. Kato growled. “Jen?” Thud. Thud. Thud. Something walked just on the other side of the door. I tensed. Eyeballed my window. Gunshots and sirens continued. The handle on my door slightly rattled. Kato barked. Me: “Stop fucking around…”

I always kept it locked. I heard scratching on the door. Like someone scraping their nails like a cat. Me: “I have a gun and a killer dog! Get the fuck out of my place!” I didn’t have a gun but wanted one. Suddenly, something slammed into the door. Then again! Then again! It tried to break into my room! Kato jumped to his feet and barked like a maniac. My war angel. The slamming stopped.

I heard whispering from different voices. And giggling. I quickly took my desk chair and slid it under the door handle for more strength to hold the door shut. I picked up my cell phone and dialed 911. A voice message hummed that they were experiencing lots of calls and to please hold!

I then screamed bloody murder at the top of my lungs! Kato barked like crazy. “Help me! Somebody, help me!” One of the neighbors had to hear this. I quickly put on my shoes. Hysterical laughter got louder across the door. There were a few people there. Not just one. A girl’s voice said, “We’re just fucking around… we’re looking for Jen. We want to party. Where is she?”

Me: “How did you get in?” “We’re friends. Where is she?” I responded, “I don’t know but she’s not here! So please leave!” A man replied: “Do you know where she hides her shit?” The girl said, “Shut up!” Jen was also a drug dealer. I called Jen on my phone. I heard the jostling of bodies, like people pushing on one another. Me: “I don’t! What’s your name? I’ll tell her you came by.” Another guy: “We’re B.T.S.” More laughter. A man: “Fuck this…”

I got Jen’s voice mail. I quickly texted her, “emergency call me!” I eyed the attic door. The girl: “You got anything?” I had pain killers. Me: “No, I don’t do anything.” Abruptly, the girl started screaming. I heard what sounded like two wild animals fighting. Growling. Clothing torn. Furniture getting broken. Kato yelped. I used the noise to open the fire escape window. But I knew we couldn’t go that way because at the bottom was a ladder that Kato wouldn’t be able to get down. So, I quickly pushed the chest to the closet. I put the step stool on top. As I called 911 again, I got the damn voice message.

The fighting stopped. BAM! they slammed the door again. And again. “Tell us where her shit is!” The door frame cracked. Kato snarled. I shoved Kato up on top of the chest and the foot stool. He was then able to get on the top shelf. He looked back and whined. I used a selfie stick to push open the attic door.

They slammed the door again. The frame was splintering. I quickly placed all my pain pills on the dresser. And then climbed on the chest, I said, “Go!” They slammed the door frame again. Wood splayed. Kato jumped into the attic. I climbed to the stool, made it to the shelf, and used the selfie stick to flip the stool aside to hide our escape path. But I couldn’t bend my body to make the turn in. I was stuck. Kato cried.

The door broke open. They kicked over the chair. I grabbed Kato’s collar and gave him a look. He dragged me into the attic just as they entered my room. I pushed back the lid, leaving it a little open. The closet was dark and deep. So hard to see in.

They searched for me. The largest one stayed in the doorway. One came over to the closet and peeked inside. “Hey, come on out and play! We don’t bite.” Its yellowed eyes didn’t notice the attic door as it stepped away.

One looked under the bed, checked my bathroom, and went to the open window and fire escape. “Where the fuck is she? She must have gone this way.” They turned on a light and went through drawers. “Oh, shit, look at this.” They found my pills and passed them around.

One looked in my head-to-toe mirror. He touched his face. I thought he was shaking. “I need more of these, bro. I need to just forget everything…”“What do you think’s going to happen?” “We’re going to die, bro.” “Shut the fuck up!,” said the unhuman voice of the large one.

In the light, I saw them. They dressed like gangsters: big t-shirts, khakis and chains. But each had their own unique deformations.

One had a giant square jaw with a bald head. He was covered in tattoos but his bones looked like they were breaking through his skin. Blood glistened from his open wounds.

Another’s skin seemed to look like a lizard’s. His hair was long. He had one large eye in the middle of his forehead like a cyclops and his mouth was incredibly wide. His neck moved like a snake.

The girl looked like all the skin on her face had been peeled off. Her skinny arms looked like they were covered in sharp thorns.

The last one was the scariest. He was a large hulking mass. He spoke the least. He had large ram horns on his head. He had the face of a gorilla. A red froth of blood covered and dripped out of his eyes and mouth.

One of them looked right at me. With the light on, it saw the attic door in the dark closet. I froze. “Check it.” I held my breath as all four of them looked up at the attic. One of them climbed on the chest. I crawled backwards. Kato growled. I shushed him. Light from a small vent shined from a corner. I headed to it.

I heard the foot stool put on the chest and climbing. The attic door slid open with a sickening screech of wood. I saw the dark head peer into the attic. But I didn’t think it could see us. Kato had enough and attacked, but I held him back before he could. The monster flinched and fell. I heard them laughing at him. I yanked Kato to the vent. Bam! Bam! Bam! They fired bullets into the attic.

I yelled, “Stop! Stop! I’ll come down. I’ll come down. I know where Jen’s drugs are. Please just don’t shoot my dog!” There was no way I was going down there. I tried to loosen the screws on the vent. I could see the fire escape just outside but the screws wouldn’t budge. They stopped firing.

Me: “I’m coming down. Please just don’t hurt my dog.” “Keep him up there. You just come down.” “Okay. Okay. I’m coming.” I quickly took off Kato’s collar and used his name tag as a screw driver. It worked and I was able to screw one off. The girl, “What are you doing? Come on!” Me, “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

I got off three screws but the last one was stuck. The girl, “You got three seconds… one… two…” I then ripped the vent off. It slashed my forearm. I pushed Kato through. He was almost too big. “Three!”.

Kato and I quickly exited onto the fire escape. Outside, I looked down. There was no way Kato and I could descend the fire escape. We’d have to pass my window. The top of the ladder butted up against the top of the building. That was our only way.

We then climbed over a short wall and traversed the roof. I remembered the one time I walked around the backside of the building and saw the other fire escape. I also knew that there was an interior stairwell that led to the roof. That door was usually locked, though.

But then it hit me! My legs gave out. Sometimes when I got too nervous, my adrenaline caused my wiring to glitch. I fell to the ground, unable to walk. I started hitting my legs, “No, no, no…” Kato stopped. Bumped me with his head. I tried to climb on him, but I just didn’t have the strength. Most of it used in the attic. I heard the monsters climbing onto the roof.

I took some deep breaths. Kato growled. I thought, “I can’t lose him!” I mustered all my strength. I remember repeating over and over, “Fuck this! Fuck this! Fuck this!” I grabbed onto him. I pointed to where I wanted to go and he dragged me. But I couldn’t hold on and dropped back down.

I turned to see the monsters right behind me. “Fucking bitch! Where you going?” One aimed his gun at Kato. I snatched Kato’s collar, “GO!” BAM! BAM! I twisted my body to shield Kato. I felt a white-hot stinging in my back. They shot at us as Kato bolted to the other side. I held on as tight as I could.

Kato picked up speed and sprinted behind a giant air conditioning unit. I heard bullets rip into the metal. We got to the edge and Kato stopped. I looked over to see the fire escape ladder below and an attic vent like the one on my side of the building. But we had a five-foot drop from the roof to the landing. Getting Kato up the ladder was easier than down it.

Kato whined. We had no choice. I then winced because I slipped on the blood that was coming from my side. I had been shot in the back, in my side. I turned to see them running up. I gripped Kato’s collar. “Trust me.” He obeyed. In one quick movement, I laid down and rolled to the edge. My body twisted and pulled Kato.

“It’s okay, I got you!” I screamed. I yanked him over the ledge but was able to swing him to the landing below. He fell on his legs, whined and looked up at me, helpless.

It was then my turn. I had no strength. I used it all. I couldn’t do this. Gunshots, sirens, and screaming filled the air. Rooftops burned all around me. I thought to myself, “what is going on with the world?” The monsters were almost upon me. “Why you running?… we want to be friends…” I pushed my legs over the ledge and swung towards Kato. I came in too fast. My momentum sailed me through the air heading straight over the fire escape and a sidewalk 60 feet below.

Kato jumped and pushed. I slammed into the railing and crashed to the fire ladder next to him. Oh, it hurt! I had to have broken two ribs. I got up and we stumbled down the steps. I knocked on the first window and screamed, “Please help me!” The apartment was just like mine but pitch black inside. I moved down the fire escape to the next window.

I banged on it. Screamed and screamed. I saw the silhouette of a lady. She didn’t move. I paused, hoping she wasn’t a monster. Me: “Please! Help! They’re trying to kill us!” “Go away!,” she said. Me: “Four of them broke into my place… I live on the other side of the building... I climbed over… They’re there!” I pointed up at the monsters who were climbing over the ledge, looking down at me. A man joined her. She said, “Leave us alone!”

I watched the monsters jump down from the ledge to the fire escape one landing above me. I turned to the man and woman and got down on my knees, “Please, please help us, I beg you! We won’t hurt you! Please help us! They’re going to kill my dog!” They eyed me. The man then stepped over and opened the window.

The monsters hurdled down the fire escape steps. The man revealed a shotgun, waved his hand and said in a heavy Spanish accent: “In!... In!” Three monsters jumped down. Two stood on the railings. One on the landing. They all had handguns. The large one stayed on the roof. One said: “Hey man, leave this shit alone, this none of your business.”

The Man opened fire. The BOOM made Kato yelp. The monsters quickly fled one went up the fire escape the other down. But the blast found its mark and one of the monsters fell to the floor. The other two just left him. The large monster glared at the Man from the roof above. The Woman pointed an AR-15 rifle at him. Along with her teenage daughter who also aimed an AR-15.

The hurt monster rolled around in pain. This was the one that was looking in my mirror. As I eyed him, I recoiled at how gruesome he looked. His eyes were sunken and his skin was melting off his face displaying his white skull. He had bloody spikes coming out of his whole body. Yet his eyes were alive.

The Man eyeballed him. Just as scared as I was. The monster gurgled, “help me… help me… I don’t know what’s happening…” But then it lunged at the Man. BOOM! The Man fired a single shot that killed the monster instantly.

The large monster watched from the roof. The Women were steady as statues. The large monster then fled. Something grabbed my arm. It was a teen boy. He pulled me in. The others followed. The Man quickly closed the window. They eyeballed us. Candles were lit throughout the apartment.

The family were of Cuban descent. All four of them were heavy set and had dark, curly black hair to contrast with their light brown skin. They were dressed in pajamas but looked intimating with the way they wielded guns. I quickly spit out, “Thank you… thank you so much! I live in 5A. They broke in and…”

The Woman interrupted, “Do you know what’s going on?” I shook my head. “It’s going on all around the city. We have no help from anyone. But nobody knows why it’s happening.” The Man spoke only Spanish. And then seemed to argue with her. The Woman then led me to the bathroom. She was a nurse. The bullet that hit me went through my side and didn’t seem to damage any organs. She said I was lucky as she bandaged me up.

They gave Kato a bowl of water as I sat on the sofa and checked my phone. There were teddy bears all over the living room. Maybe as many as a hundred. I had no messages, so I started looking up YT videos, TikTok and IG posts.

One person on the street said, “Shit’s getting crazy. People are fighting all over!”

Another person, “It’s like they’re fucking turning into monsters. If you see one, run.”

A nerd type blamed it on the Moon, “the Moon has never been this close to Earth. What nobody is telling us is that a giant solar flare pushed the Moon closer and everyone knows that the Moon messes with our emotions…”

There were lots of theories: “I think this is only happening to the assholes. To the bad people. It’s like they’re becoming what they are on the inside.”

Another, “I think if you hurt someone you become a monster…” Their friend next to them: “Facts. That’s what happened to my brother!”

As I watched more videos, I heard chaos outside ramp up. An eruption of violence. Gunshots popped off like nonstop fireworks. People were yelling. Tires peeled out. Glass shattered. The world outside was getting worse – not better. I ran over to the window to see hundreds of gangsters fighting in the streets. It was an all-out gang war. The two kids were watching as well.

Suddenly the Woman screamed. We rushed to the kitchen to find the Man sitting at the table. He looked sick. His skin was dry, cracking, and pale. Eyes sunken. Gums black. He was turning into something that didn’t look healthy. The Woman cried, “no, no… this can’t be happening!” The kids hugged him as he pushed them away and said something like, “peligro.”

Just then, there was a thunderous banging on the front door. A familiar unhuman voice yelled, “Open the fuck up! You killed my brother! You fucking dead!”

We all stared at the door. Except for the Man who fell to the floor convulsing. Kato barked. The Woman and the kids clutched their guns. The Woman eyed me and then at the Man’s shotgun that lay nearby. I looked at it but really didn’t want to use it. I scanned the window and fire escape beyond. I heard the clatter of footsteps coming from either below or above. They were getting louder and closer.

We were trapped in on both sides, fire escape and front door. I picked up the man’s shotgun. But then it dawned on me, everything the people on the videos were saying… and the man’s transformation after shooting and killing the other monster.

I put the gun down and said, “I think if you attack them, you become a monster too.”

This washed over the Woman. The Man was now transformed into some kind of awful thing. His brow had enlarged, his nose had fallen off, and he had tusks growing out of his mouth. He looked at the Woman, “lo siento, mi amor.” Tears welled up in the Woman’s eyes.

Time seemed to stop as gunshots pounded the front door. The door burst open and a pack of monsters exploded in. The Man grabbed his shotgun and opened fire. The Woman yelled, “we fight with him!” Her and the kids then unloaded their guns on the monsters.

The window to the fire escape exploded behind me and monsters clambered in immediately mowed down by the Daughter and Son. I fell to the ground and yelled to Kato, “crawl!” We moved like crabs under the dining table.

The family held their own as both parties bunkered down. Family inside behind a bar and kitchen island. Monsters outside the two doorways. It became a shoot out across the large, cluttered living room. Gunshots flared above Kato and I, furniture and teddy bears got blown apart. Their puffy insides floated through the air.

I then heard this awful growling sound and saw some kind of devil dog enter the place and instantly see us. A Rottweiler on steroids. It had spikes sticking out of its hide along with abnormally large fangs. It bolted at us.

Kato made this awful sound. I said, “hurry!” We crabbed to a hallway and somehow didn’t get shot. I got up when I saw the first door. The demon dog was right behind us. Kato and I dived in. All I saw was a flash of teeth as the demon dog went to bite Kato...

But we had already entered the room and closed the door in its face. I quickly locked it as the dog thrashed against it like a psycho. We were in a bathroom with no windows. Kato whined and I hugged him. I knew he was frustrated that he couldn’t help more. I calmed him and told him everything was going to be okay even though I didn’t think so.

The killer outside kept barking and clawing, trying to get in. Gunshots still popped off in the living room. I didn’t think the family would last long. I thought of a plan. I guided Kato to jump on the sink which was next to the door. I climbed up next to him and pressed him against the wall. I then stood on my knees, balancing on the sink. I hooked a big towel on a nail where a picture hung. I held up the other side of the towel, so we were completely hidden behind it – at least to a dog. I had done this trick to Kato a few times.

The door started to splinter. With my free hand I reached over, unlocked the door, took a deep breath and twisted it open. The door flung wide as the beast burst in. As it entered, I pushed Kao to jump out of the room and I followed. The devil dog never saw us. I hit the floor but was able snatch the door handle as I fell and slammed it shut.

I then said, “carry, my room.” Kato dragged me down the hall to a back room. I knew if this apartment was like mine there were two ways to access the fire escape. I could hear from the gunshots and yelling that the family was losing. The Woman was crying and shrieking like a banshee. We got to the other room and found the fire escape outside its window.

An AR-15 completely unloading ripped through the air. I heard a terrible female scream. And then all went silent. I said, “go.” And we scrambled out the fire escape. There were a few dead monsters we had to crawl over but none were outside now.

We quickly fled down two stories. Gunshots and smoke permeated the whole area as the battle in the streets raged on, even spilling a little into the alley below. I didn’t know where we would go. But then I heard the awful growling, like a bark from a grizzly bear. The demon dog was right behind us! It got out of the bathroom and was right on our heels.

I saw some bushy pine trees next to the fire escape with thin branches. I grew up with these trees. Kato was in front of me. I yelled, “Jump! Now!.” I knew he would do it. I knew he trusted me. I knew it was crazy and could kill us… but I saw no other way to survive… Kato leaped over the fire escape railing. I hit it with my pelvis and used it to flip myself over all while hurtling down the stairs.

We hit the tree about a story off the ground. I bounced off some of its slim, springy limbs. We both fell through the leafy branches, missing the wall, and hit the ground. Everything was dizzy. I looked up and saw the demon dog barking but it wouldn’t follow as what we did seemed crazy even to this monster.

Kato limped over and licked me. I thanked the heavens he was okay. I on the other hand, was pretty broken up. The property we were on was the creepy bando house I mentioned earlier. We crawled to it for shelter, hiding in the shadows.

I eyeballed the family’s apartment. The hulking monster with the large ram horns exited onto the fire escape and looked down into the yard as the monster dog kept barking at us. The hulking monster scanned the yard for a long while. I didn’t think he saw us as he yelled, “I’m going to find you, bitch!” He then moved inside and the deviant dog followed.

From the noises in the alleyway, I realized that we would have to hide inside the bando house. So, we crawled into the building’s back door. Once in, we lumbered down a decrepit hallway. I felt like I had been put through a blender. I then limped through an open arch and down a small set of stairs that led to the laundry room. I closed the door. There was a table and chairs and a rocking chair.

I used a chair to lodge under the doorknob, locking us in. But then I used my last bit of strength to move a dryer over. Kato helped me and we pushed it with all our might behind the chair. We then moved the washer behind the dryer as extra support and put the table behind the dryer. It created one continuous support that butted up against a wall.

I then flopped on the rocking chair. They always soothed me when I was a kid. The peaceful swaying back and forth. I had Kato jump on my lap and we rocked back and forth and felt safe for a moment.

The guilt hit me about the family. It was all my fault that they died…

Back and forth. Back and forth we rocked there, waiting, hoping, the monsters wouldn’t find us.

Sarah had driven past Mrs. Blackwood’s house hundreds of times in the twenty years since Emma disappeared. But she’d never noticed the teddy bear in the window until tonight. It sat among dozens of other trinkets and toys behind the bay window—old toys, jewelry, small antiques—illuminated by a single yellow bulb dangling like an ominous single star in the night. The bear’s fur was matted and worn over time, but Sarah would know it anywhere. It was Hugs, the bear she and Emma had shared since they were four, the one that vanished the same Halloween night her twin sister did. 

She pulled her car to the curb and killed the engine. Kids in costumes darted and skipped past on the sidewalk, plastic pumpkin buckets swinging, eager to be filled with treats. The row house was the last original Victorian on the street, now dominated by luxury condos. It’s faded red brick and sagging porch stood defiantly against gentrification. The same Halloween decorations Sarah remembered from childhood still hung in the windows: paper cutouts of black cats, construction paper chains in orange and black, and pumpkins cut in strands like one might cut snowflakes. 

And there was Mrs. Blackwood herself. A silhouette in the doorway as she handed out candy. The same ominous glow of the single light bulb in the window glowed behind her. She looked almost exactly the same as she had twenty years ago—tall, thin, with perfectly styled white hair and a floral dress that seemed frozen in the 1950s. 

Almost exactly the same.  

Sarah’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.  

A small girl in a princess costume skipped up the porch steps. Sarah watched as Mrs. Blackwood bent down, speaking to the child while gesturing at the window display. The girl nodded eagerly and pulled something from her wrist—a bracelet, maybe. Mrs. Blackwood took it and disappeared inside briefly before returning with what looked like a vintage music box. The girl clutched it, and bounded back to her waiting parents. 

The trade game. Sarah had forgotten about that part of Mrs. Blackwood’s Halloween tradition. Kids could trade their own trinkets for items from her collection. Emma had been so excited about it that night, even though Sarah had begged her not to take Hugs. 

“It’s not just your bear,” Sarah said. “He’s ours.”

“I’ll trade him for something better,” Emma had insisted. “Something that can actually be for both of us.” 

That was the last time Sarah saw her. 

The library’s microfiche machine hummed as Sara scrolled through decades of local newspapers. She’d been at it for hours, her eyes burning from the blue light. The first article she found was from 1954: “Local Widow Opens Home to Neighborhood Children." The photo showed a younger Mrs. Blackwood standing in front of the house, but her face was exactly the same. She wore a pearl necklace Sarah had seen in the window display just yesterday.  

She found more articles over the years. Halloween features, human interest stories and photos of Mrs. Blackwood with neighborhood kids. In each, she wore something Sarah recognized from the current window display: a brooch, a scarf, a pendant.  

And then she found the other stories. Missing children, scattered across decades. Never more than one every few years. Always explained away somehow—family troubles, custody disputes, runaways. But as Sarah copied down names and dates, a pattern emerged. Every missing child had visited Mrs. Blackwood’s house on Halloween. Every one had participated in the trade game.  

Her phone buzzed—a text from her mother. “Please don’t start this again. Emma is gone. The police investigated. It doesn’t do any good to keep digging. 

Sarah ignored it and kept scrolling until her eyes landed on a small article from 1956: “Local Girl Still Missing.” The photo showed a young girl named Lucy Chen, smiling gap-toothed at the camera. Around her neck was half a heart-shaped “best friend’s” necklace.  

Sarah’s hand flew to her own neck, where she still wore her half of the necklace she’d shared with Emma. 

The elderly man who opened the door had deep circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept well in decades. “You got an email about Lucy,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“You’re her brother,” Sarah said. “And you’ve been investigating Mrs. Blackwood too.” 

James Chen nodded and let her inside. His living room walls were covered with photos, newspaper clippings, and index cards connected by red string. “Sixty-eight years, “he said. “I’ve tracked every child who ever traded something at that house. Not just the missing ones. The other ones too.”

He handed her a thick folder. “Look them up online. Social media, public records. Tell me what you see.”

Sarah spent the next few hours searching names. A pattern quickly emerged. Those who had participated in the trade game shared common traits in their adult lives: chronic fatigue, memory problems, and difficulty maintaining relationships. Many described feeling like something was missing, though they could never say what. 

“It’s feeding on them, “James said quietly. ”All of them. Not just the ones it took completely.” 

“What is?” Sarah asked.

“I don’t know. But it’s not Mrs. Blackwood. Not anymore. Maybe not for a long time.”

Sarah pulled out her phone and showed him the photos she’d taken of the window display. “I keep seeing these weird lights in the pictures. Like threads connecting the objects.” 

James went very still. “You can see them?” He pointed to her necklace. “Because you have that, don’t you? A connection to something in that house?” 

Sarah touched her half-heart pendant. “My sister... the night she disappeared, we had matching necklaces.” 

“Then you might be able to see what I never could.” His hands shook as he gripped her shoulders. “Find out what happened to them. To Lucy. To all of them.” 

Sarah waited until 2 AM before approaching the house. The street was silent except for fallen leaves skittering across the sidewalks. Her half of the heart necklace felt warm against her skin.  

As she got closer, she could see them—threads of pale light emanating from every object in the window, pulsing gently like bioluminescent strands. They all led downward, disappearing through the floor.  

The front door was locked, but Sarah hadn’t really expected to use it. Instead, she walked to the window and held up her necklace. The matching half in the display glowed brighter, its thread reaching toward her like curious fingers. When she pressed her necklace to the glass, she felt a sudden vertigo. She felt her body shift to an ethereal form, and she was pulled through the glass. Then she was inside.  

The interior was cluttered with shelves and display cases, every surface covered with traded trinkets. In the dark, she could see the threads clearly now—thousands of them, creating a web of ghostly light. They writhed slowly, like seaweed underwater, all flowing downward.  

Sarah followed them to a door that could only lead to the basement. With each step down the creaking stairs, the air grew colder. The threads converged at the bottom, flowing into a mass of undulating darkness that filled the center of the room. Within it, she could see shapes—human shapes, suspended and translucent, connected to the objects above by glowing strands. 

Movement caught her eye. One of the figures was more solid than the others. Young, familiar. 

“Emma?” Sarah whispered.  

The figure turned. Her sister’s face was exactly as she remembered it, frozen at thirteen. Emma’s eyes widened. “Sarah?” she said. “You can see me?” 

“I’m here to get you out.” 

“You can't.” Emma’s voice was distant and echoing. “It has us all. All of us. Our connections... our emotions... our love... it feeds on us.” 

A floorboard creaked behind Sarah. She spun to find Mrs. Blackwood—or what wore her face—at the bottom of the stairs.  

“So much love in that heart,” it said in Mrs. Blackwood’s voice. “Such a strong connection between twins. It’s helped to sustain me for so long.” It’s face rippled, something darker showing through. “And now you’ve brought me the other half of this powerful bond.” It reached for Sarah’s necklace.  

Sarah stumbled backward. “What are you?” she yelled. 

“I am what remains when everything else is gone. I am the hollow place where love used to be.” Its fingers elongated into shadowy tendrils. “Your sister gave up her connection willingly. They all did. That’s the only way it works!” 

And suddenly, Sarah understood. The thing masquerading as Mrs. Blackwood fed on willing surrender—children choosing to trade away pieces of their hearts, adults choosing to keep searching long after hope was gone, a widow choosing to trade her wedding ring to hold onto a dead husband’s memory. A painful, endless cycle of people unable to let go.  

Sarah touched her necklace, then, seeing through the floor, looked up at Emma’s matching half in the window display above. 

“Em,” she said softly. “We have to let go.”

Emma’s face crumpled. “I don’t want to forget you.” 

“Not forget. Choose. Choose to release each other.” 

Tears fell from Emma’s translucent eyes. “Together?” she asked. 

Sarah nodded, her own tears falling. “Together.” 

They both reached for their halves of the necklace. Sarah felt twenty years of grief, of desperate clinging, of refusing to move forward. She thought of all the others trapped here. Bound by their own unwillingness to release what they’d lost.  

“Let go,” she whispered. 

The necklace clattered to the floor. In the darkness, Emma smiled—older now, changing, growing into the years she’d lost. Around them, other spirits began to shift and transform. The threads of light flickered and faded. 

The thing that wasn’t Mrs. Blackwood screamed, its form collapsing as its connections severed one by one. Those who were bound to her were set free by their own release. Something she couldn’t fight.  

The emaciated form of the thing let out another scream and fell to the basement floor. Dark black fractures shot through its body, then it turned to ash. 

When it was over. Sarah stood alone in an empty basement. Above, she could hear the sounds of Halloween through the windows—children laughing, leaves rustling, life moving forward as it always had.  

She climbed the stairs on shaking legs and stepped out into the cool October night. Behind her, the row house groaned and shuddered. 

As Sarah walked away, she felt lighter. The weight of endless searching, of desperate clinging, had lifted. And somehow, she knew Emma was finally growing up.  

In her pocket, her phone buzzed with a text from her mother: “I had the strangest dream about Emma. She looked happy."

Later that year, Mrs. Blackwood’s house was demolished for new construction. Its secrets were eventually buried under new condos. 

Throughout life, we all collect. Important, precious gifts. But there will always come a time when we must let those gifts go.

As Sarah walked away, she felt lighter. The weight of endless searching, of desperate clinging, had lifted. And somehow, she knew Emma was finally growing up.  

In her pocket, her phone buzzed with a text from her mother: “I had the strangest dream about Emma. She looked happy. 

Later that year, Mrs. Blackwood’s house was demolished for new construction. Its secrets were eventually buried under new condos. 

Throughout life, we all collect. Important, precious gifts. But there will always come a time when we must let those gifts go.

I live in a town where there is no loneliness and man I just want some alone time. I mean it sounds impossible to not have loneliness because as you get older, you tend to get more lonelier. This town though it will make sure that you will never get lonely. It's sounds impossible but ever since i moved here there is always someone with me. Like I don't know how it happens and even when I am on the toilet or when I am showering, I am never lonely. There is always someone there and I don't know it some how over rides my conciousness.

Whenever I want to walk alone, I can't because there is always someone there always walking with me. Whenever I want to just sit alone there is always someone there sitting along side me. Whenever I want to eat at a restaurant all on my own, there is always someone there sitting next to me. There is always someone talking to me and doing things with me. It's not just me but other people are also experiencing the same thing and we can't seem to question it at all. The town where you can't get lonely ever.

Sometimes I want to be alone and I want to be in my own space. This person who is always next to me and always watching me sleep, I can't seem to fight against it. Then when one day I must have just snapped and I killed who ever has been with me ever since I came to this town. It felt good to have a moment to myself and then when I went to have shower, I know had two people who were with me where ever I went. The person I killed was some how not dead and there was another person now with him, who also kept following me.

Where ever I went these two would keep me company at all times. I observed that other people were also experiencing the same thing and they too seemed to be having enough. Now I snapped a couple of more times in the coming weeks and now I have 10 people following me werever I go. I noticed other people seem to have more people following them as well. If we kill them then they seem to multipl.

So the town where loneliness doesn't exist is a horrid town. Everyone needs a bit of loneliness now and then. Everyone needs their own space.

Black, gray, white. Directly above the city walls, they looked so tall and solid, as if they wanted to pierce the sky. I watched with fascination as they broke free just above the horizon, until only a few wisps remained, trying in vain to hold on to one another. "How is Cremona faring?" Antonius Primus wanted to know, and I set off.

At first, when I saw the columns of smoke through the swaying treetops of the nearby forest, I assumed death and misery, as is always the case with a civil war like this. But Cremona was different.

Several miles before the gates, the mixture of foul stench and bitter smoke burned deep in my throat. I had to pull my hood over my mouth and nose to see through my watery eyes. The surrounding fields were stripped of grass; instead, rough wood splinters, torn tent fabric, and countless bodies shared the heavy mud. Most of it was trampled deep into the ground, as only the wild mass of a raging army could manage.

The leaderless army of the Vitellians was pushed back through their camp and into the city, where they met their inevitable end. Primus was victorious, but he feared what his uncontrollable army might have done there.

Here and there, the massive stones of the highway emerged from all the dirt. The closer I got to the city, the more the familiar sight of an ordinary battlefield faded.

No building remained. The only order was formed by alley-like paths cutting through the charred heaps of rubble along the former streets. Some structures still burned, while others glowed. Whether they were tenement houses, single-family homes, shops, or temples, I saw wood, stone, and brick debris, but not what once stood there.

Wrapped in a gloomy haze, I slowly made my way through the stiff veins of Cremona. Like large snowflakes, the pale ash floated around, settling on the expressionless face of an older man whose gutted body lay several steps inward. I couldn’t tear my empty gaze away from him for long. I saw thousands of women, men, and children in Cremona; most were mutilated beyond recognition and brutally violated. Only three were alive.

The first hobbled toward me near the gate. In the mist, he looked like an ordinary man, but then I recognized his condition. He was covered in burns. His clothes were rags that hung from him limply, as they seemed to merge with his skin. He carried something in his arms, carefully wrapped in several layers of shabby linen. The melted flesh of his face left the left row of teeth exposed down to his cheekbones, and his nostrils formed long slits. He did not seem surprised to see me. He stopped directly in front of me and looked at me expectantly.

"What happened here?" I tried to remain calm.

He smiled.

"We were lucky. Cremona lasted them four days, but we were lucky. They took the young for pleasure and tore apart the old for fun, but we were lucky. We hid in the house, just like our neighbors, but they knew about our neighbors, and they didn’t want to come out, so they set their house on fire, but they didn’t want to come out, and so they burned. The flames nearly jumped to our roof... but the wind was favorable, and so we survived unharmed, and we were lucky!" His voice sounded soft and warm. "I will take the little one into the woods." He gently cradled the motionless bundle. "My wife and our sons are waiting for us. Then we’ll go south to Parma to my brother."

Yes, his eyes radiated joy, and I didn’t dare say anything further or cast another glance at that bundle.

Instead, I wished him luck, and he trudged away from the mist of the city into the haze beyond.

The second man was rummaging through the belongings of a Vitellian soldier’s corpse. He was a well-dressed man with neatly trimmed gray hair. When I confronted him, he hissed at me.

"Oh, how was it again? You Vespasians slaughtered the Roman people here in battle for your emperor, the fourth of this year, against the other emperor, the third, whom you wanted to convince of your side. What a noble strategy. So don’t lecture me." He pointed to a section of the rubble that looked just like the others. "Here was one of my shops. Jewelry; it was doing damn well." He appeared visibly tense.

"How did you survive?" I asked him incredulously.

"What survived? Obviously, I wasn’t here. No one survived. No, I’m not from here, but I do my business everywhere; I’m not stupid. News about such a thing spreads quickly, and so I came here, hoping to salvage a little." He paused. "But these incompetent fools can’t even defend a simple city!" Disgusted, he hefted the corpse onto his back and continued his search. I tried to stop him, but even when I warned him by tapping the hilt of my sword, he wouldn’t relent. A little later, I lifted both bodies onto one of the burning piles and moved on.

I found the last one in the corner of a stone ruin. She was sitting there, leaning back against one of the walls. Patches of her wounded scalp were bare, and her face was swollen and misshapen. In front of her, two dead men were locked in a fierce struggle. They were Primus's men, clawing at each other as if they still wanted to kill one another. The neck of the upper one was so shredded that his head dangled only loosely from his torso. The lower one had the decorated handle of a small vegetable knife sticking out of his temple. My gaze followed the darkly dried pool of blood that stretched from my feet to the young woman. She didn’t notice me. Her glassy pupils stared so blankly into the void that I initially thought she had followed the other two; but now and then, her soft breath gently raised the blue stole with the purplish stains. I whispered, spoke, and shouted at her, but she was too far away. I couldn’t help her, and I didn’t want to see anything more. So I left her, then the gates, and finally the toxic mist behind me.

So, how is Cremona faring? What do you mean by that? If you ask the burned man, it's good, for he believes his family is alive, even though they are not. If you ask the merchant, who lost only a small part of his wealth, he is not well. If you ask the violated woman, who sits marked and abused among the heaps of corpses, she would not answer. But, if you ask me Antonius Primus, then I will not ease your conscience.

Brenda and Samantha stood on the sidewalk in front of an old, dilapidated cottage style house. The windows had all been boarded up but a faint light was glowing from inside. Samantha picked at the rotten wood on the waist high fence. “This can’t be the right place. What was the address again?” Brenda fished a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket double checking the address. “This is supposed to be the post.”

Samantha and Brenda both tensed as a hand patted them on the back. A man with long hair wearing a poncho passed them by walking up to the house. Looking back over his shoulder he asked, “Are you both joining us for tonight's journey?” His sandals smacked against the ground as he made his way up to the front door. Samantha rolled her eyes at Brenda “Do you see that guy I’m out of here.”

Brenda grabbed onto her arm holding her in place. “Let’s just see if anyone is home first”. To Samantha’s surprise the door to the abandoned house creaked open and a short figure welcomed the man inside. The shadowy figure waved at the pair. “Are you two joining us as well tonight?” a raspy old woman's voice called out. “Let's do it.” Brenda whispered, pulling Samantha toward the house. “This place is supposed to be the real deal. You can’t tell me you have never wanted to talk to the dead.”

“This isn’t talking to the dead; this is just some old woman scamming suckers out of their money.”

“Come on, just five minutes if it's too weird we leave.”

“Fine” Samantha scoffed, letting herself get dragged by the arm up to the house. The two were skeptical that the rickety wooden stairs leading up the porch would hold them. Despite the symphony of creaks, the two made it up to the house where the old woman was waiting for them with the door wide open. She was a small woman with short curly gray hair wearing thick glasses held by a chain. The woman smiled at them with a mouth full of yellowed teeth. “Welcome friends, I’m Myrtle your guide for tonight” she said, waving them into the house. “We are getting ready to start shortly.”

“Is this your house?” Samantha asked, a little afraid of the answer, seeing the interior. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls looming into the hallways. Patches of water stains spotted the ceilings. A thin layer of dust coated everything in the house, making it apparent where anyone had walked or touched anything.

“Don’t be silly, this house belongs to a dear friend of mine. After all, you don’t invite the dead into your own home.” Brenda nodded cheerfully in agreement pulling Samantha along with her into the house. Stepping inside the pair were hit with a damp musty odor that lingered through the air.

“We are almost ready to start. Why don’t you two have a cup of tea while I finish setting up.” The old woman said, handing Brenda and Samantha each a cup of cold tea that had been sitting out. “Take your time and head into the dining room when you’re feeling ready.” The old woman said, disappearing around the corner.

“Ok, you know there is no way I’m drinking this. Who knows what that old hag laced this with.” Samantha whispered, dumping out the tea into a pot of dirt. Ignoring Samantha comment, Brenda took a small sip of her tea instantly puckering her mouth.

“Sooo how is it?” Samantha asked with a grin on her face.

“Very bitter, let’s just head into the dining room”

The dining room was dimly lit by a large candelabra. Four people had settled around a large rectangular table draped in black tablecloth. The old woman was sitting at the middle of the table adjusting the two candles in the candelabras. The man in the poncho was sitting to her right leaning back in his chair. An anxious couple holding hands sat across from the old woman. Two chairs were pulled out from the table waiting. Brenda took a seat closest to the couple, forcing Samantha to sit down next to the old woman.

“Remember what we agreed.” Samantha muttered over to Brenda.She didn’t acknowledge the comment, turning to cheerfully introduce herself to the couple.

“What brought you all here tonight?”

“We are here to talk to our son.”

“Oh,I- I’m so sorry”
The old woman set out a brass candle snuffer shaped like a flower onto the table with a loud clang. “Everything is set, and we are ready to get started. We will be communing with the spirits tonight and inviting them into this house. Contacting the spirits can be dangerous for amateurs but that is why I’m acting as your guide tonight. Pay close attention to my instructions and commands and everything will be fine. Now if you are all ready to begin, let's take a deep breath in and join hands.”

Everyone around the table began to form a circle, joining hands. Samantha reluctantly reached out, grasping the old woman's hand. The cold dry sensation sent an electric shiver up her spine. She glanced over at Brenda for reassurance, seeing her smiling happily waiting put her at ease.

“Now it’s important that we maintain this circle and keep our eyes closed while working with the spirits. Under no circumstance are you open your eyes or let go of your neighbors’ hands once we begin. Does everyone understand?” Everyone around the table silently nodded. “Good then let's take one last cleansing deep breath in and close your eyes. Think of the person you would like to contact to speak to tonight. Visualize them standing here with us right now.” Raising her voice the old woman shouted, “Spirits dead and spirits dear cross the beyond and make yourself near.”

Samantha scoffed at the rhyme as the room went quiet. Brenda’s mind raced trying to think of what dead celebrity she would want to talk to. Samantha didn’t try to think of anyone, she was too focused on listening to what the old woman next to her was muttering. Her raspy voice was hushed and hard to comprehend. Whatever she was muttering to herself didn’t sound like any language Samantha recognized.

“The spirits have heard our message are joining us. Can you feel their presence? Please spirits give us a sign to show us you’re here?” A door leading into the dining room let out a loud creaking sound swimming open. If Samantha’s eyes were open they would have been rolling right about now. . She knew the sounds were a cheap effect the old woman used to convince suckers.

“Let’s start with the couple since they arrived first. Who is it you wish to speak with tonight?”

“W-we want to speak to our son.” the man eked out.

“Yes, I can feel his presence with us.”

Soft rumbles sounded around the old room as the group sat with their eyes closed.

“They didn’t even say his name yet.” Samantha muttered under her breath. Brenda tugged and squeezed Samantha's hand trying to reign her commentary. The old woman cleared her throat, and a chair rattled against the floor, sliding out from the table. More strange noises began to circle around the room and the woman spoke up. “What did you wish to ask your son?”

This is such an obvious scam Samantha thought to herself. Making everyone keep their eyes shut and just making random noises around the room to make it seem haunted. She wondered if anyone else had taken a peek yet. Why not her? What could it hurt? Samantha barely opened her eyes, glancing around the table. The dim light from the candles had turned a pale green, casting a ghastly glow on the room. Brenda was still sitting to her left looking content. At least someone is enjoying themselves, Samantha thought. Looking to her right expecting to see the old woman operating a sound board. Instead, she saw a transparent figure with horns wrapping itself around the old woman whispering into her ear. The figure was pointing around the table at the guest one by one.

Samantha's hands subconsciously tightened their grip around Brenda and the old woman. A pair of boots slammed against the table, causing Samantha to jump. Looking at the center of the table she saw a new guest had arrived. Standing on top of the table was another pale green spirit. A young man riddled full of bullet holes. The spirit looked down at Samantha with a sneer, opening his mouth to reveal a set of shattered teeth.

“We want to ask what made him–”

Before the couple could get out their question Samantha let out a deafening scream. The spirit wrapped around the old woman snapped to attention rushing its face over within inches of her. “Keep your eyes shut.” the old woman barked, stomping her foot to the floor. It was too late. Samantha broke the circle letting go of Brenda and the old woman's hands. Standing up from the table Samantha flung her chair back sending it crashing into the wall. Everyone around the table began to open their eyes to the chaos in front of them. A frenzy of spirits flew out from the candles circling around the table in a whirlwind.

“Everyone stay calm” the old woman shouted in a panicked voice. Grabbing the brass snuffer off the table she doused one of the pale green flames. She reached out to snuff out the other candle, but a pair of hands flew out from the whirlwind of spirits, sending her flying back into the wall. Everyone stood up, backing away from the table as the cyclone of spirits grew. The couple pressed themselves up against the wall, trying to keep their distance from the spirits. A clawed hand flew out from the maelstrom slashing the husband's throat. Blood sprayed across the peeling wallpaper. The man’s wife screamed, mixing with a chorus of laughs emanating from the whirlwind.

Panic shot across the room, sending everyone into a mad dash to escape. Chairs were pushed and flung across the dining room. The survivors shoved and elbowed one another in their race to the front door. Samantha claimed that victory, yanking on the handle in vain. Slamming her foot against the wall she pulled with her entire body but the door wouldn’t budge. The rest of the group filled in behind her with the old woman bringing up the rear.

“We have to get out of here!” Brenda cried out in a strained voice.

“Stay calm we just need to douse the candle and the spirits will subside” the old woman said calmly trying to restore order.

“That thing you summoned just killed my husband!”

“We need to get out of here!”

“The door is locked, and the windows are boarded. How are we supposed to get out of here!” Samantha shouted at the old woman.

Taking out an old amulet the woman took a deep breath, “Everyo–”

Hitting the floor with a bang the old woman fell forward, tripped from behind. A rope lassoed around her ankle dragged her toward the dark basement stairs. Flailing her arms she reached out for anything to grab onto but found nothing in the sparse hallway. Running to the old woman’s aid Brenda grabbed onto her arm, fighting to keep her from behind dragged off. Bracing with all her weight she leaned against the pull. Despite her effort the two slide forward past the dining room, nearing the dark basement stairs.

“Brenda, you can’t help her, we have to get out of here!” Samantha shouted, taking two steps toward her friend. The floor in the dining room creaked and a spirit stepped out into the hallway cutting Samantha off from her friend. It was the shape of a tall man except it only had one oversized arm, dragging behind it. The spirit's head was a crushed mess with its eyes dangling out of the sockets. Samantha froze in her tracks letting out a shriek. The spirits' malformed head snapped to attention focused on Samantha, reaching out its oversized arm toward her

In a panic to get away from the spirit, Samantha raced up the stairs to the second floor followed by the distraught wife and the man in the poncho. The spirits reared back its arm slamming it into the stairway banister, sending wood fragments flying. Looking for any escape the group ducked into the first bedroom they found slamming the door behind them. The sparse room was only furnished with a four post bed and wardrobe. Through the thin walls of the house, they could hear the spirit pounding its way up the staircase.

Slumping into the corner the man in the poncho rocked himself back and forth.

“It’s just a bad trip, just a bad trip”

The loud thuds went quiet as the spirit reached the top of the staircase. Everyone in the room held their breath hoping it would pass them. A loud slam hit the door, shattering their hopes. Then another loud slam shook the door in the frame, spewing off a cloud of dust. Samantha felt herself pulled to the ground by the wife who slid herself under the bed. Samantha managed to shimmy herself under before she heard the door splintering. One more loud crash and the door burst from its hinges. The spirit shambled its way over to the man in the poncho tightly closing his eyes. “Bad trip, just a bad trip”

Reaching out with its oversized arm the spirit engulfed the man's head lifting him into the air. With the spirits distracted, Samantha sprung out from under the bed making a run for the unguarded door. The wife briefly paused seeing the man helplessly kicking his feet in the air but trailed behind Samantha. Standing at the top of the stairs the pair heard a muffled scream followed by a crunching pop of the man's head being crushed.

“We have to put out the other candle,” the wife said in a resolute tone.

Practically throwing themselves down the stairs they both ran back to the dining room. Passing by the basement stairs they could hear something loudly chewing and crunching through bone. Part of Samantha screamed to stop to try to help her friend but it seemed far safer to try to extinguish the candle. Filled with shame she turned away from the basement heading back into the dining room. Sitting on the dining room table, waiting for them was the young man riddled with holes. Holding the brass candle snuffer in his hand he made a wicked smile at the pair.

The woman stepped in front of Samantha cautiously approaching the spirit. “It’s me, your mother, don’t you remember me? You have to let us put out that candle”

“What, you don’t like my new friends?” The spirit said, gripping the woman by the throat, slinging her up against the wall. “Of course you don’t! You never liked any of my friends did you.”

“Please just”

“Just what mother!

Samantha eyed the remaining candle, inching her way closer. The spirit laughed, noticing Samantha. “This is what you want isn’t it?” the spirit asked, holding out the brass candle snuffer. His mother reached out her hand pleading, “Please, just let us put out the candle so you can be at rest.” The spirit gently held his mother’s outreached hand, driving the handle through the middle of her palm. “You think there's anymore peace in death than in life!”

Diving forward Samantha slammed her hand down on the candle to douse the flame. She expected the flame to go out right away but was met with an awful surprise. The flame seared into her hand. Letting out a scream she held resolute, praying that the flame would go out. The angry spirit threw his mother to the ground, turning his rage toward Samantha. Roaring out the spirit charged forward. Samantha pressed her hand tighter on the candle and the small flame gave way. The green flame was snuffed out and the spirit fell away into green smoke, its roar fading off into the wall of the house.

The spirit’s mother laid on the ground, clutching her bleeding hand with the brass snuffer driven straight through. Samantha cradled her own severely burnt hand until she remembered the basement. Springing to her feet she rushed to the basement down the uneven wooden steps.

“Brenda?” she called out into the darkness.

Reaching up into the darkness she hesitantly pulled down on the cable of the overhead light. The split second the light flashed on she fought the urge to turn it back off. Splatters and pools of blood coated the concrete floor. Trembling Samantha forced herself to look through the room. The old woman’s body was nowhere to be found. Her heart raced seeing Brenda's leg sticking out from behind a cardboard box. Standing over the body of her friend it felt like she had been punched in the gut. Brenda was covered in blood missing one of her legs. Tearing off her belt Samantha tied it tightly around the wound hoping to stop the bleeding. Not knowing what else to do she scooped up her friend carrying her back upstairs.

“Call an ambulance!” Samantha shouted into the house, unsure if the other woman was still even there. It felt like a lifetime waiting before she heard the sirens call out from off in the distance while she sat clutching her friend. Brenda would make it to the hospital surviving the encounter, but their problems were far from over. Over the next week the three survivors would retell their story dozens of times to more and more skeptical law enforcement. Two dead bodies and 1 missing person wouldn’t be swept away as easily as the spirits.

The pizza guy must have made unequal pizza slices because of our last encounter. I was rude because the order was taking long and when I ordered pizza from him again, when I opened the pizza box the pizza slices were all cut up in unequal sizes. Their was a big size and a small size and usually they cut the pizzas in equal sizes. I didn't understand what had happened and why the pizza guy did what he did. My family were looking at each other at how we were going to share the pizza and who got what?

Then I said that I will get the largest piece because I am the father and bread winner of the whole house hold. I am a judge for the supernatural and as a judge, I judge upon the actions of supernatural creatures towards other supernatural creatures. While normal judges have a table to bang their hammers on, a judge for the supernatural will have to bang their hammers on a live human being. When two supernatural creatures are arguing with each other in my court, I silence both of them when I bang my hammer on the living human who screams in pain. That's how I gain control.

So that's why I get the largest piece of the pizza slice. Then my wife piked up and she had an annoyed look on her face. She thought that she deserved the biggest pizza slice because she does all of the house hold duties and looking after the kids, as well as looking after the people in our basement which I need to bang my hammer on. She also deals with the dead people which I cause from banging my hammer on to control the court room. My wife really had a go at me for this.

Then my eldest child piped up and said that she deserves the biggest slice, because she has to endure watching me being a judge for supernatural creatures. Then we all started arguing and I became angry. The argument lasted so long that I was due to judge for two arguing supernatural creatures. So I grabbed my wife and daughter and tied them up, and I used them to bang my hammer on to control the court. When supernatural creatures come to me to judge upon them, my house turns into a court.

I banged my hammer on my wife and daughter whenever the court became hostile. Then when it ended and I had done my job, my wife and daughter were dead. I got to have the largest piece of pizza.

The pizza guy then phone me and said "don't fuck with me ever again"

Have you ever lost somone? Somone real close to you and losing them ripped everything out of you?

There is many game's and rituals to contact the dead and this one is just that a game where if completed Grant's you the ability not only for the comunication with the dead but: riches, knowledge but also wordly possessions. But lets agree you came here to learn how to play the game its simple really

To play the game you need to have loss somone close to you recently otherwise it won't work however if you have and are realing from the pain then you need to visit any indoor mall of your choosing. It dosnt matter where it is/ it just needs to be a large indoor mall. a strip mall wont work

You need to enter in the morning and you have to be the very first one to set foot inside the mall at that day then you need to approach the nearest kiosk and ask the person working there "what time dose the mall close today?" Their answer is very important if they do anything other than smile at you and say "stay and find out" then you have failed. However if they do then the game begins...

The mall game is fundamentally a game of tag by beginning it your inviting something else with you into the mall. Just exactly what it is? Is up for debate but most people just call it the hunter some people say the hunter would look like any other mall patron and they would be hard to pick out from the crowd but trust me you'll know what the hunter is when "it's " is close.

What is agreed apon by many people is that once you begin the mall game you cannot exit the mall at any time because the hunter will follow you. the only way to get rid of it is to win the game.

In order to win the game you need to remain within the mall until it closes. You cannot be caught and you cannot Leave you must avoid the hunter until the hour before the mall closes then you begin the next step of the game.

You will need to find a store preferably a large one with a bed although in theory you can use any store. Once you get there you'll need to tell an employee that you are invited and no matter what they tell or how much they plead you must answer their every question with yes. After that they will take you to a place where you can sleep and you can finally claim your prize.

When you go to claim your prize you will wake up and begin to look around when you know it try to spot a staircase that is out of place compaired to the mall layout you have learned and make your way there when there you will see the worldy posessions first keep going, Next is the riches keep going, third is the library full of books with everything a person can know ever...keep going and lastly a place...i cant deacribe it but if you know that loved one the environment will be of something that links to that loved one and walking abit you will see them just as they were. You can talk and do anything really but there's a catch you only have 1 hour. after that you must make your way out and remember you can only claim 1 prize as you go you cannot play the game ever again.

I’ve been sitting on this story for weeks, trying to convince myself it didn’t happen. But it did. And I can’t shake the feeling that somehow, it’s not over.

It was supposed to be a simple road trip—just me, driving across Nevada to visit an old friend. I got a late start, though, and ended up driving far into the night. My route took me down Highway 50, known as “The Loneliest Road in America.” I always thought that name was a bit of a joke. I found out the hard way that it’s not.

There’s nothing out there. No towns, no lights, no other cars. Just miles and miles of black highway cutting through the frozen desert. After a couple of hours, I hadn’t seen a single soul. Just my headlights stretching into the dark, the hum of the engine, and the wind rattling against the windows.

Around 1 AM, I saw him.

A man on the shoulder, right at the edge of my headlights.

He was tall and slim, standing perfectly still. He wasn’t shivering, even though it was freezing outside. He was facing my car, his pale face expressionless—except for a strange, faint smile. Not friendly. Not grateful. Just… amused, like he knew something I didn’t.

I should’ve kept driving. But something about him standing there, alone in the middle of nowhere, made me hesitate. I told myself he might need help—maybe his car broke down and he didn’t have a phone. Against every instinct screaming in my head, I slowed down.

I pulled over a few feet ahead of him and cracked the window, keeping the engine running.

“You okay?” I called out.

At first, he didn’t respond. Just stared at me with that unsettling half-smile. Then, slowly, he spoke.

“I need a ride.”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist. It wasn’t a question. It was like he knew I would help him—like I didn’t have a choice.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’m going the other way.”

The smile didn’t leave his face. If anything, it got a little wider. “Please,” he said softly, stepping toward the car.

That’s when I felt it—pure, animal panic. I rolled the window up as fast as I could, locking the doors. My hands were shaking, my breath fogging up the glass. I slammed the car into drive and hit the gas.

The tires spun for a moment on the icy pavement, and the car fishtailed hard to the side. I almost lost control, but the wheels caught traction, and the car shot forward—just barely.

Then I glanced in the rearview mirror.

He was sprinting toward me.

Not just running—sprinting. Faster than anyone should be able to.

I slammed the gas harder, but the car wobbled from the earlier skid, and the rear tires slid out again. The car spun wildly, skidding off the shoulder and slamming to a stop in the dirt. My chest hit the steering wheel, knocking the breath out of me.

For a second, everything went silent—just the sound of the wind outside. I tried to catch my breath, but then came the sound of footsteps, fast and deliberate. I looked in the mirror.

He was almost at the car.

Before I could react, there was a deafening CRASH—the driver’s side window exploded inward, and a freezing blast of air hit me.

Then his hand shot through the shattered glass—and wrapped around my neck.

I gasped, clawing at his hand as he squeezed tighter. His grip was cold as ice, his fingers digging into my throat like claws. I tried to shove him off, but he was strong—too strong for someone so thin. My vision blurred as I fought for air, panic flooding my brain.

Somehow, I managed to yank the emergency brake and throw the door open at the same time, slamming into him with my shoulder. We both went down, rolling in the dirt and gravel.

He landed on top of me for a second, pinning me to the ground—but this time, there was no smile. His face was blank, expressionless, but his eyes… There was something wrong in them, like he was barely human.

I twisted hard and managed to shove him off, sending him sprawling onto his back. But even then, he didn’t slow down. He came at me again, and we grappled on the freezing ground. His strength was unreal—like he was more wire and bone than muscle, his limbs coiled with tension.

At some point, I managed to land a desperate kick to his ribs, throwing him off me just long enough to scramble to my feet. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely move, but I knew I didn’t have much time. The car was still running, but I’d need a few seconds to release the brake and get it moving again—and I wasn’t going to get those seconds with him still coming at me.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I bolted for the car, yanked the door open, and threw myself inside. His hand slapped against the window as I slammed it shut, leaving a smudge on the frost-covered glass.

I turned the key in the ignition, praying the car hadn’t stalled out. The engine roared to life. I threw it into reverse, the tires spinning wildly in the dirt before finally catching. The car lurched backward onto the highway, and I slammed it into drive, flooring the gas.

The rear end fishtailed wildly, but I didn’t care. I kept my foot down, heart pounding in my chest, as the car roared down the highway.

I glanced in the rearview mirror one last time—and he was still standing there, watching me. His face was blank again, expressionless, as if nothing had happened.

I didn’t slow down. I kept driving for miles, far beyond where I’d seen him. When I finally reached the next town, I pulled into a gas station and sat there for a long time, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. My body was trembling from the cold and the adrenaline.

The car was a mess—shattered window, cosmetic damage—but it still ran. That’s all I cared about.

I still don’t know who—or what—I encountered that night. But sometimes, I think about his smile. The way it vanished when we fought, as if wearing it was just a mask he no longer needed.

And I wonder—what would’ve happened if I hadn’t gotten away?

If you ever find yourself driving down Highway 50, and you see someone standing on the side of the road, smiling like they’ve been waiting for you?

Don’t stop.

The helicopter is now flying thirty feet over the building as more police arrive to see a now growing crowd confused about what exactly is going on. The New reporting team is now on the scene.

News reporter "there has been a fire that has broken out and the apartments or gold and 10th Street emergency services are on the scene as we speak".

A spec ops squad arrived on Scene entering the building on site in minutes. One squad moves up the stairs as the other takes the elevator up of it by this time that thing is on the 15th floor causing mayhem, first squad moves in to the 14th floor and then take the stairs up as the squad on the elevator is just now being seen on camera exiting the elevator and heading down the hallway on the 15th floor. Going past them are the residents of the apartment trying to get out of the way fast.

Green Team leader: "heading down hallway two. Guns up! Blue team do you copy?"

Blue team leader: "loud and clear! Move from stairwell 1 on the the 14 floor now."

People are rushing pass them as the News is now spreading through our the 14 floor.

Green team leader: "hallway one clear. Checking hallway two, the smoke is blinding."

A noice was Heard and a wounded creature emerges from the white fog! Contact! Green team open fire , hit everything in sight. The creacher is now full Sprinting down the hallway. Green team leader open fire hitting the creature five times in a burst as his squad blows chunks of it no chance to escape, when it finally collapse 20 ft away. Yellow blood pools out from the corpse. By this time the sun starts to rise over the town as a private Doomsday containment team carry the monstest entities body onto a semi truck as guys with suits start telling people to sign an NDA and takes photos of the site. As months pass and the site gets cleaned up the man across the street seems to be the only one who's still traumatized by it all.

Now, this is not a cliche horror story but it is still pretty creepy nonetheless. This happened to my Mom a while back. We have lived in the house we live in since I was about two years old, and have never experienced anything scary or paranormal, or at least I or my brother haven't, but my mom said that when she's home by herself weird things have started to happen. One that is most interesting to me is when she told me that when she was in her office home alone (she works from home), she said she heard commotion in the hallway, like bags being thrown around or multiple people moving things around in the kitchen. She gets up to investigate, and said a massive shadow covered the lining closet door, not like the shadow of a person, but like a giant mass of a shadow that completely covered the sunlight shining on the closet. Another one she told me was when she was yet again home alone. She was doing laundry in the basement, and while she was at it, she decided to start getting out the Halloween decorations to start setting them up later. As she had her back turned, she hears a loud scrape, like the sound of someones foot wearing boots scraping the floor right behind her. She turned around instantly and said no body was there. In all of theyearls I've lived in the house I've never experienced one thing remotely like that, or anything odd in the like, but I'm not sure what to think.

My neighborhood isn't your cliche movie neighborhood. The lawns aren't perfect, kids don't leave bikes lying around on the sidewalks, and neighbors don't smile and wave as you drive by. We all kind of mind our own business, for the most part. To be honest, I don't think I've ever had a conversation with any one of my neighbors. But to my defense, my neighborhood isn't built like a traditional neighborhood.

I live in Castro Valley. Emphasis on the "valley." The entire town is built on hills. The block I live on resembles more of a roller coaster than a street. I wish I could say you get used to living like this, but you don't. My house is smack in the middle of a hill; and after a decade of living here, I've discovered that I'm a "house half uphill" kind of guy.

My ten-year-old son, Cooper, loves it here. There's a single-screen movie theater down the street, next door to that is a comic book shop, across the street is an ice cream parlor, and a few blocks over is Golfland. I'm convinced that Castro Valley was designed by a child.

Cooper had overheard my wife and I talking about how unfriendly our neighborhood felt and he had an idea of how we could do our part in fixing it. When he visits my mother-in-law, they like to go on walks. I guess a neighbor of hers has one of those Little Free Library things in their front yard. The mailbox looking thing that the owner fills with books, and anyone walking by is encouraged to trade one of their own books for one in the library. Cooper said we could fill it with all of our favorite books, so our neighbors could get to know us a little better.

He had spring break coming up, and I had vacation days lying around, so I planned on taking the week off to spend with him. I figured building the library was a great opportunity for a father-son project.

The sun was setting, and admittedly, it may have taken a little longer than anticipated to build, but there it was nonetheless. We took a step back and admired the little library that was now standing firmly in our yard. I handed him a paintbrush and told him that all the library was missing was a name. He gave it some thought, then started with the brush. When he moved away, I could see that he painted "Greenridge Road Library" in big green letters. Fittingly named after the street we live on.

The next day, I peeled myself off of my mattress and dragged my feet into the kitchen. Cooper was sitting on the couch, fully dressed, shoes tied, hair brushed, ready to go. I have weird attachments to all of Cooper's stuff. He's our only child, so every little thing of his is tethered to precious memories. I couldn't just let him put his books, which my wife and I read to him over the years, outside for strangers to take. So, I told him we would go to the bookstore to get new books to use.

Before we left, Cooper ran over to check our Greenridge Road Library. I hurried to catch up to him when I saw him jumping up and down with excitement. He screamed "Dad! Dad! Look!" And to my surprise, there was already a book sitting inside of the little library, patiently waiting for us to adopt it.

It was a Penguin Random House children's book titled: "How to Swim and Dive." It was a cute, little, vintage, book about learning how to swim. And even though it was covered in a clear, but yellowing, protective jacket; the book was extremely weathered. It looked decades old. The style of the cover art and pictures throughout the pages made me think it may be midcentury era. The once bright colored spine was cracking and had a slight tear through the "V" in the book name, giving it the new title: "How to Swim and Die." That got a guilty chuckle out of me.

The book jacket proudly wore a sticker for the Hayward Public Library. Hayward is Castro Valley's sister city, so it wasn't too surprising that a book from there ended up minutes away in our front yard. What was surprising was the fully intact checkout card still in the sleeve on the inside. The only name and date on the card were: Roger Davis on April 3rd, 1964.

Out of curiosity, I Googled the name Roger Davis. Facebook and LinkedIn profiles popped up, all of smiling young men that were half of the age my Roger Davis would be today. I tried to narrow the search down by adding "California," but no luck. I'm old enough to remember life before the internet, So I went to scavenge for The Yellow Pages book that I thought we still had somewhere.

If I had given it any real thought, I would have remembered that we got rid of our last one about five spring cleanings ago. I figured this would be the perfect time to introduce my son to the public library system. I told Cooper that we could go to the Hayward Library; since that was where the book was originally from. And we could maybe even see if they could look up any information on Roger Davis.

Although he was incredibly eager to get inside and work the case, Cooper still held the library door open for the fragile moving old man walking behind us. The librarian glared at me over the top of her thick lenses, with an "Are you serious?" look on her face. She sighed and lectured me on why she couldn't share the private information of their members, even if they had it. Which they didn’t. Those records were long gone. Also long gone: the Yellow Pages, apparently. I don’t know why I assumed the library would have them, but they didn’t. So, I ordered one on my phone to be delivered to my house and we left. On the way out, Cooper whispered to me that he'd be a nicer librarian for The Greenridge Road Library.

The following day was a hotter than usual spring day. My wife and I decided that a family day at the community pool sounded good. We didn't have a pool in our backyard, and no one else we knew did, either. And as a result, Cooper wasn't the best swimmer. But lucky for him, we just so happened to have come into the custody of a how-to swim book.

We got to the pool and I had the highly important job of securing pool chairs for my family. It took me a little while to collect enough chairs. It would have taken longer, if not for the elderly gentleman who graciously volunteered his chair to me. His attempt at hiding from the sun under a bucket hat and sunglasses was failing, so he was leaving anyway. He was amused that I was carrying around such a vintage book. On his way out, he gave the faintest smile and said that he had the same book when he was younger.

I started thumbing through the pages to see if there were any good pointers that I could relay to Cooper, and I must not have looked hard enough the first time we found the book because I now noticed handwritten numbers on the bottom corner of every page. Two numbers on each page and they didn't correspond to the page number at all. The first page had "37." The next one had "66," the third page had "46," and so on; fifteen numbers in total. There was no obvious reason or pattern to the order, but they were neatly written and obviously intentional.

I'm not too proud to admit that my wife is smarter than I am, but I still felt like a complete idiot when it only took her a millisecond to glance at the pages and say "Oh, neat! It's coordinates." Of course. Why wasn't that my first guess? Cooper asked what coordinates were and when I explained them to him, he got really excited at the thought of it being buried treasure. That excitement soured to disappointment when I shot down his proposal to go chase the coordinates that exact minute. I told him we could go the following day, and then hit the biggest cannonball he's ever seen as a distraction.

Cooper shook me until I fully woke up. He wouldn't stop until I had Google Maps open. He watched with anticipation as I typed in each number of the coordinates. The pin dropped into a cluster of trees, a little ways off of the Ward Creek walking trail in the Hayward hills. To his delight, it was only a ten-minute drive away.

Cooper was so excited walking that trail. He's not an introvert, but he rarely talks to strangers. That day, he was waving and saying hi to everyone we crossed paths with. The family walking their dog got a hey from Cooper. He said "Have a nice day" to the pale-haired, old man, that was catching his breath on a bench. One jogger even got a high-five from Cooper.

I couldn't help but feel like an irresponsible parent when we reached the point of the walkway that we had to diverge off of to get to the coordinates. It didn't seem like the safest trek for a ten-year-old to make, but I couldn't stomach telling him that he couldn't see this through. As we approached the coordinates, I could make out glimpses of unnatural colors in the distance. At first, I thought it was a group of people, and slid Cooper behind me as we walked up.

Standing directly on top of the coordinates, we were dead center to a group of trees. On each tree, was a t-shirt nailed to it; creating a surrounding audience. The shirts were small, like they'd fit Cooper. Six in total. Vintage, ringer style shirts with red trim and matching red font that read "Hayward Plunge." On the inside tags, I could make out handwritten names: John, Henry, Susie, Wayne, Donna, and Jackie.

I had no idea what Hayward Plunge meant or who these names belonged to, but that didn't really matter, I was full on panicking. My fight or flight was in high gear. This wasn't the innocent treasure hunt we thought it would be. This was wrong, very wrong. I was wrong to bring my son here. I played enough high school football to know what dried blood stains looked like on fabric.

I didn't want to let Cooper see the concern on my face, and I knew he was on the verge of asking if we could start digging for the treasure that he thought was beneath us. I needed to get him out of there as soon as possible. I tried to drum up fake enthusiasm and say we needed to celebrate us making it to the finish line. I told him we deserved ice cream for our hard work. He wasn't ready to leave until I told him he could get as many scoops and toppings as he wanted. Luckily, that was enough to get him out of there.

I thought a night of sleep would help distance me from the kid's shirts on the trees, but it didn't. It was on my mind as I got out of bed, and as I made my coffee, and was very prominently on my mind as I stood at the front room window watching my own child play in the front yard. I watched him look under rocks for bugs, and lay in the grass, and eventually check The Greenridge Road Library. Then, I watched him run into the house holding a stack of books.

He proudly laid them out on display. My stomach turned as I realized they were more vintage books. Artwork and color palettes from an era long gone. Titles like "The Clumsy Cowboy" and "Hurry Up, Slowpoke." I peeked over his shoulder as he grabbed one and skimmed through the pages. On the inside cover, read the generic "this book belongs to:" with Wayne scribbled under it.

For the last twenty-four hours, six names have been playing on a loop in my head. Wayne was one of them. I grabbed a different book and opened it: Susie. I didn't need to grab anymore, I already knew what I'd find. But I did anyway. One inside cover after the other; John, then Jackie, then Henry, and finally Donna.

I was ready to tear the Greenridge Road Library out of the ground at this point. I scoured through my Ring notifications. Ever since we installed the library, it seemed like all of Castro Valley stops by and looks through it. I had hundreds of clips of people in front of it. It could have been any one of them. I dissected each clip to see if I could find who left the books. The problem was that the library was positioned in a way that the camera couldn't see if someone was taking or placing books. To be honest, this made me incredibly skeptical of my neighbors. Was it the dad walking his kids? The moms pushing strollers? The dog walker group? The mailman?

I gave up the hunt and set my phone on my lap as the clips continued playing. At this point, I was fully losing it. I don't know why this upset me as much as it did. It's not like someone is putting inappropriate material in the library. No one was committing crimes. It was just weird and creepy. I thought maybe it was an elaborate prank. I was willing to accept it as a prank and move on.

When I picked up my phone, it was halfway through a clip. There was no one in front of the Greenridge Road Library, or my house. So, I was confused as to why this was recorded. Then in the corner of the frame, I noticed an old man, standing across the street, and looking at the library. He remained still for an uncomfortable amount of time before turning and leaving. The video was super grainy and he was so far away that I couldn't make out any details of his face. It felt strange, though. This was enough to make me want to solve all of this, simply so I could feel like my family was safe in our home.

I tried to take inventory of all the information I had. The books, the names, the year on the library card, the coordinates, and the blood stained shirts on the trees. Shirts that had text on them. "Hayward Plunge." I typed the phrase into a search bar. The first suggestion was a link to the Hayward Parks and Rec website. To the right of that was a small collage consisting of a map, street view, and picture of the inside of a building.

Built in 1936, the Hayward Plunge is an indoor swimming facility. It's essentially one big pool inside of a hangar-like structure. Additionally, after seeing the map of where the plunge was located, I realized the trail that I was just on the other day, ran directly behind the building. Finally, things were starting to click.

I was waiting at the front desk as the teenager working it went off to get the manager. I felt a little foolish, but at this point, there was no way I could leave this thread loose. The manager came walking up and asked how they could help me. I took a deep breath and made the jump. I explained how I came into possession of Roger Davis's swim instruction book, how it led me to the trail, and to the displayed Hayward Plunge shirts. Which all brought me there to speak with her.I don't know what I was expecting. It was a lot of random information to unload on an unsuspecting stranger. I for sure wasn't expecting the manager's face to drop like it did. She paused for a second, then asked "Could we talk in my office?"

I took a seat at the desk across from her. She didn't hesitate. She said, "Back in the day there was a small beginner swimming class that had some students who went missing." That was chilling enough, but she continued. "This was in the 60's, so they didn't have camera surveillance or anything like that. The Hayward P.D. didn't have any evidence of who took the kids or where the kids went." I didn't know what to say. I didn't need to say anything, because she wasn't done. This time needing a little more strength, eventually pushing out, "It's like, an urban legend around here, so take it with a grain of salt; but people say their swim instructor had something to do with the missing kids." I could see it in her eyes before her words came out. I knew what was coming next. She looked me dead in the eye and said, "The instructor, his name.... was Roger."

Everything was still spinning when I strapped my seatbelt in and it didn’t stop during the drive home. What did I invite to my home? What danger did I put my son in? Who or where was Roger Davis? That last question would be answered a lot quicker than I anticipated.

Waiting for me at our front door, was the gigantic waste of paper that is, the Yellow Pages. It made a huge thud on my kitchen table when I set it down to grab a beer. I could feel it staring at me the whole time. Begging me to open it. I knew I had to, but I really didn't want to. I was already fed up with this whole situation. It had escalated to points that I was not prepared for. I looked back at the yellow pages. It was just sitting there. I took a swig of beer and said fuck it.

I found the residents section and made my way to the names under D. It didn’t take long to put my finger over the first Davis. It was a page over and near the bottom, but there he was. Roger M. Davis. I should have left it there. Cool, I found him. Mission accomplished. I should have taken the win and moved on with my life. But I just couldn't help myself. I needed to know.

I panned to the right of his name, where his address was. I felt my beer rising in my throat as I did. Next to his name and under "current address" was, Green Ridge Road.

The scariest house isn't always the one that looks like it. It's not always the dilapidated house with the dead lawn and shady looking tenets who won't make eye contact with you. Sometimes it's the house that's painted in the friendliest shade of soft yellow. The one that has an American flag perfectly flying from the porch. The one with the old man that comes out like clockwork to hand water his lawn. The house that you have no problem sending your kid to their front door for candy on Halloween. What is it they say about book covers?

Roger Davis was arrested for the murders of John and Jackie Miller, ages 9 and 8. Donna Zimmerman, age 7. Wayne Jackson, age 8. Susie Lee, age 8. Henry Parker, age 6. Almost sixty years after he committed the crimes. He was 86 at the time of his arrest.

I gave the police everything I had. They used fingerprints from Henry Parker's copy of "The Rise and Fall of Ben Gizzard," that was left in our library, to match with some found on belongings of his that his diligent mother kept well preserved after all these years. Roger's prints were also a match on all of the kid's books, as well as the "How to Swim and Dive" manual we found in our little library.

Cadaver dogs hit on the area of the coordinates and they were able to recover the remains of all the children. My stomach still fills with shame and dread because I willingly brought my son to the burial site. I let him stand feet above the bones of murdered children as we played around on a pretend scavenger hunt.

We were in the middle of dinner weeks later when I heard the sirens. Flashing lights followed, reflecting off our walls. Our street doesn't get police activity very often, if at all. I knew who they were coming for.

It took me a couple of minutes to walk down my street and get to the house surrounded by the crime scene tape. As I approached, two officers walked out a slightly hunched, white-haired man, in handcuffs. He looked frail and confused, and unremarkable from any other elderly person in the community. He wasn't someone who looked like they would be getting arrested. The policemen closed the squad door behind him, regardless.

I observed him as he sat in the backseat of the cop car. He wasn't moving at all and he was seemingly focused on the nothingness in front of him. He stayed like this for an uncomfortable amount of time.

An officer told me he couldn't share any information on the case, not knowing that I was the one who revived the six cold cases with my findings. There wasn't much more for me to see, and it felt like it was time for me to head back home.

I looked one more time at Roger. I just wanted to burn into my eyes what evil could look like, so I never put my son in danger ever again. After a few seconds, the vile old man slowly started to turn his whole body towards the window. Towards me.

His face was blank and devoid of any humanity. He pointed his vacant and dark eyes at me. I could see the faintest bit of recognition from him once he saw me. I didn't want to look away. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear on someone one last time. Even if I was terrified inside.

My last glimpse of him, before the car hauled him away, was the slow movement of his mouth forming the slightest, perverted, grin. He was enjoying this. He knew that he'd die soon, and he'd essentially got away with his crimes. I don't think that's what made him smile in that moment, though.

He knew that I'd see him again. Every time I watched someone leave a book in the Green Ridge Road Library for Cooper, or when Cooper's baseball coach pulls him aside to give him tips on his swing, or when I had parent-teacher conferences and met Cooper's teachers. He knew that I'd see him in every one of those people that I was trusting to be around my son.

He knew that's how he would live on.

Look, I know how this sounds. I don’t expect you to believe me; I wouldn’t believe me either. I’m just posting this in case anyone has any advice. Or if—God forbid—someone else ends up in a situation like this, at least they’ll know they aren’t alone.

I’m not the type of guy to believe in anything paranormal. I’m a math teacher, 34 years old, with an average life. I’m about as logical and straightforward as they come. I don’t scare easy. But there’s something about my grandfather’s house that never sat right with me. I remember summers as a kid, playing in the fields, swimming in the lake nearby, and listening to Grandpa’s strange stories about the land. He’d tell me tales about things hidden under the earth, about “roots in the ground that shouldn’t be disturbed.” He always warned me to stay out of the basement after dark, with a look in his eyes that made me believe him, even if I never really understood why.

After he passed a few months ago, the old house became mine. It’s out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense woods and silent fields, miles from the nearest neighbor. I planned to sell it once I sorted through Grandpa’s things. That’s when I found it.

The basement has always given me the creeps. It’s unfinished, with rough stone walls and a chill in the air that seeps into your bones. Everything down there looked abandoned decades ago: rusty tools, decaying furniture, shelves stacked with canned food from the 1950s. It’s the sort of place where every sound echoes, making you feel like you’re not alone.

As I was clearing out some junk, I stumbled across a door hidden behind a stack of old crates. It was out of place, its wood splintered and worn, the brass handle tarnished with age. The strange thing is, I could’ve sworn it wasn’t there before. I know every inch of that basement, and I’d never seen that door.

Something compelled me to open it. The moment I did, a wave of stale, earthy air hit me, thick with a scent like rotting wood and something metallic, almost coppery. Beyond the door was a room that mirrored my living room—same faded wallpaper, same layout—but everything was subtly wrong. The picture frames were empty, the air felt stale and unmoving, and shadows stretched too far across the room, as though light didn’t quite behave the same way in there.

When I tried to turn back, the door was gone. The wall was solid, as though it had never existed. Panic rose in my chest, but I forced it down, thinking I’d just keep moving forward, maybe find another exit. But the deeper I went, the stranger everything became.

Each room I entered felt like a twisted version of the house I knew, but with pieces that didn’t belong. One hallway was lined with furniture crammed into every possible space—chairs stacked atop each other, a piano shoved into the corner, its keys chipped and yellowed. The next room had a floor covered in a thick layer of sand, like a miniature desert. I even found a chandelier hanging so low I had to crouch to avoid it, its bulbs flickering, casting shadows that seemed to dance across the walls.

Then I opened a door and stepped into what looked like an old laboratory. The tables were covered in rust, broken glass littered the floor, and strange stains marked the counters. A musty smell mixed with something sharp lingered in the air, making me cough. Papers scattered across the floor contained bizarre diagrams of machines and unsettling sketches of creatures with elongated limbs and hollow eyes.

The next door led to a vast shopping mall, like a ghost town. The floors cracked, and the ceiling loomed high above, shrouded in shadows. Storefronts lined the walls, their glass facades shattered, displays empty or coated in dust. I walked past mannequins in a clothing store, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, their plastic faces staring blankly, as though they were watching me.

Every door I tried led somewhere new, each place more surreal and disjointed than the last. A door labeled “EXIT” took me to a neighborhood that looked almost normal—rows of houses with white picket fences, cars parked in driveways. But every house had something subtly wrong. One had no windows; another was missing its roof, exposing a black, starless sky. I even found toys abandoned in the overgrown grass, their colors faded as if they’d been there for years.

I tried to enter one of the houses, hoping it would lead me back to something familiar. I pried open a window and climbed inside, only to find myself back in the strange maze—another house, but with the same suffocating silence and that heavy, stale air.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. My phone shows only 2% battery, but somehow, it doesn’t die. Time feels stagnant; I haven’t felt hungry or thirsty, at least not like I should have by now. I’ve tried to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I hear whispers—low, raspy voices speaking just beyond the edge of hearing. They don’t make sense, like fragments of a language I almost understand but can’t quite grasp.

And here’s the worst part: I feel different. Not just mentally but physically, like something is shifting inside me. It’s as if the place is warping my thoughts, twisting my sense of reality. I can no longer trust my memories; the things I remember about my life feel increasingly distant, almost like someone else’s past. I find myself staring into mirrors, searching for a familiar face, but the reflection seems... off.

I don’t know if anyone will ever find this post. I don’t know if anyone else has ever been trapped in this… place. But if you’re reading this, heed my warning: some doors should stay shut. Whatever this is, it’s not meant for us.

I might be meant to wander these endless halls, walking through twisted versions of homes and lives that are not my own. Maybe this is some kind of punishment or a final resting place for those who find their way here. I know I should feel weak, but my heart keeps beating, my breaths come steady. Still, every part of me feels stretched, as if I’m unraveling.

If anyone’s out there, just know that some doors lead nowhere you can come back from. I’ll try my best to reply to any comments on this, and hopefully, someone can give me some tips. Thanks for reading.

It all started a year ago, just after my wife Jessica and I got married. We had decided to buy a house in the suburbs, thinking that it would be the perfect, peaceful place to build a life together. A quiet neighborhood, friendly neighbors, the smell of freshly cut grass, and the gentle chirping of crickets in the evening—everything seemed ideal. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The day we moved in was exhausting. I dropped a heavy box onto the floor with a loud thud and turned to Jessica, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “Oh my god,” I said, breathless. “We should have just hired movers or at least called our families for help.”

She laughed, though I could see she was just as tired. “You’re probably right,” she replied, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Her face was flushed, strands of hair clinging to her forehead. But there was a light in her eyes—an excitement that matched my own. Despite our exhaustion, we finished unpacking that night, eager to sleep in our new home.

That night, as I drifted off, a strange sensation overcame me. Suddenly, I was standing in a room bathed in crimson light. The walls, the floor, even the air itself seemed to pulse with a deep, unsettling red. It was a dream, yet it felt unsettlingly real. The silence was oppressive, heavy, like a weight on my chest, until a piercing shriek cut through the air. The sound seemed to echo from nowhere and everywhere, growing louder with each step I took.

I stumbled through the thick, suffocating atmosphere, each movement more difficult than the last. Finally, I found a door. My hand trembled as I reached for the handle, desperate to escape, but the moment I turned it, I was ripped from the dream. I woke up, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. I glanced at the clock. I had only been asleep for ten minutes. How could the dream have started so quickly? It felt like I’d been trapped in that red room for hours.

The following morning, the memory of the dream lingered, vivid and sharp. I couldn’t shake it, couldn’t stop thinking about that horrible, red light. I brushed it off, chalking it up to the stress of moving. But that night, the same nightmare returned, the shrieking noise louder, the oppressive red brighter. This time, I woke up feeling nauseated, my skin clammy.

I went to work the next morning in a haze, thoughts plagued by that cursed red room. By the time I returned home, I was ready to tell Jessica. When I finally worked up the courage to explain the dream, she looked at me, her face a mask of shock.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’ve been having the same dream.”

I stared at her, mouth dry, heart pounding. “Are you serious?”

She nodded, her face pale. “Every night since we moved in. The red room… the screaming… it’s the same.”

A chill ran down my spine. How was that possible? We decided to book an appointment with a dream psychologist, though the appointment wouldn’t be for another week. In the meantime, curiosity got the best of us. We decided to check out the basement, something we hadn’t fully explored yet. As we ventured down, the dim light barely illuminated the steps, casting long shadows that seemed to cling to us.

And then we saw it—a door hidden behind a stack of old boxes. My pulse quickened. “Should we go in?” I asked, voice trembling.

Jessica swallowed, her eyes reflecting equal parts fear and excitement. “Let’s do it.”

The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough for us to squeeze through, and the air grew colder with each step. Eventually, we reached the end and found ourselves standing in a room that looked eerily familiar. The walls, the floor, the ceiling—everything was painted in that same oppressive red from our dreams. It was as if we had stepped into the nightmare itself.

“This… this is it,” I whispered, feeling a lump form in my throat. “They never showed us this room.”

Jessica’s face was ghostly pale as she nodded, her voice shaky. “It looks exactly like the room from my dreams.”

Suddenly, one of the paintings on the wall began to shift, its colors distorting as though alive. Jessica screamed, grabbing my arm. “It’s moving!”

I looked over, and for a split second, I could’ve sworn the figure in the painting was writhing, its face twisted in agony. I felt an overwhelming urge to run. “Let’s get out of here,” I said, pulling her toward the door.

We fled to the park nearby, desperate for fresh air, for anything that would erase the image of that red room from our minds. That night, I didn’t have the dream. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

Over the next few days, things only got stranger. I began seeing figures—distorted, misshapen faces that seemed to appear in the corners of my vision, then vanish the moment I turned to look. These faces were the same ones from the paintings in the red room, and they haunted me, lingering at the edge of my mind, depriving me of sleep. I was constantly on edge, feeling sick and restless.

Jessica was suffering too. She grew pale and distant, her once-bright eyes hollow. She admitted that she’d been seeing the same twisted figures, and we both started questioning our sanity. Part of me wanted to leave, to run as far away from that house as possible, but something kept us there—a dark compulsion that neither of us could explain.

When we finally met with the dream psychologist, she listened carefully, her face neutral. “Shared experiences, close emotional bonds, or a similar mental state might lead you two to have similar dreams,” she suggested. “Your subconscious minds could be processing that information similarly, creating dreams that feel… predictive.”

But I knew in my gut that there was something far more sinister at play. This wasn’t just a shared nightmare. Something supernatural was at work.

Jessica and I decided to confront whatever was lurking in that room once and for all. We returned to the basement, and as soon as we entered the crimson room, the familiar shrieking noise filled the air. The paintings began to move, their twisted faces stretching, their eyes filled with unspeakable torment. One by one, the figures began stepping out of the frames, materializing in front of us, broken and twisted, their voices wailing in anguish. They didn’t attack; they merely watched us, their bodies folding in on themselves as they wept.

Then, as if the air itself were splitting open, a shadowy figure emerged—a ghost, a demon, I couldn’t tell. Its voice was like shattered glass grinding against stone, speaking in a language that seemed to slice through my mind. I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot.

Jessica, however, snapped out of it first. She grabbed my arm and screamed, “We need to go!” She dragged me out of the room and into the kitchen. Suddenly, she began turning the oven on, frantically cranking the knobs.

“What are you doing?” I yelled, trying to pull her away, but she swung a frying pan, narrowly missing my head.

“You don’t understand!” she cried, her voice wild. “We have to destroy it!”

A strange compulsion pulled me back toward the red room, but Jessica was relentless, dragging me outside as flames began to engulf the house. As we stood in the yard, the building began to burn, and from within, I heard a piercing, otherworldly scream as if the house itself was alive and suffering.

We stayed in a motel that night, eventually moving to an apartment in the city. But the nightmare didn’t end. Jessica became more and more disturbed, plagued by visions of the figures from the red room. Her sanity unraveled until, one day, she attacked someone on the street and was committed to a psychiatric hospital, where she remains.

Now, two years later, I’m telling this story because I’ve started seeing things too.

At 43, Alex wasn’t expecting anyone to knock on his door. But as Halloween approached, he found himself putting up decorations anyway—a few plastic cobwebs, a pumpkin on the windowsill. There’d be no party, no visitors. His friends had vanished over the years, one by one, each promising they’d keep in touch but never did.

He told himself he didn’t mind the quiet, but this year, the silence felt different. Colder. It pressed against him, creeping in like the chill that slipped through the cracks in his windows. He hung fake bats from the ceiling, their red, lifeless eyes staring back at him, reminding him of the emptiness that consumed him from within. He glanced every few minutes at his phone, hoping for a message, a call. The screen stayed dark, just as it had for months.

And that’s when the voice began again.

“They’ve all left you,” it whispered from the shadowed corner of the room. Alex’s hand froze mid-air, the tape for the decorations dangling from his fingers. He’d heard the voice before, faint at first, like a nagging doubt, but tonight it was louder, closer.

“You’ll always be alone.”

The voice had been haunting him for weeks, ever since his last friend stopped answering his texts. He tried to ignore it, to brush it off as anxiety—maybe the kind that creeps in when you’re by yourself too much. But deep down, he knew something else was wrong. The voice wasn’t just in his head anymore. It had become something... real.

On Halloween night, Alex placed a bowl of candy by the door, though he knew no trick-or-treaters would come. His jack-o’-lantern flickered weakly, the flame casting long, eerie shadows on the walls. The night dragged on, and with it, the whispering grew louder.

“They’re gone, Alex. You’ll never see them again.”

He glanced toward the dark corner of his living room, his heart racing. The empty room felt heavier, like something unseen was watching. His phone lay untouched on the table, the silence around him suffocating.

The temperature in the room plummeted. His breath fogged as he saw it—a shadow shifting in the corner, darker than the night. He squinted, his body tense, and then he saw it: a figure, tall, faceless, with hollow eyes fixed on him.

It stepped forward, its voice low and cold. “I am the ghost of your abandonment.”

Alex’s stomach twisted with fear. He stumbled back, his pulse racing, but the figure moved closer, relentless. Its empty gaze seemed to swallow the room, pulling the walls tighter around him.

“They left you, Alex. Your family, your friends - everyone has forgotten you,” the ghost whispered, its voice like ice in his veins. “No one is coming. No one ever will.”

The jack-o’-lantern’s flame flickered out, and the room plunged into darkness. The air thickened with the ghost’s presence as it reached out, its cold hand brushing against his skin. Alex tried to scream, but the sound was lost, swallowed by the shadows.

“I’ve always been here,” the ghost hissed, leaning closer. “I am all you have left. I'm all you ever had.”

"I am the only part of you that will never leave."

The next morning, the apartment was still. The candy bowl sat untouched, the decorations hung lifeless in the cold air. The pumpkin had long since burned out, and Alex was gone. His phone lay on the table, forever waiting for a call that would never come.

As a forward, I need to say I posted a different version this story a few years ago on a different subreddit, but I've significantly changed it since then; it's a very different story now.

I’m from the American Southwest, in what was once the Navajo Nation, and that’s where this story takes place. 

I was dating this girl, Gigi, at the time. We’d been dating for a little over a year at this point, and had both just graduated high school. One weekend, Gigi’s grandparents asked her to house-sit while they were out of town. You see, they had a cat named Jake that her grandma absolutely adored, and they lived out in a secluded area 30 minutes from town, so it would be hard for someone to drive out there to check on him every day. It was an extremely rich neighborhood called Kayenta. Every home was a multi-million dollar estate built on several acres of private property. So when Gigi asked if I wanted to stay over the weekend with her, I excitedly said yes.

The first night her grandparents were gone, Gigi and I drove to the house, out in a gorgeous, fertile part of the Great Basin Desert. We followed the narrow road, weaving between dunes, until we came to the end of the pavement. From there, we drove another 10 minutes up a winding dirt road, and then, we caught sight of the house. 

I was in awe. 

It was a beautiful adobe home, with Mexican ceramic tile floors, and Navajo tapestries decorating the walls. The first thing I did was wander through all the rooms, of which there were many. The front door opened into the living room; a spacious room with high ceilings, a fireplace, and plenty of seating. Just to the left was the dining room, kitchen, and bar area. Through the living room was her grandma’s library, a couple bathrooms, and the guest bedroom. And finally, across the hallway was the master suite, decked out with a bedroom, a bathroom, a shower room, a sauna, and a den leading to a private porch. The place was built like a maze; every room forked into two more, with multiple ways to get to anywhere. But my favorite thing about the house was how many windows there were. The walls of the kitchen and living room were entirely made of windows so you could always take in the gorgeous desert view.

We found Jake curled up on a couch in the den of the master suite. He was a large black cat with green eyes, and was very friendly. 

“Hi, Mr. Handsome!” Gigi greeted him with a scratch under the chin, just where he liked it. “Did you miss me, Jakey?” He stretched out his neck and purred, enjoying the attention. I chuckled. Pets having human names was always humorous to me. “Oh, who’s a sweet boy?” Gigi said in a cute sing-song voice. We must’ve disturbed him, because as soon as Gigi stopped scratching him, he got up, stretched his legs, and walked out the cat flap in the door.

“They just let him come and go as he pleases?” I asked.

“Yeah, he knows his way back home,” she said. “We just can’t let him out after dark.”

After putting out some food and water for Jake, Gigi and I decided to follow his lead, and we set out adventuring in the sandy red hills that surrounded the house. Being an experienced hiker, Gigi had a path she liked to walk in the early mornings when she stayed out here. She guided me through the washes and ravines, and we talked and admired the beauty. We were about 20 minutes away from the house. I didn’t know whose property we were on, but we had surely crossed out of Gigi’s grandparents’ by now. After a few more minutes of walking, once all the houses were out of sight, Gigi started climbing up a hill. 

“Up here,” she said, “this will be perfect.” The sun was just starting to set over the western mountains. If you’ve never been to the desert, let me tell you, the sunsets are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. The sky turns into a painting palette. Red, orange, pink, purple, and blue, fading to black as you look east, with millions of bright stars speckling the void. It was breathtaking.

“You see that valley over there?” Gigi asked, “Right at the slope of the mountain?”

I nodded.

“How many people do you think could fit in that valley? Like, if they stood shoulder-to- shoulder?”

I thought about it for a second. “Probably, like, the whole country.”

“What?!” She exclaimed, “You know that’s like 350 million people, right?”

“Yeah, but people are, what, 2 feet wide on average?” I reasoned, “And probably less than a foot deep. If everyone got crammed in, I think we could do it. Shit, we could maybe do all of North America.”

Gigi wasn’t having any of it. “You had to retake algebra; there’s no way I’m trusting your math.”

“Algebra isn’t real math; it’s a puzzle with numbers, and I suck at puzzles.”

Gigi didn’t respond, just kept staring off into the desert. After a moment, she said, “The whole country, huh? And this valley is only a fraction of the whole planet. There’s so much out there I bet no one’s ever seen.”

“And been forgotten.”

Again, she just stood there, staring at the beams of sunlight behind the mountains. It was starting to get dark. “We should go back to the house,” she stated. “The coyotes are gonna come out soon.”

We were on the way back to the house. The sun had completely set now, and darkness crept in fast. About halfway there, I felt the hairs raise on my arms. I got chills. It was a strange feeling. I hadn’t heard anything unusual, but my brain was screaming at me: ‘You’re being watched.’ Before I could say anything, Gigi turned around and stared behind me.

“I think there’s something following us.” She said softly. She felt it too. “Stay quiet, but act calm.” I wanted to start booking it back to the house. Gigi had to tell me that’s a bad idea. “You don’t run from predators,” she said. “Right now, it’s just curious, but the second you start running, you become prey.” So we walked. The minutes felt longer at night. The feeling of being watched grew stronger with every step. Like it was getting closer. Surrounding me.

A chill wind blew through the air, soft as a whisper. “Gigi…”

Dread opened its eyes.

“Did you hear that?” My voice trembled. Every inch of my body went cold. It was 70 degrees, yet the wind cut to the bone. Strange, for October.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Gigi insisted, but there was fear in her voice. “We’re almost there. Keep going. Slowly. Don’t look back.”

Keep going. Slowly. Don’t look back. I kept repeating it to myself. It became my mantra.

We were walking up the last hill now. My heart was pounding. I don’t know what was following us, but it wasn’t just a coyote. Keep going. Slowly. Don’t look back. The sand was loose beneath my feet. I prayed I wouldn’t slip. If I fell backwards, the night would consume me. I knew it. Keep going. Slowly. Don’t look back.

Finally, we were peaking the last hill. Once at the top, under the light of the porch lamps, I turned around and looked.

But there was nothing there.

I had to laugh at myself. My mind had tricked me, let paranoia run rampant. It was only a coyote, I’m sure, if it was anything at all.

Gigi and I walked into the refuge of the kitchen through the sliding glass door. In an instant, the warmth returned to my body, and a feeling of safety washed over me. We looked at each other, sharing a moment of peace, then we started laughing.

“No more night hikes,” we agreed, happy to shrug the whole thing off. While we stood there, laughing at each other, I couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she was. Her long, curly, black hair, brown almond-shaped eyes, and freckled brown skin. Seeing her laugh and smile made me feel safe. Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping, but she never looked more beautiful to me.

“Want a drink?” She asked. That was exactly what I needed. Perfect opportunity to check out the in-home bar, I thought, but Gigi declared those bottles off-limits. “That’s the expensive stuff. They’ll notice if it goes missing,” she explained. “My grandma used to keep some in the library, though. I’ll see if it’s still there,” and she walked around the corner. I went to the den to check on Jake, but he wasn’t on the couch. He wasn’t in the living room or kitchen either. Probably not a big deal; cats have places they like to hide, and this was a huge house. Plenty of spots to choose from. Still, it’d been a while since we last saw him; I figured I should let Gigi know.

 But upon entering the grand library, I instantly forgot what I went there for. Enormous floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, built into the walls, lining the entire room, filled left to right. No space was left unoccupied. There must’ve been a thousand books in this room. I walked right past Gigi as she searched a cabinet to look at the selection. Many of the books were about the Navajo people, about their traditions and beliefs, and about their superstitions. One in particular caught my eye; a book about ‘Yee Naaldlooshii’, or skinwalkers. Shapeshifters in Navajo folklore. I picked it up and opened it. Half the text was in another language, and what was in English was analyzing the parts I couldn’t read. I kept turning until I came to a picture of a frightening mythical creature, unlike any I’d ever seen, like a feathered wolf with antlers, and human eyes. Quite an unsettling drawing… 

“A-ha!” I heard Gigi exclaim. From deep in the cabinet, she pulled out a perfectly cheap bottle of Bacardi. “This won’t be missed.”

“Probably been forgotten about.”

She walked over and noticed what I was reading, and visibly cringed. “Ugh, put that away. I have nightmares about that book.”

“You’ve read this?” I was surprised. Gigi wasn’t superstitious, or all that into Navajo culture like her grandma. Never mind that most of the book was incomprehensible.

“That, and all the stories Grandma writes. She’s really into skinwalkers.”

“I didn’t know your grandma’s a writer.”

“She’s not so much a writer as… Like, she claims that they’re real stories.”

“Yeah, but that’s part of writing ghost stories. You don’t start it off by saying ‘this is totally made up’.”

“No, I’m not kidding. She, like, actually believes this stuff.” Gigi opened a small drawer in her grandma’s desk. “Check it out.” It was an old Colt Peacemaker. Gigi reached into the drawer, going for the gun, I thought, but her hand moved right past it, and grabbed the box next to it instead. She lifted the lid. Inside was full of bullets. “She hand-loaded these. There’s a pocket of ash inside, which is one of the only things that can hurt a skinwalker, according to her.”

“Can it kill one?”

“The only way to kill a skinwalker is to call it by its human name.”

I know it sounds stupid, but Gigi saying the words ‘human name’ is what reminded me of Jake. “Have you seen the cat since we’ve been back?” I asked.

“Oh, good call.” She set the bullets and alcohol down on the desk, and headed to the master suite. “Jake?” She called out while walking through the bedroom. No response. We entered the den, where we last saw him. No sign of the cat. His food and water hadn’t been touched, either. Then I looked over at the cat flap in the door, and remembered Jake leaving through it hours earlier. Gigi and I looked at each other, and I could tell we were thinking the same thing.

“Fuck, this is so bad,” she was saying, while opening the door to the porch, “this is bad, this is bad. God dammit.” She turned on the porch light, and looked around frantically. “Jake?” She called out, “Jake, where are you?”

“I thought you said he knew to come home after dark.” I knew it wasn’t helpful, but I said it anyway.

“He does, normally, that’s why this is bad. Jake!” She stepped further out the door, using the flashlight on her phone. “Will you go check the garage?” She asked me. “He likes to hang out there sometimes. I’m gonna look over here.”

I said I would, and set off toward the kitchen. Now, mind you, the garage isn’t connected to the house. It’s a detached garage about 10 yards away on the property. I was still a little paranoid about what Gigi and I felt out in the desert earlier, but I shook it off and walked through the kitchen door, and all 10 yards to the garage. Once inside, I flipped on the light, and began searching. He wasn’t under Gigi’s grandpa’s truck, behind the freezer, or in the tool cabinet. I double-checked, triple-checked every spot he could be. I’d looked everywhere, and there was no sign of a cat. All I could do was put my hands on my head, take a deep breath, and prepare to give Gigi the bad news. 

I turned the lights off, and was about to step out, when I heard what sounded like a soft exhale behind me. Immediately, I swung around and flipped the lights back on, but again, there was nothing. 

Actually, there was something. Kind of. Some hairs on the bench next to an open window. Not much, but I hadn’t noticed it before. I picked them up and examined them closer. Black hairs, probably Jake’s. Maybe he was still close by, I hoped. I turned on my flashlight and ventured back outside.

“Jake!” I called into the night. “Are you around here, buddy?” I moved slowly, deliberately, shining my flashlight all about, making sure I didn’t miss an inch. “Jake!”

Then I heard something move in the sagebrush nearby.

“Jake?” I said in a friendly voice. “Here, kitty, kitty.” I had my light shining down on the bush, only about ten feet away. I could see the branches twitching, and something furry moving inside it. I was sure it was Jake, but the leaves and twigs were casting shadows; I couldn’t see him clearly. “Come here, boy.”

Then the animal emerged from the bush. What it was, I couldn’t say, but it wasn’t Jake. For a second, I thought it might be a coyote, but this animal was much too large. It looked almost like a dog, except for its legs, which were long and skinny, and cloven, like a goat’s. It looked at me with very unusual eyes. Close set, and expressive, like a person’s. It exhaled, and I felt myself tremble. I thought of what Gigi said, about not running from predators, so I started calmly backing up towards the house, not even turning my back. It slowly inched towards me as I moved, keeping its gaze on me the entire time. I was getting more and more unnerved the longer it looked at me… 

Dread opened its eyes.

“Stop looking at me,” I whimpered, continuing my slow retreat. I was starting to sweat now. My tremble had turned into a full shiver. Something about this animal was not right. Not natural. I didn’t like the way it was looking at me. It was making me feel crazy, hysterical, like it was putting me under a spell… 

“Stop looking at me.” I tried to command it. It exhaled again. Almost like a laugh. I just kept backing up. The light from the porch was getting brighter; I kept thinking I should be there any second, just a few more steps. But with every step I took, the beast took one too; never getting closer, never letting me get too far away. Always within its grasp, like clay in its hands, its eyes reminded me. Those eyes. I felt like I was going mad looking into them. They were black at first, weren’t they? I had to ask myself, because now, they were a deep, earthy brown. So familiar looking… 

Finally, I took one more step back, and felt my hand touch the door handle. I slid open the glass door and got inside as fast as I could, locking it behind me. 

The animal walked right up to the house. Continued staring at me through the glass. But the glass wouldn’t stop it, I was sure. The way it looked at me, I knew nothing could stop this beast. It was determined, and it would have me. It would break through the walls and drag me out into the night, never to be seen again…

It exhaled again, and fogged up the window. Then turned around and walked back into the darkness. 

As it left, I felt myself return to normal. 

Dread went to sleep. 

Senses came back to me. I could taste my mouth again, feel my skin, hear the blood flow in my head. My whole body had been buzzing, but it was quieting down now. Like the spell was wearing off.

Then I remembered about Jake. Fuck. 

I walked back to the master suite, knowing I’d have to tell Gigi the worst case scenario: Jake was nowhere to be found, and there’s a menacing predator lurking about. The porch door was open when I entered the den; Gigi was outside, still calling for Jake.

I walked to the doorway. “Gigi,” I called out. She flew back to the house, eyes wide and desperate.

“Did you find him?! Was he out there?!”

I wanted to tell her about the creature, but looking in her eyes made the feeling of danger wash away. Her deep brown eyes. What was I thinking before? Had I gone mad? It was just some weird, malnourished wolf, of a breed I’d never seen. Why was I so affected by its stare? Why did it fill me with such dread? I had to laugh at myself.

“What the fuck is funny?!” She was scowling at me. I forgot we were still in a different kind of crisis. I needed to apologize and tell her I hadn’t found Jake, but before I could, we heard a distant sound.

Meow.

We ran out from the master suite to see Jake sitting in the porch light outside the kitchen door, right where the creature just was a few moments ago.

“You little fucker,” Gigi chastised him, sliding open the door and letting him inside. He brushed his head against her shins and meowed at her. She picked him up with a big sigh of relief. “We’ll have to lock the cat flap so you don’t run off again.”

Gigi and I looked at each other and started laughing again. “Why does shit like this keep happening?” I said.

“I don’t know, but let’s have that god damn drink.”

We took a couple shots to celebrate a job well done.

Back in the den, Gigi and I found ourselves making out on the couch. Jake was sitting next to us, purring, and the TV was on. The worries of earlier were a distant memory. Everything was back to normal. 

Until we heard the swinging of the cat flap in the door. Fuck, we never locked it, and he just got outside again. Gigi and I both got up instantly, ready to search for Jake a second time. He couldn’t have gotten far. We’ll just pick him up, put him back inside, and actually remember to lock the flap this time.

I was reaching for the door when we looked down at the flap and saw… Jake? He was inside? But we just heard him leave. Unless he actually came in just now, but then, when did he get out? He was just on the couch next to us. In fact… He was still on the couch. He hadn’t moved. But he was also by the door… Our eyes flickered back and forth between the two black cats in the den. Something wasn’t right. 

The Jake by the door started growling, hissing, puffing up its tail. The Jake on the couch jumped down with a growl of his own, and the two cats lunged at each other, screaming and clawing and biting. Not in a playful way, either. They scrambled all around the room, becoming one amorphous black shape.

I stomped on the ground and yelled, “HEY!” which seemed to scare them both, and they stopped fighting long enough for me to take one to the other room.

But now we had another problem. During the fight, we lost track of which cat was which, so now we had to figure out which one was Jake. Gigi looked at her cat, then came and looked at mine, then she looked at her cat again, and mine one more time. She couldn’t tell the difference. They were identical black cats. In order to figure out which was which, she said we should stay in different rooms and study their behavior. My cat was friendly, like Jake, brushing up against me, wanting to be pet. He was clearly trusting of people, and comfortable in this house. Gigi’s cat was skittish and defensive, and was trying to escape. Confident we found Jake, we shooed Gigi’s cat out through the door in the den, and then blocked the cat flap so there would be no more intrusions or escapades for the night.

“Do you smell that?” I asked. It hit me out of nowhere, the most god-awful smell I’d ever smelled. It stunk like death. “What is that?”

“I think it’s from them fighting,” Gigi said. “Cats release pheromones when they’re in danger. This must be what it smells like.”

“It’s disgusting. Let’s go to the living room.” I couldn’t stand to be in there any longer. It was evoking the same dread I felt when the animal was staring at me, and I wanted to leave that far behind. Thankfully, Gigi agreed, and we grabbed Jake and took him to the living room where we continued watching TV. 

It was getting late now. Gigi and I were still in the living room. That feeling of being watched was creeping back. I tried to focus on watching TV, but it was hard to ignore. Out here in the living room, the walls are made entirely of windows, but at night, when it’s dark out, the windows turn into mirrors. You can’t see out, but whatever is out can see in. 

Dread opened its eyes. 

The animal was back, I could feel it. It was standing right outside, staring at me, I knew it was; the feeling was unmistakable. I couldn’t see it, but it was right there, just on the other side of the glass. So close that the window would fog up if it exhaled again… 

Something moved next to me. I flinched, but it was only Gigi getting up. 

“What happened?” She laughed at me.

“I’m just feeling uneasy. Do your grandparents not have curtains?” I asked.

She shook her head. “You have that feeling again?” 

I nodded.

“Well, I’m gonna go take a shower. Maybe go in the guest room and sit on your phone while I’m gone?” It was a good idea, there was only one window in there, and it had a curtain. So as Gigi went to the master suite to shower, I went the opposite way. 

I never got to the guest room, though, as on the way there, I walked past the library. The Peacemaker was still out on the desk, next to the ‘Yee Naaldlooshii’ book. Something compelled me, so I opened the book back up to the unsettling picture I saw earlier. I felt a cold breeze, like dread breathing down my neck. I turned the page. The English contents talked about the abilities of the skinwalker. They are tricksters; cunning, and manipulative. Not only are they shapeshifters, but witches, also, and immortal; thrice cursed. Their magic can bewitch the heart, sending their prey into a state of hopeless dread, or a false sense of safety; like a siren’s song…

The water to the shower turned on, but then right after, Gigi walked out of the room.

“Hey, will you do me a huge favor?” She asked. “Will you get me a towel?” 

I set the book down on the desk. “Where are they?”

“... in the den.”

“What? That’s right next to you; just get one.”

“Please? It smells so gross, I don’t want to go in there.”

I stood my ground, “Just plug your nose. I believe in you.” She scrunched up her face into a cute, jokingly angry expression, and walked off. I giggled at that. She was adorable. I looked back down at the desk, and this time, my attention was drawn to the revolver. It was heavier than I thought it would be. I checked the rounds; all six were loaded. I raised it up, and aimed it at myself in the mirror.

“Feeling lucky?” I asked myself.

Then I heard Gigi call out from the shower, “Hey.”

“What’s up?” I shouted back.

In a sultry voice, she said “Come join me.” 

She didn’t have to tell me twice. Even in her grandparents’ shower, I wouldn’t say no. I set the gun down on the desk, and exited the library, crossed the hall, and walked into the master suite. The shower room was through the bedroom and to the right, opposite the den. I was just making my way around the corner—I could see Gigi’s leg behind a jutting wall, water dripping down the little blue shower tiles—when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

It was a text from Gigi.

‘Wait’ it said. It caught me completely off guard. I glanced back at Gigi’s leg in the shower. I was about to say something to her when I got another text.

‘Don’t go in there.’

What the hell? Did she have her phone in the shower? Why was she texting me, when we were just speaking to each other? Why did she say “there”, and not “here”? I was so confused; it felt like a puzzle, and I suck at puzzles. 

Then it clicked. Gigi had never gone back to the shower room. She was still in the den getting a towel. I didn’t know who I saw in the shower, but it sure as fuck wasn’t Gigi. 

Dread wrapped its arms around me.

The voice called out again, “Are you coming, babe?” and my breath caught in my throat. It was Gigi’s voice. Like, exactly; no doubt about it. It was all too confusing. I didn’t know what to believe.

Dread held me tight.

“I just have to get something real quick.” It was the first excuse I could think of. I backed up a few steps. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the door to the den crack open. I was frozen in fear, waiting to see what came out. The trembling was back. Finally, and with caution, Gigi peeked her head out. She was terrified; her skin colorless, and her eyes wide. My phone vibrated again. Gigi held up her phone to show that the text was from her.

‘Get to the car. I’m going out the porch.’

I took a deep breath and started backing up out of the bedroom. I just needed to make it to the front door. The car was right outside, and we’d be on the way. I inched away as quietly as I could, not daring to move too fast. You don’t run from a predator. I’d finally made it out of the bedroom. Just around the corner and through the living room, and I’d be at the front door.

I heard that thing call out from the shower again in a sweet, sing-song voice, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Dread kissed me on the lips.

I gulped, and felt sweat drip down my brow. I had to pick up the pace, or I’d never make it out of here. My teeth were chattering in my skull. I was halfway across the living room floor when I heard wet footsteps coming out of the shower. I glanced behind me. The door was still ten feet away. Wet footsteps came closer, and closer. A shadow stretched across the tiles as it came into the doorway of the bedroom, and I prepared to meet this monstrosity.

But when it turned the corner, my heart stopped in my chest. It looked just like Gigi. Same curly, black hair, same brown eyes, same face, same body, same freckled skin. I couldn’t tell the difference. The sight of her standing there, naked, dripping wet, forced me to rethink everything. Did I just make it all up in my head? Do I really believe in skinwalkers? Surely, this is my girlfriend, and this whole night has been some delusion. It had to be. The alternative is downright mad.

She put her hands on her hips. “Why are you running away from me?” She asked, scrunching up her face into that cute, jokingly angry expression she did. 

Dread closed its eyes. 

This was Gigi. Every doubt I had washed away. Even if you could imitate every freckle and curve, mimic expression down to the tiniest detail, you couldn’t fake personality, not like this. My guard was down; I was about to join my girlfriend in the shower, when the front door opened behind me. It was Gigi. Her jaw dropped when she saw herself, naked, standing across the room.

“We need to get out of here right now,” she whispered to me, leaning out the front door.

“Babe, what is that thing?” Gigi asked, trying to cover her naked body.

I looked at one, and then the other, and then back again. Identical. Both terrified of the other. I didn’t know what to do. Behind me, across the hall, was the library. The Peacemaker should still be on the desk, fully loaded. I turned around and booked it as fast as I could. Both Gigis ran after me, but I was able to get the gun, cock the hammer, and have it pointed through the door at them before either got too close.

“Shoot her, babe!” The wet one said.

“No, I’m Gigi; I’m your girlfriend!” The dry one protested. “She was gonna lure you into the shower and kill you!”

“She’s a skinwalker!” The wet one proclaimed, “They’re liars, babe, don’t listen to her. She was trying to lure you away from me! What do you think she was gonna do once she got you outside?”

I didn’t know who to believe. I pointed the gun at the dry one.

“No! Wait!” Dry Gigi pulled her phone out. “I was texting you. You have my number saved. This is proof. Now shoot her!”

“She stole my phone while I was in the shower! It doesn’t prove anything! Please don’t listen to her!”

Dry Gigi sighed, not knowing what to say to convince me. “Listen, if you shoot me, I’m gonna die. It’s not enough to kill a skinwalker, but it will kill me. I only ask, once you see that I’m dead, that you shoot her too and run away while you have the chance.”

Surprisingly, the dread was absent, but I did feel an odd sense of safety. The monster was feeding me comfort now, disarming me. I tried to think.

I pointed my gun at the wet one. “Where did we meet?”

“School,” she said without hesitation. 

“That’s too easy!” The dry one protested. “She could’ve known that through conversations we’ve had!”

I pointed my gun at her next. “Whose class did we meet in?”

“We had two together: Mr. Dale, and Mrs. Brody.” The dry one was confident. I pointed my gun back at the wet one.

“She’s a witch; she can read your mind.”

“That’s not true!” The dry one protested. “Skinwalkers can’t read your mind; all they can do is deceive you.”

Two sets of identical brown eyes stared at me, pleading with me. The comfort being exerted on me made it hard to think clearly. I had to go with my gut. The gun was pointed at the wet one. I took a breath, and raised my finger to the trigger, but as soon as I touched metal, the Wet One darted back into the master suite. 

Not wasting any time, Gigi grabbed my hand, and yanked me toward the front door. “Come on, let’s go!” She yelled. But as we were about to grab the handle, the Wet One flew out of the den. We ducked down and let it crash into the wooden door above us, then ran back to the library and shut the door.

We looked at each other, horrified and out of breath.

“What are we gonna do?” I whispered to Gigi. 

Wet footsteps slowly made their way closer to us, stopping just on the other side of the door. “Here, kitty, kitty.” It said, in a voice unrecognizable.

Dread licked its lips.

Gigi pointed to the other door on the back side of the library. “That goes to a bathroom, and then down the hall is the guest room. We can leave out the window.” 

We leaned up against the wall as we opened the door to our exit, peeking through the crack before moving forward. Once we cleared the bathroom, we had to go through another door to the hallway. I aimed my gun out the crack as Gigi slowly opened it. All clear. I went first into the hallway, but as Gigi came behind me, the door creaked slightly. We both froze, listening. Wet footsteps. 

A shadow crept up from behind the corner ahead.

Dread drew its breath.

I dodged left into the guest room and hid behind the door. Gigi went right into the laundry room. I looked over at the window. There it was; the escape. I was so close to it. But I couldn’t leave without Gigi. I had to get to the laundry room. The creature came walking down the hallway. My gun was pointed at the door, as steady as a trembling hand could aim. One step, two steps, three steps came down the hallway, but never seemed to pass. 

Dread bared its fangs.

With each step, my chest beat harder and harder. I put a hand over my mouth to quiet my breathing.

Finally, the footsteps passed me by, walking down the hall toward the library. Once it was several paces away, I silently peeked out the door. The creature didn’t look like Gigi anymore. It had lighter hair, and shorter, and pale skin. With its back to me, I quietly shuffled across the hall into the laundry room. It didn’t seem to hear me. 

The lights were off in the laundry room; I had to use my phone to look around. There was no sign of Gigi. Where had she gone? There must be another way out of here. I looked in the closet, and sure enough, there was a door leading to the living room.

I was collecting my nerves, gearing up to follow her out the door, when I heard another voice. Familiar, but not Gigi’s this time. It took me a second, but then I realized. 

It was my voice. Coming from a different room.

“Gigi?” It spoke in a loud whisper, a perfect imitation. “I saw it go into the guest room; let’s make a break for the car.”

Dread sunk its teeth in me.

Footsteps came from the master suite. It was Gigi. I bolted out into the living room to stop her, but the monster was already there, dressed as me, waiting in the trap. As Gigi came around the corner, I aimed my gun at the other me. 

“STOP!” I cried out.

The creature turned to face me, smiling, taunting. I was looking into my own eyes. It had my face, my body, my expression down to the tiniest detail.

Dread opened its mouth wide. 

Was I still me? Could I be, if something else was too? If no one could tell the difference, if I couldn’t tell the difference, was I ever really me?

The monster cried out in my voice “STOP LOOKING AT ME!” 

Dread swallowed me whole.

I was paralyzed. My vision narrowed until all I saw was black. I fell back to the floor, dropping the gun. I couldn’t even crawl away as it walked up to me. Only, as it approached me, it became Gigi again. A light glowed behind her. She was the only thing I could see. She leaned over, and stretched out her hand. 

“I’m offering you peace,” she told me, “won’t you take it?” Her smile pierced through me. And just like that, the dread washed away again, and serenity took its place. Something in me changed. I finally understood. If I was going to die, I should feel at peace about it. The creature was offering me comfort. There’s bliss in accepting the lie. “Yes,” she assured me, “don’t fight anymore. You can rest now.” I let her take my hand. She lifted me up off the floor and looked at me. Those eyes. Her brown eyes. They welcomed me.

I felt myself on the brink of passing over to somewhere else. The feeling of bliss was overwhelming, all encompassing. But creeping up behind it, I felt an itch. A strong itch. Strong and deep. Down to the bone.

Then I heard the loudest sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

When my vision returned, Gigi was on the floor, screaming and writhing. There was a hole in her chest already rotting. Confused, ears ringing, I frantically looked around to see what happened. Standing by the front door was Gigi, trembling, white knuckles gripped around the Peacemaker, a thin flume of smoke billowing from the barrel.

The creature struggled in agony on the floor. Its skin turned to feathers, then to wool, then to fur. It stumbled to its feet, walking on all four paws that suddenly became hooves. Each time it turned into something recognizable, it changed again, almost shimmering. Antlers started to crown its head. In one last cry of pain, it broke through the glass of the kitchen door, and ran off into the darkness.

I thought I would feel relief, but as the creature disappeared, so did the peaceful serenity. It left me feeling hollow, save for the itch.

Gigi looked at me and started crying. I couldn’t cry. I had felt so much, so intensely, to be free of it now felt like its own death. I couldn’t feel relief, or joy, or fear, or pain. Just an itch.

“Am I dead?” I managed to ask.

Gigi shook her head, sobbing. I couldn’t understand why she was crying.

“It’s alright,” I said, “it won’t be coming back.” I was so drained, it was all I could think of to comfort her. “Let’s go home. We don’t have to be here anymore.”

She put her face in her hands and sobbed. “We can’t go home,” she said.

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“It marked you.”

It marked me? I looked down at my hand, the one that itched. It was turning dark, like I was frostbitten. My fingers felt rigid. I tried to curl them, but they stayed stiff. The itch was unbearable. I scratched it with my other hand, and to my horror, my rotten flesh peeled away, revealing, long, black talons.

There it was again.

Dread opened its eyes.

“Oh shit. What do we do?” I asked. It only made her cry harder. I inched toward her, but she backed away, terrified. “Gigi, what do we do?” 

She shook her head. I gulped. 

Dread drew its breath. 

“Cut it off.” The words just came out; I didn’t even think about them.

“What?”

“Get a knife and cut it off!” I demanded. “Before it spreads!”

Through tears, she cried “It’s not like that.”

It’s not like that. The words echoed off the glass walls and high ceilings. I fell back to the ground once more, knowing this desert would be my home forever. 

Dread lovingly embraced me.

My face felt different now. I looked at the window to see my reflection. My nose and mouth were turning into a beak. I tried to cry. I screamed for Gigi to run away, but I couldn’t make words. I squawked.

Dread.

Dread.

Dread.

It was all-consuming.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I wouldn’t end up like that horrid creature, doomed to roam the desert, immortal, thrice cursed.

“You know my name.” I tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. 

Dread laughed at me.

“Say my name,” I tried again.

Gigi steadied her breathing. I don’t know how, but I think she knew what I meant. She pointed the gun at me and pulled the trigger. My shoulder exploded. Bone fragments shot through me; the force knocked me across the floor. The pain was like nothing I’d ever known. Like my blood turned to acid and was melting through my tissue. Black smoke rose from the wound, already festering. 

Dread opened its mouth wide.

I screamed.

We’d become one. 

I was crawling towards Gigi, snarling at her, baring my teeth. She stepped away, horrified. I almost felt ashamed, but the dread wouldn’t let me. 

I was its puppet.

Dread wore my skin.

Gigi shot again, this time in my leg. The bone breaking was excruciating, but it stopped me from crawling. I layed there screaming, blood leaking out of me as my body tried to transform.

“Say my name!” I screamed at Gigi, hoping she’d understand. She raised the gun again.

“Patrick.” I heard her say.

I never felt the third shot. 

Dread was all that remained.

I had been thinking about picking up a part-time job for a while now. The semester was over and I got a bunch of free time on my hands. Might as well make a bit of cash in the meantime. And so my search on Linkedin began. I was looking for something simple and stress-free. Preferably something I could do with minimal effort whilst staring at my phone to pass the time. I spent hours browsing through the sea of options. The majority of what I found were graphic design commissions, tutoring, and waiting tables, which I either lacked the skills for or just found unappealing. Just when I was about to give up, I stumbled onto a post, requesting for a babysitter. The post was vague, only including an address and a phone number. Typically, I would have just scrolled past this post and not given it a second thought. But I immediately noticed that the address was conveniently close to where I live. I decided to at least find out more. The call was answered before the first ring could finish.

“For the last time, I don’t want to answer your stupid surveys!”

I could hear in the background a chaotic symphony of the TV, the sound of a vacuum, and a child crying. 

“Um…I’m calling about the babysitting job?”

I feared for what I might be getting myself into. I had no prior experience taking care of children and it sounded like I was throwing myself into the deep end of the pool with this one.

“Oh? OH! Yes, the babysitting job. Yes, thank god. It’s been a nightmare trying to find one. Look. I’m running late and I’ve got about a hundred errands I need to get to. If you can get here in half an hour and look after my kids for three to four hours, five max, I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

A part of me felt bad for how desperate this man sounded. The other part of me was worried about the shitstorm I might have to weather for the next five hours. The other other part of me kept replaying the words “I’ll pay you whatever you want” in my head. 

“I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later I found myself in front of apartment 4H. The entire complex seemed old. Likely built in the '80s. Yet the red wallpaper, mahogany accents, and soft carpeting gave it the feel of a luxurious hotel. I could hear the same chaotic storm I had previously heard on the phone brewing inside. I felt hesitant but I already came all this way. I raised my hand up to knock, only for the door to fly open as I did.

“Oh. Hello. You're the babysitter, right?”

The man didn’t look like how I pictured him at all. He wore a clean navy-colored suit and had a tall, muscular build. He was mostly well put together besides his deep sunken eye bags, messy curly hair, and unevenly shaved stubble. Despite it all, he was actually quite handsome.

“Yep. That's me,” I confirmed.

“You’re a fast one. Caught me by surprise,” he chuckled. “Please, come in.”

I walked into the small apartment and followed him into the living room. There, I witnessed two small boys, who both looked to be about seven or eight, fighting over a small green figure of a toy soldier. The entire living room was littered with hundreds of these soldiers and tanks scattered haphazardly across the carpeted floor. I almost didn’t notice the little girl in a black dress on the couch. She sat motionless staring at the TV. MasterChef was playing. Junior.

“Hey guys. Settle down please,” the man ordered sternly.

The three children stopped their antics and simultaneously jerked their heads around to stare at me.

“Daddy is gonna be gone for a little while, alright? This nice lady here is…”

“Emily.”

“Emily is gonna look after you guys. While I'm gone she’s in charge. So be on your best behavior. I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

The children collectively gave a silent enthusiastic nod.

“Good.”

The man then turned to me.

“Emily, meet con…” the man caught himself mid-sentence.

“Silly me. I meant to say, meet Zelos, the one in the white shirt, and Martius, the one in red. They’re twins. And Limos, the girl.”

Strange names I thought. The three children waved their little hands at me as their names were called. I awkwardly waved back.

“Perfect. Bathroom is the door on the left,” he said as he gestured towards the connecting hallway with four doors. One on the left, two on the right, and one at the end of the hall. “And you can help yourself to anything in the fridge. Make yourself at home. Just…don’t go into the room at the end of the hall. That’s off limits.”

“Yeah, no problem,” I assured him.

“You might hear something inside and—"

A buzzing noise interrupted him as he frantically fished around his pocket, pulling out a phone.

“Shi-oot. I really need to get going.”

He took his wallet out and without taking his eyes off of his phone, handed me a thick wad of cash.

“Here. Order some takeout with this if they get peckish.”

Before I could think of asking questions the man disappeared out the door. I could respect an exhausted single father trying to make it through the day but he seemed awfully irresponsible leaving me, a stranger, with his kids.

I turned back to see the three children, staring at me with blank expressions.

“Looks like I’m outnumbered, guys,” I joked, trying to break the ice.

They remained silent. The girl, Limos, lost quickly interest and turned her attention back to the TV. The boys craned their necks upwards, studying me. Somehow, I felt as if they were looking down on me.

“So… how’s the battle going fellas?” I asked, attempting again to rid the awkward tension.

“Would you like to play?” Martius asked.

“NO!” Zelos began to protest.

“Father said she was in charge.”

Zelos glared at Martius, furious for even suggesting the idea that someone join their campaign. I thought it best that I remained neutral. After all, I was trying to take the next few hours as easy as possible.

“No it's alright. Thanks though. You guys carry on.”

I stood straight, furrowed my brows, and gave them a salute, doing my best impression of a soldier.

“Very well,” said Martius, as he saluted back.

I joined Limos on the couch, who upon a closer look, appeared thin and skinny. It was to the point where I was genuinely concerned that she had some kind of illness. Perhaps anorexia.

The small girl piped up with a soft quiet voice. “Can we eat? I’m hungry.”

“Of course we can sweetheart,” I told her, trying my best to show how concerned I was for her. Pizza ought to do some good.

We waited for the delivery to arrive. During that time the boys played on their battlefield and Limos lazed on the couch next to me. Her only presence being that of sharp breaths.

I found it rather cute that the boys weren’t smashing the tanks together and throwing toy soldiers at each other like I expected children their age would do. They looked as if they were competent generals of the great apartment war, and had to send their loyal men to die on no-man’s carpet. They paced around the battlefield, stroking their chin, careful not to step on any of the small soldiers.

I looked over at the little girl sitting next to me. She stared wide-eyed at the TV, mesmerized by the food.

Although pizza would be arriving soon, I thought I might as well rummage around in the fridge and cupboard for some snacks. I got up from the couch which alerted Zelos.

“Where do you think you're going?” he questioned.

“Just gonna see if you guys have any snacks.”

“They’re not for you, stranger. You think you can just come here and take what you want?”

I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t conduct myself with the maturity of my age. But something about this disrespectful little brat got on my nerves.

“I recall your dad saying I was in charge and to ‘help myself’ to whatever I please,” I mocked, putting on a posh accent, mimicking that of royalty.

“Bitch.”

I was appalled to hear such a young boy be so vulgar and rude. I wanted to discipline him. I wanted to let him know that he was to respect me. That he should listen to what I say and learn to quickly apologize. In hindsight, this didn’t feel like me at all. I came here to make a quick buck. Why did I care so much about enduring insults from children? At that moment, I very much did care.

I straightened my posture to look as imposing as possible and stomped my foot down as hard as I could, just to try and make him flinch. As I did, I felt a sharp sting of pain shoot up my leg. I fell back onto the couch and lifted my foot onto my knees to inspect what had caused the pain. It was a toy soldier’s bayonet. The soldier’s arm was half torn off, only attached to the torso by a thin strip of green plastic. I slowly pulled the sharp plastic piece out of my foot, leaving a small stain of blood on my socks.

“Shit,” I blurted aloud.

I looked up to see Zelos and Martius staring at me. Zelos, as expected, looked livid that I had broken his toy. Martius on the other hand, looked at the broken soldier that now laid on the carpet. The tip of its bayonet now covered in a dark tint of red. He had a mournful look on his face.

“Guys…I’m so sorry,” I apologized, the anger I had felt quickly fading away. “I’ll buy you a new one I promise.”

“THAT WASN’T HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO GO!” Zelos exploded.

“Zelos please. I’ll replace it for you the next time I come over, okay?”

“He can’t be replaced,” said Martius, as he got on his knees and gingerly picked up the soldier.

He brought it to a small jar that rested on the coffee table. The jar was half filled with green plastic soldier parts. A loose collection of hands, feets, heads, and torsos. Martius carefully sets the soldier he held onto the top of the pile.

“You guys really shouldn’t just leave these toys on the floor like this.”

Martius shot a furious glare at me in response to that comment.

“I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE IN CHARGE! IT’S NOT FAIR!”

Then I did something I regretted. I giggled. I found it amusing how they were so immersed in this game of theirs. I tried to stop myself, especially when I saw how the twins were fuming.

“I’m…I’m really sorry guys. I’ll make it up to you I promise.”

“You don’t understand. This is not a mistake easily amendable. But perhaps…” Martius stopped, turning to Zelos.

The two of them seemed to have a silent conversation between themselves. Zelos, with tears welling up in his eyes, gave Martius a solemn nod.

Zelos, reaching into his pockets, took out another toy soldier. He handed it to Martius, who in turn, presented it to me. This one was different. It was a bit shorter and had a smaller build. It was a woman, in the same soldier uniform and equipped with identical gear as the rest. This was my first close look at these toys and I was impressed with how detailed they were. Down to the intricate facial features.

I was puzzled by the realization. I was sure I was just overthinking it but the small green face that stared back at me, was mine.

Before I could examine it further, Martius quickly snatched the toy from my grasp. He marched back to the center of the carpet battlefield, with my soldier in hand.

“Perhaps we can make you understand,” said Martius, as he places the soldier down on the carpet.

“Wait. Give that…” I started to say.

I never got to finish my sentence. I still don’t know which of the assaults on my senses alerted me first. Was it the awful smell of sulfuric odor, the metallic scent of blood, and the acrid tang of gunpowder? Was it the thick gritty taste of ash and smoke that lingered in the air? Was it the chorus of unintelligible screams, and the staccato of machine-gun fire that flew overhead? Regardless, what caught my attention the most, was the soldier in front me. He sat slumped into the mud and filth of the trench we were in. I knew he was dead by just the look on his face. His eyes, barely open, lazily staring at me. His jaws hung slack with a river of blood trickling from the edge of his lips. As for the rest of his body, it had been contorted to a mangled mass of flesh. His arms, attached to the torso by only a strip of sinew. His hands still held on tightly to his weapon. A rifle with a fixed bayonet.

Just a moment ago I had been sitting on a couch in a living room in a small apartment downtown. I blinked and everything changed so abruptly, I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what had happened to me.

The mud I sat on was softened by either rainwater or blood. It was cold and the moisture seeped into the uniform I now wore. Somehow sinking deeper into the ground gave me the slightest notion of comfort. Perhaps no one would notice me, I thought. I could pass for another corpse amongst the hundreds. And so I stayed quiet, holding myself back from screaming or crying. I tried remaining still but I couldn’t stop my heart from furiously beating or my teeth from chattering. I plugged my ears with my filthy fingers, covered in dirt and soot, desperately attempting to shield myself from the horrible blood-curdling screeches that could barely be said to have come from a human. I breathed small gasps of ashy air to avoid having to smell the rot. I took one last look at the dead soldier before shutting my eyes. I would’ve kept them shut too if I didn’t catch a flicker of movement.

He blinked.

My eyes shot wide open, staring intently into the soldier’s soulless eyes. His eyelids began to flutter. His fingers twitched. His ankles shifted ever so slightly. Then without warning, his upper body heaved forward, lunging towards me. Its lower body didn’t follow and his spine immediately disconnected with a sickening crack. He landed at my feet, face-planting in the mud, and returned to being inanimate. I almost let out a yelp but it got caught in my dry throat. I thought that maybe some explosive shockwave had simply knocked him over.

Suddenly, his arm, attached only by a chipped bone and strips of exposed muscles flung upwards, grabbing me by my leg. I screamed but only a raspy gasp resonated as my vocal cords strained and burned. I kicked at the corpse but it refused to release its grasp. With surprising force and speed, it yanked itself towards me so that its torso landed on my knees. I felt the soft tissues of its dismembered half resting on me. Its body slumped onto mine and its face pressed right against my ears as I turned away, refusing to look at the monster. Surely I was in hell.

Then, softly, a whisper resonated deeply over the deafening sounds of the battle. The soldier croaked into my ears with a plea.

“I – I beg of you. Release…the pale rider.”

A bell rang in the distance. Like a wave, the sound washed over me and in an instant, everything fell away. The cries, the rot, the filth, and the corpse. All gone. The familiar sound of the TV and the fresh breathable air reassured me that I was back in the apartment, sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. It was such a surreal and abrupt shift of scenery I could’ve almost convinced myself it had all been in my head. That was until I saw Martius stood where he had been previously, holding a small green soldier in his hand. He looked at me, no longer with the look of anger, but of pity. I flinched as he began making his way towards me, careful of where he stepped. He crouched down next to me, took my hand, and placed the figure onto my palm. I didn’t need to look to know that it was my figure he had given me.

“Take better care of this one,” he said to me as if I was a child in his eyes.

The familiar note of the bell that had pulled me back to the apartment rang once again. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts and realize that it was the doorbell I had been hearing. Someone was at the door.

“Pizza time!” Limos shouted excitedly.

Slowly, I pushed myself off the floor, found my balance, then began making my way towards the door. I’m sure many of you, in my shoes, would’ve taken this opportunity to escape. Likewise, I had made the decision that I was going to run fast and far the moment I opened the door, leaving this accursed apartment of demonic children. No amount of money could be worth what I had just experienced. I found myself in a small sprint as I neared the door. My hand shot out towards the handle and I forcefully yanked the door open, pulling myself into the hallway.

I was greeted by the fragrance of pizza and nothing. Utter darkness. The hallway I had entered from earlier, now void of any light besides the faint glow coming from the apartment. All that seemed to exist within the hallway was me and the box of pizza on the floor. Domino’s.

I stood there, contemplating on what to do. Perhaps the electricity had just simply gone out. That was fine, because I recalled where the stairwell was located. I could still escape.

“Are you going to share?”

Limos’s voice from behind startled me. I leapt away from her and the apartment, deeper into the hall. She was standing at the threshold of the apartment. Between the two of us, the pizza box sat patiently.

“Please,” she pleaded. “I’m so hungry.”

The look on her face read of desperation. The black dress she wore appeared to hang loosely on her body. I was sure it fitted her earlier but now it seemed a few sizes too big.

“Please,” she begged again. “The pale one is close.”

There it was again. The mention of this pale thing. Upon hearing this ominous omen, I turned around and blindly sprinted in the opposite direction down the hall where I remembered the stairs to be. It had to be there. My foot stamped and beat against the floor as I bolted in a straight line. In the pitch black, it was impossible to see how close I was. I fully expected to eventually run into a wall. No obstacle ever came.

“It’s not something you can outrun,” Limos spoke again, the volume of her voice noticeably hadn’t faltered with the distance I had traveled.

I stopped in my tracks. I turned to face her thinking she had followed me. She hadn’t. She still remained at the threshold of the apartment doorway. The pizza box still laid on the floor between us. And I stood where I had been at the start. A mere few feet out the apartment.

“It’s not the fastest, but it’ll catch you,” she spoke as I struggled to catch my breath. “It always does.”

“What is this?” I asked her, demanding the child for an answer.

I was at a loss. Everything certain that I built my understanding of the world on had crumbled away. What was left was anger and fear. Like a small mouse cornered and out of options.

“It’s pizza.”

“WHAT IS THIS PLACE!” I yelled back, finally losing my temper. I never thought myself capable of hurting a child but at that moment, I was prepared to do so.

“Domino.”

“ENOUGH!” I screamed as I lunged at her, attempting to do something horrible.

I reached out to grab her by the collar of her dress. She didn’t step backwards or attempt to dodge, yet somehow she shifted ever so slightly out of my reach. I fell flat on my face onto the cold solid floor, now noticing that I wasn’t even sure what I had been standing on. I felt pain, followed by blood trickling out of my nose. It most certainly wasn’t the soft carpeted floor I recalled when first arriving at this apartment complex.

As I laid prone on the floor, I stared up at the frail girl who now stood above me with an imposing presence. Behind her, the light of the apartment in stark contrast to the darkness made her figure a dark silhouette. I felt defeated. I didn’t even try to stand back up. I may not have been sure where I was but the ground felt solid and tangible. It was something I could be certain of and that brought me comfort.

“What is this?” I asked again, this time my question came out quivering.

Limos crouched down, inspecting me as if I was a small insect she found crawling across the floor.

“The path,” she answered.

“What does that mean?”

“Are you hungry?” she asked me, ignoring my question.

Her concern sounded genuine. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t since food was the least of my worries, but as soon as she asked, it was as if she reminded my body of the idea of hunger. I felt starved. I felt hunger like I had never felt before. My stomach curled and cramped within me, screaming for sustenance. The aroma of the pizza now overpowering all my senses. I could almost taste the fragrance in the air itself.

“Y-Yes.”

“Are you strong?” she asked again.

“Y-” I hesitated to answer. How could I be strong in the state I was in?

“Do you want to live?”

“Yes. Yes please. Please let me live,” I begged her. “Please help me.”

“I want to live too,” she said as she began stepping towards the pizza box.

She gently lifted the cardboard box open and the smell of the bubbling cheese, tomato sauce, and pepperoni had me salivating. I immediately mustered up my last bit of strength and brought myself to my hands and knees. I crawled in the direction of the beckoning food, yet quickly realized I was making no progress. As if I was on a hamster wheel, I simply could not move any closer. I started to crawl faster, with more desperation, and before long, I had gotten onto my feet. I stumbled toward the little girl, who was now hunched over the pizza box on the floor with her back facing me. My stumbling sped up until I jogged, then ran, then to a full-on sprint. No matter how fast or slow I went, I made no progress. They were right there in front of me. I was so close yet so infinitely far. All I could do was move in place, watching Limos scarf down each slice before me. As she gleefully ate, my only thought was the dwindling food left for me when I eventually reached the pizza box. She was going to eat it all for herself and leave me with nothing. I couldn’t let that happen. One after another, the slices of pizza disappeared down her gluttonous gullet. I remember begging her to help me. To toss me just a bit. To save some for me. She never bothered to turn around. I yelled and screamed but eventually, I grew too tired to do so.

Finally, it came down to the final slice. She reached for it like she did the others. As I felt the last bit of my strength drain, in desperation, I tried leaping towards her one last time. I fully assumed that I would just land on my face as I did before, no closer to salvation. Yet I held out hope. I think that was what did it. Desperate, violent hope. One last act of defiance against the inevitable death. This time, I felt myself propel forward and for the first time, Limos rapidly approached me. I slammed into the small frail child, landing on top of her with incredible force. She yelped in surprise and pain as I felt her brittle right arm snap under the weight of my knee. In that moment, not only did I dismiss the injury I caused her, I felt retribution as it was revenge for watching me suffer. I quickly turned my attention to the box of pizza which to my horror, was now empty.

Furious, I turned back to Limos, who I now see in her right hand, despite the pain of her fractured arm, still held onto the last slice. Without hesitation, I ripped it out of her hand and forcefully shoved it down my throat. I expected it to taste like the most savory, delicious bite and yet, as my taste buds familiarized itself with the gooey slop, I was met with the disgusting taste of rot. Involuntarily, I threw up what little was left in my stomach. Black viscous liquid poured out of my mouth along with the half-chewed pizza. It appeared molded and putrid, as if it had been neglected for months. Dark moldy spots of purple and green hue festered on the crust. Small specks of pale maggots writhed in the spoiled cheese and toppings. I spat onto the floor, attempting to wash the terrible taste that lingered.

“NO!” Limos shrieked in horror as I keeled over the pile of vomit in excruciating pain.

With my knee still holding her down by her broken arm, she began to struggle with a surprising spur of strength. I watched as she forcefully tugged on her fractured arm, steam exuding from her elbow. Gradually, her arm stretched and strained as she pulled. I was too weak and terrified to stop her. With a wail of pain and triumph, she slid the bone of her forearm out of her arm as if it were a sleeve made of muscle and skin. The motion was so smooth it was like pulling the bone out of a tenderized rib.

Upon freeing herself, she pushed me aside and with her one arm, scooped the black vile mass into her mouth. The sound of animalistic slurping and feral grunts was all I heard. No traces of humanity were left. As she devoured the filth with reckless abandon my attention turned to the steaming flesh that she left behind. I feared a part of me knew that I was not far from descending to her level of madness.

It reminded me of the burning smell of human flesh from the trenches. I reached out to it. Piping hot to the touch. I grabbed onto the wrist and with a revolting squish, the skin and muscle fiber fell apart like pulled pork.

Just then, a shadow casted over me. A figure loomed before me, covering the light of the apartment.

“Pathetic,” Zelos taunted with a disgusted look of pity on his face.

I could only imagine what he saw of me. Then he slammed the door shut leaving me shrouded in true darkness.

I wasn’t sure how long I was there for. The awful sound of Limos’s savagery quickly died down as she finished what was left of my excretion. After that, it was hard to tell how much time had passed. I stayed grovelling on the ground, my hand still held on the warm moist lump of the girl’s discarded flesh. My hunger grew ever stronger but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. To stoop so low. To even think of consuming my own. It was abominable. I thought it better to be starved to death. To finally be free of this nightmare. I don’t expect anyone to understand or condone my actions, but know that I was pushed to the brink of my sanity. A deep primal urge within me wanted so desperately to live. To survive at any cost. So reluctantly, I held the mass of flesh and slowly brought it to my mouth, thankful that at the very least I could not see what I had to do. As I choked on the gamey meat through sobs, I heard a shuffling sound approach me. I couldn’t see her but I knew Limos was standing right next to me while I chewed on her member.

“You are strong,” she whispered.

Within the void, a blinding light washed over us. I squinted my eyes and in an instant, just as seamless as it had been in the trench, I found myself back in the apartment. Except this time it was quiet and empty. The TV had been turned off and the floor was cleared of the toys. The insatiable hunger I had felt mere moments ago faded away. The only thing left of the horrors in the abyss was the vile aftertaste that continued to linger. It quickly came to my realization that I appeared to be alone in the apartment. I got up and did a quick scan of the living room and the kitchen to confirm it. I was alone. Perhaps they had retreated back into their rooms. I looked down the hall to the bedrooms, which now appeared more threatening and ominous. As if some new terror lurks behind each door.

Once again, I found myself with an opportunity to escape. This time however, I feared using the front door and ending up back in that terrible purgatory. The next method of exit would be out the window. I could still hear the sound of bustling pedestrians and traffic outside. It calmed me knowing that I was still somewhat connected with the outside world. I was four stories up with no safe way of getting down, but at that point I was content with simply risking the fall. To my disappointment, the window refused to budge when I tried lifting it open. It was an old wooden framed window with no locks on it. Through some supernatural means, it was simply immovable. On the verge of a breakdown, I grabbed the nearest solid object to me which was a desk lamp and proceeded to smash it into the glass as hard as I could. I couldn’t even leave a scratch. Feeling at a loss, I reluctantly tried the door once again. Slowly and carefully, I opened the door, making sure that I kept myself within the confines of the apartment.

To my relief, I was no longer greeted by the abyss. The hallway had returned to its original state. Hesitantly, I stepped out into the hallway. As I crossed the threshold out the apartment, a faint cry emanated from behind me. It was the sound of an infant bawling. I flinched as the crying broke the eerie silence. It's odd that the sound of a helpless baby crying could invoke such fear within me but nevertheless I sprinted out of the apartment and ran for the stairwell. My heart pumped furiously as I sprinted as fast as I could away from the danger, taking two or three steps at a time. As I reached the ground level, I bursted out the stairwell door into the lobby. I found myself standing at the threshold of apartment 4H. The baby’s crying now intensified. I turned back expecting the stairwell I had just exited to still be behind me. The same hallway on the fourth floor greeted me. After being led on with the hopes of escape only to be denied it once again, I fell onto my knees and wept. For the next few hours I cried along with the infant.

In the lasting moments I stayed idle, the sunlight from the window never seemed to dim. The father, the man who lured me into this abstract non-euclidian prison, has yet to return, and I doubted he ever will. Eventually, my crying ceased as my eyes ran dry. The infant however, continued its tantrum alone. Its lungs never tired or faltered. Hours, perhaps even days go by. In the time I’ve attempted multiple times to escape. My phone had no signal or connection and any attempt to reach the outside world failed. I tried the stairwell again only to find myself back in the apartment every time. I went knocking on the neighboring apartment doors only to be met with silence. When I tried forcing my way in, to my surprise, none of the doors were locked. Only it seemed every apartment was apartment 4H. The elevator, no matter what floor I chose, always opened to apartment 4H.

I never grew hungry or thirsty. I never tired or slept. I just existed in this static space where the sun never waned, the scenery unchanged, and the crying endless. I felt the essence of my soul dim. I had fought with all I had and committed heinous atrocities for the right to live. Now as I sat on the kitchen floor, feeling the sharp cool edge of a kitchen knife brush gently against my neck, I wondered why I had fought so hard. It’s okay to give up now, right? I’ve tried everything. I’m at the end of the road. With my eyes shut, my grip on the blade’s handle tightened as I slowly pressed the sharp edge firmly against my throat. I applied pressure slowly, still fearing the last stretch of pain before I could finally rest.

“I’m scared,” a child’s voice piped up.

I froze, unable to even breathe. I hesitated to open my eyes. I could hear the child sniffling and whimpering in front of me. I had gotten so used to it, the sudden absence of the baby’s cries unnerved me.

“Can you stay with me?” they asked, in a high-pitched shrill voice. It was the voice of a little girl but it didn’t sound like Limos.

I still held the blade closely to my neck with my eyes shut tightly. It felt reassuring that I could end the torment anytime I wanted to. To finally hold my own life in my hand. It gave me a sense of courage. My eyelids loosened and my vision fluttered open. Expecting to see a small child, instead towering over me was an old woman. She was impossibly tall, to the point she had to hunch over to avoid the ceiling. She stood naked, covered only by her long unkempt gray hair. Her ashened skin, although saggy and wrinkled, were clean and eerily pale. It was like the first hint of snowfall on a solstice, where soft curved patches of snow layered atop another. I didn’t notice a hint of blemish or imperfection. Her face however was that of a child. Up to her neck her skin becomes smooth like porcelain. Youth was distilled on only her facial features. Buttoned nose, wide eyes, small pink lips, and rounded cheeks. She looked at me with tears welling up in her puppy eyes.

“Can you read to me?” she asked, in the same childish voice. It was uncanny to see the thing speak.

I remained silent, unsure of how to respond. She raised her bony hand and reached her thin fingers towards me.

“Don’t,” I hissed, turning the knife onto her.

She quickly retracted her hand and backed away, retreating to the far end of the kitchen. For a moment I felt relieved to see this creature feared me as much I feared it. The moment was short-lived as her brow tightened, her cheeks flushed and her mouth tensed. She looked like she was about to burst.

“Why? Why do you still resist? Why can’t you just stay with me? It won’t hurt. It won’t ever hurt again.”

“What are you?” I demanded.

She looked at me curiously. Her face softened, as if comprehending my question.

“I’m the last one,” she answered. “I’m what's left when everyone is gone.”

Her expression shifted back to sadness, and I watched as a single streak of tear ran down her cheek.

“It’s lonely,” she sniveled.

“I can’t stay.”

Through her watery eyes, she cracked a warm smile.

“You will. You always do.”

The way she said it didn’t sound like a threat.

“Is there a way to leave?” I asked, my eyes darting towards the open door to the hallway.

Her eyes followed mine out the door, then she looked back at me, shaking her head.

“What can I do then?”

“You can rest,” she said. “Finally.”

The sweetness in her tone made the idea sound rather comfortable.

“Or…” she hesitated. “Or you can put me to rest.”

“What happens if I do that?” I questioned, intrigued by an alternative choice.

“Then I’ll see you again, down the road.”

“So I can leave?”

“For now. You’ll be back soon enough.”

She reached towards me, handing me a card I hadn’t previously noticed. Cautiously, I held it by the corner and took it. It was a polaroid. The image is blurry and yellowed by time. The photograph depicted an extreme wide shot of a beautiful meadow. In the distance, four horses frolicked in the tall grass.

I looked back at her, wondering what she was trying to tell me. With a grin on her face she excitedly twirls her finger around, signaling for me to turn the photo. I flipped it over and saw that written on the back in beautiful cursive handwriting, was a poem.

“Read to me,” she said, as she made her way onto the couch in the living room.

She sat down, curling herself into the corner. She patted the cushion next to her, beckoning for me to join. I set the knife down on the kitchen counter and complied.

With a gentle tone, as if singing a lullaby, I began to read the poem aloud.

“Dawn heralded the coming of their steeds,

Each rider, a calamity of man’s sinful deeds.”

I glanced at her, to see her nodding in approval.

“Keep going.”

I continued onto the next line.

“First came conquest, who bolstered the pride of man,

The white messenger's taunt is where it all began.

Then war swiftly followed, with fiery hate in his heart,

The red knight's blade spilled blood, torn flesh apart.

Next crept famine, that consumed the very last bite,

The black witch's spell shrouded the world with blight.”

My voice cracks, as I was reminded of the corpse and the abyss. My mouth felt dry and a chill ran down my spine. I pressed on.

“Finally arrived death, as they all wept and grieved,

The pale lady's touch gently granted them reprieve.”

My speech faltered as the realization dawned on me.

“The pale rider,” I muttered under my breath. I turned to see her eyes closed and her expression softened. She breathed steadily, her chest heaving with each inhale.

Even though she was asleep, I proceeded to read the final line of the poem to myself.

“One after another the domino falls,

Until dusk whisks the horsemen back to their stalls.”

As I finished, I felt a tear fall across my face. A tremendous wave of relief washed over me. As if a heavy burden had finally been lifted. Like for the first time in my life, I could truly breathe.

“Thank you,” I told her as she slept. “But not today. I can endure it for a bit longer.”

Then I watch the folds and sags of her skin tighten. Her body shrunk before me. Her hair retracted back into their follicles. Until laying beside me, was an infant. I carefully picked her up and carried her down the hall to the final room at the end. As I did, I walked past the three other rooms, the doors to which now hung open. In the first door on the right, I saw Zelos and Martius, sleeping in a bunk bed. I peeked inside, shut the lights off and closed the door as quietly as I could.

I continued down the hall and in the second door on the right, I saw Limos shivering in a fetal position on her bed. I walked over and pulled a blanket over her. Instantly her body relaxed and her breathing calmed. Again, I turned the lights off and closed the door behind me.

Onto the final room at the end of hall. Carefully balancing the infant in one arm, I turned the doorknob and stepped through. This room was by far the largest and most empty. Only three things took up any space. A crib in the center of the room, a small cot tucked away in the corner, and a wooden rocking horse painted white.

On the horse, carved the phrase: Móros, who stole our pain 

I carefully set the child down in her crib and watched her nestle comfortably. Her breathing was gentle and rhythmic, with each exhale a delicate sigh escaped. She looked so fragile and serene, as if held in a moment untouched by time. The soft rays of the afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across her smooth, pale skin.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

The voice of a man came from behind me. It felt like a lifetime ago but it was still familiar.

“She is,” I replied, not taking my eyes off the child.

The man joined me at my side and the two of us shared a quiet moment adoring the child.

“This is as close as I can be to her,” he said, somberly. “And yet you choose to continue suffering?”

“It’s not always suffering. There are moments like these that make the pain worth it.”

“Perhaps. But you live as long as I have, experience the highest of highs and the lowest of low…I tire of this infinite stasis. I yearn for the day I shut my eyes for the last time.”

He spoke with no emotion. As heart wrenching as his words were, it was as if he’s said them before countless times. There was only one question on my mind. After encountering conquest, war, famine, and now death, I wondered just who this man who claimed to be their father was.

“I know you’re thinking what kind of man I am to deserve this fate,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “It’s not a divine punishment to care for them. It’s a father’s duty after all. They are born of my sin. I may have fathered humanity’s ruin but to see my fellow man struggle and fight, refusing to let their next breath be their last…I am in awe of your resilience.”

I should have felt hatred towards the man. I should have held him responsible for the horrors I endured. Yet, without another word shared between us, I stepped away from the crib, and took my leave. I shut the door as I left, the last thing I saw being the man standing over his child, his fists clenched so tightly that beads of blood trickled down the creases of his hands. 

I walked out the apartment, descended down the stairwell, entered into the lobby and finally, I stepped out of the building onto the bustling sidewalk. If not for the polaroid tucked away in my pocket, I might have tried to convince myself that it was all a fever dream for the sake of my sanity. I took the photo out just to confirm it. 

I studied it for a moment, confused that the picture had now changed. In place of the four horses that ran across the horizon now stood four children. Two boys and two girls. They watched as before them, a lone man stood atop a corpse with a caved in skull with a bloodied stone in his hand. I flipped the polaroid over and as I had predicted, the poem had also been replaced. 

It now simply read: The folly of Cain

Something unsettling happened last night.

My friend had come over, and we played games late into the evening. When my mom asked if I wanted dinner, I wasn’t hungry, so I joked to my friend, "What has God made midnight for?" implying I could just eat then.

Later, I went to bed, only to wake up at exactly 3 a.m., gripped by an intense hunger despite having already eaten.

This scared me shitless.

I was hired fresh out of college at the ripe age of 22. I had gone to school hoping to become the next big thing; this generation’s Stephen King. Instead, my aspirations dwindled toward the end of college, hell I would’ve been happy to work a regular 9-5 writing job at that point. What happened? Well, the ideas I did have, came slowly and the ones I did have didn’t garner much attention. The few drafts I sent to publishers couldn’t hold them for a few chapters, let alone a whole novel.  The feedback was all the same, I was stuck on non-important details, and my description of events didn’t move the story forward, leaving the reader unengaged. The “signature style” I like using in my writing turned out to be too dry for a mainline audience. With no novel, job, or plan after college, I was reaching the bottom of the barrel, things were looking bleak. That is until I attended a last-minute job fair a month before graduation.

I was recruited by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the job title that was proposed to me was data entry. At the time I couldn’t help but scoff at the idea that the four long years I spent on my undergrad qualified me to fill out Excel spreadsheets, but I couldn’t be more wrong. My role, or “specialization” as they like to call it, turned out to be more defined as audio and video interpretation.  For the first 6 years of my career, I worked under a senior video and sound engineer (VSE) who helped train me in the process of transcribing video/audio evidence. The transcription work at that level was mainly ransom demands for wealthy families and petty crime footage. Would you be surprised that most ransom demands come from within the family of the victim? As for the petty crimes, they were mostly solved by the time we made our input.

After 6 years, I moved on to video evidence from cold case files from the '80s-'90s, transcribing and documenting anything that may have been missed by the original detectives. This was easily the most satisfying work I have done in my career. My department managed to shine a light on evidence never before analyzed in multiple cases. Hell, we managed to drum up new leads on about thirty-five cold cases and help close two, one of which had aired on “Unsolved Mysteries”! I am a sucker for those types of shows.

The success I found in that department rocketed me into multiple opportunities. Ultimately, I began leading task forces specializing in video and sound analysis. My department had partnered with Homeland Security, focusing on potential domestic threats. I led groups that analyzed cartel and terrorist footage, and the work we did saved countless lives. With this level of work, security, and secrecy were of the utmost importance. My security clearance had shot up significantly, which helped me into my next role which I currently am at.

About 5 years ago, I was approached internally by an unnamed group within the FBI, hoping to recruit me in the hopes I would lead a task force to tackle unexplained or unnatural video/audio evidence. This group was later named Unexplained Phenomenon Specialized Task Force, or UPSTF (The FBI - or any government agency for that matter - is notorious for bad names).  I accepted and have been the lead director for UPSTF for the past 5 years. Although the initial work we did seemed fruitful, we eventually hit many roadblocks with the submitted evidence. We had little success explaining anything we managed to get our hands on.

Eventually, with no results, the Bureau had a hard time justifying our budget. Our once thriving task force dwindled to just about five or so people over the past two years. The work we do now is more of a documentation process and in all actuality, we have reverted to what I was doing when I first started, transcribing video and audio evidence. Believe it or not, the FBI largely lives in the past, and archaic systems still thrive. All transcriptions are typed out, printed, placed in a manilla folder, manilla folder then placed in a box, a strip of painter's tape slapped on the outside of the box, named based on the case file, dated, and thrown onto a shelf. The official name for this process is known as “Transcribing Documentation Through Text Narrative Based on Audio and Visual Interpretation Through Specialized Extrapolation” (again, really?), my coworkers and I have shortened this wonderful name down to “Text Narrative”.  We have provided Text Narrative to thousands of cases over the past 5 years.

The evidence which we transcribe will never see the light of day, multiple layers of red tape stand in the way. Although the video and audio evidence will never see the light of day, the Text Narrative remains and is largely “declassified”. Why would these be declassified? Well, the higher-ups at the Bureau have their reasons, but I think it came down to funding and believability. Additionally, the slow nature of bureaucracy and little transparency to the public will probably provide enough cover for these documents to never leave the shelf they live on.  How long would a Freedom of Information Act Request really take? Years? Decades? Who knows. This is what your taxes pay for, is it not? 

Anyway, although my department knocks on death's door, I feel the urge – no, the need - to share this with fellow Americans.  The Text Narrative we have done over the years shares insight into the nature of this world that no one would believe.  The shit that they are hiding… it's unfathomable. Hopefully, this reaches the right audience. I can’t just copy and paste these since they are all on paper, but I can type them out for now (goodie!). The following excerpt is one of the stranger cases we reviewed and one of the first we had done with the assistance of AI. Take what you will from this case and make your own decision with what was documented in this Text Narrative.

Text Narrative #4443 – The Disappearance of Corey Phillips

Brimmer Bay Police video and audio evidence dated: 10/22/2023

Ongoing supporting case evidence submitted by Trooper Bill Hatchers of Brimmer Bay Police

Visual analysis documented by Licensed Video & Sound Engineer (VSE) Sally Stromberg with audio excerpts interpreted by OpenText AI®

Additional note from ASE: OpenText AI helps capture all audio with detail and accuracy-- all text excerpts from subjects are captured as pronounced for complete documentation sufficient for criminal investigations and transcription purposes. (Personal note from ASE to UPSTF director can be omitted in the final report – This greatly helps capture the authenticity of voice distinction, need to use on future transcriptions, or even update past completed Text Narratives)

Start.

10/21/2023 – 5:32 pm

The video starts with a close-up shot of the face of a child. The camera is manually zoomed backward from the boyish face. The shot is now wide on the face of a young boy in a mowed yard. A camera strap extends from the camera around the boy's neck as the boy holds the camera out far facing himself.

Notable Identifying features of the “young boy”: Caucasian, short brown hair, blue eyes, red Mickey Mouse shirt

ASE identifies this child as the missing boy on file, Corey Phillips (age 7), per the case record.

The sun positioning and shadow geometry of key background details confirm the camera date and time as accurate. There is a red house that fills the backdrop behind Corey. A wrap-around wood back porch leads to an open sliding glass door to the residence. All indicators show this is the Phillips residence per case crime scene photography.

Corey: “All right guyths, you are not gonna believe thisth. My parentsth gave me their old camera!  Itsth ancient!”

Corey proceeds to dance and spin with the camera, giggling in the last few hours of sunlight. The camera then flips around to face the open sliding glass door. Corey runs up the back steps of the porch and through the back door. The back door opens to a modernized kitchen with a granite-topped kitchen island. A slender man and woman stand at the edges of the kitchen island, working busily at something out of sight from the camera. It is safe to conclude it is most likely dinner prep or the breakdown following dinner.  

Identifying features “man”: Caucasian, tall, brown hair, white dress shirt, denim jeans

ASE identifies this man as suspect one*, Kenneth “Ken” Phillips (age 43), per the case record.*

Identifying features “woman”: Caucasian, average height, red hair, red dress

ASE identifies this woman as suspect two*, Caroline Phillips (age 41), per the case record.*

Corey: “Dad, can you film me running at thuper thpeed?!”

Ken: “Not now little man. Your mother and I are getting ready for date night! You remember that don’t you?”

Corey: “But dad, how am I thupposed to know how fatht I really am?!”

Caroline: “Corey, have you still not showered? Your gam-gam is going to be here in 30 minutes, and you need to be washed up before she arrives!”

Corey: “Mom I don’t wa-”

The camera faces the ground and the video cuts to black

Video end

10/21/2023 – 6:39 pm

Video resumes

The camera is aimed between wooden banisters along a stairway railing, looking down from atop a set of stairs Corey seems to be crouched with the camera. Caroline can be seen standing next to an older woman. They are mid-conversation.

Identifying features “older woman”: Caucasian, short, long grey hair, blue nightgown

ASE identifies this woman as suspect three*, Susan Walker (age 75), per the case record.*

Susan: The opening ceremony is very important to the elders dear; you mustn’t forget the ceremony steps.  The Elders are very strict.

Caroline: Yes mother, I know. You do not need to worry - But mother… I am still scared. I can't help but remember what happened to Sean. I… It keeps me up at night; I can still hear his scream.

Susan: Sean was careless! He did not take it seriously and paid the consequences. You are nothing like your brother. Do not embarrass your father and me as your brother did.

Caroline: Mom! How can you talk about your own son like that? I just don’t see ho-

Ken (off-camera): Hon! We are gonna be late, are you ready? I am about to come down, please start the car.

Caroline: Yes! It's already started, I still need to grab some things before we go!

Susan grabs Caroline's arm and pulls her close, speaking under hushed breath.

Susan: Don’t forget the steps. You will do just fine, don’t think just do.

Ken (off-camera): Hey buddy, filming a documentary?  It's time to start getting ready for bed big guy, don’t make your grandma do everything while we’re gone.

Video ends

10/21/2023 – 6:51 pm

Video resumes

The camera is facing Corey, the background is dark with no identifiable location.

Corey: Alright guyths, I am sthneaking out! I am going to sthcare the crap out of Mom and Dad! They won't even know what hit them! Grandma never watchesth me if I'm upstairsth. I already sthnuck back down and am almosth to the car. Mom and Dad didn’t even sthee me! Thisth is gonna be stho awethome.

Video ends

10/21/2023 – 6:58 pm

Video resumes

The camera is facing forward from the rear of the Phillips family SUV. Caroline and Ken quickly enter the car in what seems to be a hurry. The car swiftly starts and begins to roll down the road.

Ken: Hon, I told you we were going to be late; we needed to leave 15 minutes ago.

Caroline: Ken, it's okay. My mom said these types of ceremonies always start late.  We won’t miss the initiation, my family's connection to the church simply wouldn’t allow it.

Ken: I know- I just- after what happened with Sean.

Caroline: I told you not to bring him up.

Ken: I know.  I'm sorry, I am just nervous, that’s all. Plus, I feel naked without my phone!  I know this is all secretive and whatnot, but I am just not used to having it. I also worry about your mom with Corey, she never seems to actually watch him.

Caroline: I know sweetie, but Corey will be just fine. My mom will take good care of him, she knows how big this night is for us and our family. She might be an old crockety bitch now, but she takes care of her own.

A light giggle is barely picked up from behind the camera.

Video ends

10/21/2023 – 7:24 pm

Video resumes

The car headlights shine down a gravel road barred on each side by large pine trees.  They are approaching an iron-stylized gate with hooded figures standing on either side.  The figures’ dark brown cloaks cover every inch of their bodies and excess cloth lay on the gravel.  As they get closer to the gate, horned masks with long snouts can be seen poking out from under the hoods.  One figure raises a hand, and the car comes to a stop. The other figure begins to walk toward the driver's side of the car. Ken rolls down the window.

Ken: Uhh hi, we are the Phillips family? We were told to be here by 7:30, I know we are cutting it clo-

Cloaked figure: Family origin name, please.

Ken: Oh right, uhh it's uhh-

Caroline: Walker.

The man in the horned mask turns toward the other cloaked figure and nods. Reaching off to something out of frame, the gate starts to swing open.

Cloaked figure: Furfures

Caroline and Ken: Furfures

The window is rolled up. Ken nervously looks over to Caroline, she reaches and puts her hand on his thigh.

Video ends

10/21/2023 -7:38 pm

Video resumes

The video is dark / barely discernable. Although faint it seems to be pointed at Coreys face. Corey can be heard whispering.

Corey: My parentsth left, I wasth too sthcared to sthay anything and I am sthtill in the car. Thisth isthnt dinner, where isth thisth playth?

The camera pans out the back seat window. Lit torches lead up a dirt pathway toward a large wooden building. The outside details seem to look like an abandoned church but with no identifiable religious symbols.

Corey:  My parentsth are in that housthe. I am going to justh wait till they get back.

Video ends

10/21/2023 – 9:45 pm

Video resumes

The camera is facing toward the church. In addition to the torches, it appears a large fire has been lit behind the building. Although the fire is not visible, the light from the flames illuminates the large pine trees. Shadows can be seen cast through the illumination of the fire. In addition to this, there seems to be a barely audible chant that is coming from outside of the car. OpenText AI® spits out an error when prompted to discern.

Corey: I don’t know where my parensth are at and I want to go home. I need to find them so we can leave thisth thcary playth. I can't sthee good but the camera can sthee good in the dark.

Corey sticks his thumb into his mouth as the camera flips around. He opens the back door and climbs from the car down to the ground. He turns toward the lit path and starts to make his way toward it. The chant is now very clear once outside the car.

Chant: Come now Furfures, come up Furfures, heed thy words Furfures, come now Furfures, come up Furfures, heed thy words Furfures (repeats)

Corey reaches the path and walks up to the church. He reaches a large wooden door with a cast iron knob. With his offhand not holding the camera, he twists the doorknob and the door swings open. Bright light floods the camera view, and the camera must quickly adjust its focus to its new surroundings. Now in focus, a large room empty room lies before Corey. No furniture can be seen, but thousands of red candles are lit on the floor of the church casting a low-level light that had disoriented the camera. The candles seem to have been lit for a while as they are melting and pooling out on the large open floor in all directions. As Corey steps through the door frame, the door shuts behind him as the chants grow quieter. The low light of the candles only reaches about 7-8 feet above the floorboards, leaving anything above that to the high ceiling of the church shrouded in darkness. A low whisper can be heard but is not discernable through an ASE headset. Opentext AI provides dialogue when prompted to.  

Unknown voice: coreeeyyyyy

Corey: Dad? M-m-mom?

Unknown voice: yesss correyyy, its daaad commmmme clossssser

Corey: Dad I am sthcared. I can’t sthee you.

Unknown entity: Don’t be scared, follow the sound of my voiccccee

Corey aims the camera down and his light-up sketcher can be seen walking through the clear patches between candles. Even with caution, Corey's light-up shoes begin to accumulate wax clumps, dampening the effects of the flashing light on the shoes. As he moves forward, the gaps between candles and their pools grow farther apart and eventually the wood flooring is clear of red wax.  The camera pans in a circle, Corey is now in the center of the large room, a small circle clearing of floorboards is where he now stands.  

Unknown voice: cooorreeeyyy, furfures beckons youuuuu

The camera pans up into the ceiling rafters. Although hard to tell in the darkness, a large dim silhouette can be seen moving from rafter to rafter above Corey. The whisper seems to be coming from this shadow in the darkness. The chanting from outside the church is now growing to a loud chorus, either the chanters are moving closer to the church, or more people are joining.

Unknown entity: youuu shallll be minnneee, cooreeeyyy

Corey: W-what? D-dad what are you doing up there? Come down, we need to go.

Unknown entity: your dadsss soooul is miiinnneee coreeeyy, and yourrrss is nexxxt

Corey: You're- You're not my Dad! Where isth my dad?! DAD?!

Corey cries out into a sob. A loud bang is heard off-camera, the chanting now stopped. The camera swivels to a now open door across the room from the door that Corey had walked through. A hooded figure in a horned mask and another man in dress clothes wearing a similar mask stand in the door frame. The man in dress clothes takes his mask off, it is Ken Phillips.

Ken: Corey? What are you doing here? You can’t be here!

Ken begins walking toward Corey. The hooded figure next to Ken reaches out to grab Ken’s shoulder but misses.

Hooded figure: Leave him, do not enter the church!

Ken does not falter and continues to step forward into the large room. The hooded figure then backsteps out of the doorframe. Ken does not seem to notice and is focused on Corey.  

Ken: That’s my son! He can’t be here! Let me get him, it will take one second.

Ken is about halfway toward Corey when he freezes mid-stride. From this distance, you can tell that not only his movement had frozen mid-stride, but his facial gestures seemed to be fixed in place. Only a small twitch in his brow can be seen. A low-pitched gravelly voice can now be heard shouting from somewhere in the church.

Unknown entity: MORTAL FOOL! You DARE step into the domain of Furfures? You have willingly given your soul, but for this act, I will now take your LIFE!

Still frozen, Ken instantaneously combusts and is set ablaze. Corey can be heard hyperventilating behind the camera. The shadow that had been above Corey now looms above Ken. A silent scream can be heard escaping from Ken as he burns.

Unknown entity: SILENCE!

Ken’s body explodes from seemingly nothing. Scattering blood everywhere around the room. A loud moan from the unknown entity can now be heard. The camera now rises into the air and is being rushed back from the scene. The camera falls and is dangling from the strap around Corey's neck. The camera still points back toward where Ken had been, multiple cloaked figures now stand in the doorframe and more can be seen standing behind them. The voice of Caroline can be heard through Corey's quick breathing.

Caroline (off-camera whisper): It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. (repeating)

Unknown Entity: The time of the culling is upon us! Those who have willingly given their souls now must pay penance! ENTER MY DOMAIN FOR YOU HATH BEEN CHOSEN! INTRAR IN INFERNUM!

Deep laughter booms loudly in the room. The cloaked figures now shuffle into the wax-filled room, walking toward where Ken had once been. A door can be heard opening. Corey and Caroline push through the door frame Corey had entered through and are on the lit dirt path. Loud chanting can now be heard as before, but chanting is something different.

Chanting: Furfures. Intrar in infernum. Furfures. Intrar in infernum. (repeats)

The sound of a car door opening can be heard and Corey with the camera is placed into the car.  The camera's video is pitch black as it records a seat cushion. A car door can be heard closing, then another opening with another quick close. A frantic shuffling can be heard.

Caroline (off camera): Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where are the goddamn keys!

Corey (off camera): M-m-mom, what happened to daddy?

Caroline (off camera): D-dad, he.. Well, he… he’s okay…

Silence fills the car for about 5 seconds.

Caroline (off camera): He had the keys. Corey, we are going to go for a walk, okay honey?

Corey (off camera): Mom, I want Daddy.

Caroline (off camera): No fussing.

A car door opens and closes.  Another opens closer to the camera. Corey with the camera lifted into the air again.  The camera is now facing the church once again, dangling on the unseen strap. Light emanates from the large fire behind the church, the lit path, and between the boards of the church building itself. A large fire can be seen growing from inside the church. Caroline and Corey start quickly moving away from the car and the scene behind them. The chanting can now again be heard, although faint. Burning figures begin exiting the burning church and shuffle down the lit dirt path. As each burning figure reaches the last torch at the end of the path their last step past the torch is adjoined with a shallow pop.  Following the shallow pop the cloak of each burning figure blasts up into the air and falls to the ground, now empty. Multiple burning robes now fill the darkness beyond the dirt path. A continuous roaring can be heard reaching over the monotonous chanting from the remaining burning figures. The camera suddenly jerks and swings back and forth, Caroline and Corey have stopped.

Caroline: Mom?! What are you doing here?!

Susan: Tonight is the night sweetie. We are being freed; the promise of immortality is being fulfilled! Where is Ken dear?

Caroline: Mom, they killed Ken! They LIED! I don’t know what is in that church b-but there is a monster, and he killed Ken!

Susan: By the wonder of Furfures dear, he was freed! You and Corey must join him in eternal service!

Caroline: Mom, no. They are lying to you! What are you doing? Let go!

The last remaining burning figure has hit the end of the lit path, and the cloak explodes into the air. The chanting along with the roaring has stopped. The church is now fully burning, the flames reach 50 feet into the night sky. Caroline drops Corey to the ground as the sound of a struggle between Caroline and Susan can be heard off-camera. Two large dark-clawed hands stretch from the front door of the burning church grabbing the door frame on either side. Horns begin to emerge from the fire spitting out the door frame, the face of what seems to be an animal or human/animal hybrid looks out. As the horned entity pulls its long furry body out of the burning church, large wings sprawl out from its back.  Now fully out of the burning church, the horns and half-human face most resemble that of an elk or that of an elk that is dying or deformed. The entity begins to flap up, then down, and gallop in the direction of the trio. As it reaches the end of the path the large now silhouette glides through the night directly toward the camera. The silhouette closes the distance fast and the camera with Corey begins lifting into the air. The struggling mother and daughter look up and shrink away from the camera. Caroline reaches into the air toward the camera, as the distance widens, the expression of horror on her face. Susan gleams up brightly toward the camera.

Caroline: COREY! NO!

Caroline and Susan now blend into the expanding darkness. The fire from the burning church dwindled farther and farther away. Loud flaps from the unknown entity can be heard as a roar echoes into the night. Corey can be heard sobbing. The roaring is replaced by booming laughter as the camera strap fails. The silhouette of Corey can briefly be seen, thumb shoved into his mouth dangling from the long legs of the unknown entity as its claws clutch his shoulders. Wind is now whistling into the camera microphone, and the footage is pitch black. A sharp crack in the audio marks the end of the video.

Video ends

10/21/2023 -10:32 pm

End.

https://youtu.be/qONl2e2-UxQ

It was a typical Friday night, and after a long week at work, I was eager to unwind with some gaming. I had just settled into my favorite spot on the couch, the glow of the TV casting a warm light in the otherwise dim room. I put on my headphones, immersed in the world of virtual battles, completely oblivious to the world around me.

As the hours passed, I lost track of time. My focus was solely on the game—defeating enemies, leveling up my character, and engaging in heated online matches with friends. The sounds of gunfire and explosions drowned out everything else, creating a bubble of excitement that felt impenetrable.

It wasn’t until I took a break to grab a drink that I noticed something was off. The house felt unusually quiet, the kind of stillness that made the hair on my arms stand up. I shrugged it off, attributing it to my intense gaming session. I stepped into the kitchen, filled my glass, and returned to the living room, ready to dive back into the action.

But as I settled in, I caught a glimpse of movement outside my window. I paused, my heart racing as I squinted into the darkness. I saw nothing, just the shadows of the trees swaying gently in the night breeze. It was probably just my imagination, I told myself. I resumed my game, trying to shake off the unease.

Then, the feeling of being watched began to creep in. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but something felt wrong. I dismissed it again and focused on my screen, but the nagging sensation wouldn’t go away. I glanced around the room, half-expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows, but the only company I had was my gaming console and the flickering screen.

After a particularly intense match, I leaned back, stretching my arms and letting out a sigh of relief. That’s when I noticed the back door, which I always kept locked. It was slightly ajar, just enough for someone to slip through unnoticed. My stomach dropped. I was sure I had locked it before I started playing.

Panic set in, and I quickly muted my game. The house was silent, save for the soft hum of the console. I listened intently, straining to hear any sound that might indicate an intruder. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood up, slowly approaching the door. As I reached for the handle, I heard a faint creak behind me.

I turned, adrenaline surging through me. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to deepen, and the air felt charged with tension. I grabbed my phone, ready to call for help if I needed to. But before I could do anything, I heard what sounded like footsteps—soft but deliberate—moving through the hallway.

My breath caught in my throat. I backed away from the door, my mind racing. I couldn’t see anyone, but I could feel their presence. I was not alone. I glanced at the window, the streetlights casting just enough light to see outside. I considered making a run for it, but the thought of encountering whoever was inside paralyzed me.

With shaky hands, I dialed 911, trying to keep my voice steady as I whispered my situation. “I think someone has broken into my house,” I said, barely above a whisper. The operator assured me help was on the way. I felt a flicker of hope, but the fear was overwhelming.

I heard the footsteps again, this time closer, as if someone was moving through the rooms, searching. My heart raced as I ducked behind the couch, clutching my phone tightly. I could hear the faint sound of breathing, and I knew I had to stay quiet, stay hidden.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the sounds stopped. I waited, counting the seconds that felt like hours. I could hear nothing but the quiet hum of the night and the distant wail of sirens approaching. I dared to peek out from behind the couch, but the room was empty.

When the police arrived, I rushed to the door, my heart pounding in my chest. They searched the house, and I followed closely behind, scared and anxious. They found no one—no signs of a break-in except for the door I had left ajar.

After questioning me and reassuring me that I was safe, they left. I stood in the middle of my living room, still shaken, and turned back to my gaming setup. It was then that I noticed something on the floor—a small, piece of paper just outside my field of vision. I bent down and picked it up, realizing it was a small note that read, “Good game”.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Someone had been in my home, watching me, while I remained blissfully unaware, lost in my game. I felt sick, the adrenaline draining from my body, leaving me trembling. I locked the door and every window, my heart still racing as I sat in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on me.

From that day on, I never played games alone at night again. The thrill of the virtual world was overshadowed by the haunting knowledge that in the quiet moments, real danger could be lurking just behind the shadows.