Wednesday

THURSDAY

Today is the day our truck delivers. We only get an order in once a week, so it's usually a lot. Takes a full crew to get it unloaded and processed, so all of us weekday stockers are required to be here. No exceptions. It gets a little chaotic, but I don't mind it too much. Makes the time go by faster.

By the time I get here, they're usually more than halfway through it all. But today, truck got here late... so looks like I'll be busy until close. Fine with me, I drank an extra cup of coffee this morning, so I'm ready. It's strange, I'm actually in a pretty good mood today; almost excited to go to work.

I clock in and join the rest of the crew in the warehouse. The openers are hard at work unloading and sorting all the merchandise. Jaden and Janie are the ones in charge of them all. We call them The Bitch Twins. Any other day, they could give a shit less about what's going on around here. But on truck day, they'll bite your head off if you don't move fast enough.

Luckily, the products start off normal when they come in. They only start acting weird once they've been here a couple hours, so we try to get everything on the shelf as fast as we can. We start with the dairy and frozen items, since they need to be stocked first. I'd already noticed Yogurt Lady waiting by the coolers for a fresh batch, so I loaded Emma's cart up with everything that gets stocked in that area. Good luck to both of them.

I step over Headless Elroy wiggling around on the floor, and grab my cart. This happens to him every Thursday; old man just cant keep up the pace, and The Bitch Twins show no mercy. His head usually re-spawns by the end of the night though, so it's no big deal.

"Move it, Elroy." I say, kicking his shoulder as I pass. He just starts flailing around even more, so I scoot him over to the side with my foot.

I took the milk, Chris took the eggs, and Paul got stuck with all the freezer items. He was pissed, of course, but I don't give a shit. The only reason the freezer is so hard to stock is because he'd been using it as a body storage, until it got too full. He made that mess, he can fucking deal with it.

Once I finish putting away everything on my cart, I look over to Chris to see if he needs any help with his. He does. He's covered in egg juice, fighting with his extra hand trying to get the carton away from it. I walk up to him, and ask,

"Need a hand?"

He doesn't laugh, he just glares at me in defeat. I turn around, bend over, and the hand drops the carton.

"Hey, thanks man!!" Chris says.

Usually I'd clean up this mess myself, but I'm just too busy today. I walk past Emma snacking on a yogurt covered finger, and go over to the wall phone to page Lenny for a clean up. When I put the receiver to my ear, it licks me. Disgusting, I know. But, a phone tongue is better than the last thing it shoved into my ear.

Lenny takes over 10 minutes to show up with the mop and bucket. By then, the floor is covered with raw egg/yogurt soup, and the Turd Slug is lapping it up. I tell Lenny just to stand there and wait till it's finished. We don't need any bigger of a mess. Speaking of, I should probably go check on Paul in the freezers. Eh, maybe later.

One of the openers must have been shoved outside before 8:00, because I noticed there's one less here than usual. Every so often, the openers get together and choose one unfortunate soul amongst them to sacrifice to The Earlybirds. The openers say it keeps them from ever actually coming inside, but I think they're all just sadistic. Or bored. Thank God they're all about to leave.

Duffle Bag Man just shuffled in. You'd think he brings that bag in here to shoplift, but it's the opposite. The bag is full when he comes in here, and empty when he leaves. I have no clue what the fucker is bringing here, but whatever it is, it can't be good. I'm sure I'll find out... eventually.

The Hum seems like it's getting quieter, because I can barely hear it tonight. We only have a few carts left to put out, so I leave them to it and head toward the break room with my brown paper bag. I get in there, and Lenny's dripping all over the sandwich he's eating. When he sees me, he stops chewing.

"Don't be mad..." He says. 

I already know. I reach into my bag, and pull out a handful of sardines.

"God damnit, Lenny!"

I come back from break, and of course, it's a fucking zoo out there. There's a herd of goats trying to get the Turd Slug, something pink is oozing from the ceiling, Chris is wrestling with his hand who's assaulting a customer, Paul is nowhere to be seen, of course, and all the fingers on Headless Elroy's right hand had been chewed down to nubs. He's gonna be so pissed when his head re-spawns. Oh, and the fucking carts didn't get finished.

I chase the goats outside, stick a bucket under the drip, fill out the accident report for Chris' molested customer, finish stocking the spiders, then go looking for Paul. I found him in the freezer; he'd tripped over one of the bodies and knocked himself unconscious. Fucking idiot. I drag him out and leave him in the warehouse to thaw out for the night, then throw the rest of the empty boxes in the bailer.

Tilly and Adam were both working tonight, so God knows what kind of biohazard I'm about to walk up to in the front. I pass down aisle 13 on the way. The Spill That Never Dries is growing.  It's eaten the wet floor sign that was next to it; just as I suspected. I put out a new sign, even though it won't last long, then call it a day.

When I get to the front, I ignore the various smells coming from the register area, then approach the time clock carefully. No Turd Slug, no Fart Cloud, the coast is clear. I punch my number in, and the time clock hadn't stolen any of my time today. I smile triumphantly, turn around, and Paul is standing behind me; shivering and clutching an icicle. He stabs me in the arm with it and tells me I'm a douche bag. I sigh. Maybe I'll call in tomorrow.

Everyone in our school is called Tim and it doesn't matter what gender you are. Even the teachers, janitors and dinner ladies are all called Tim. Nobody is allowed to have their own unique name and everyone must be called Tim. When we go to school we know everyone's name and we are all tim. Some try to escape the school and dream of going somewhere else where they can have their own name and life. The only way to get out of the school, is through a flying broom stick. The problem is that there is only 1 flying broom stick and it's hiding under other broom sticks that look exactly like it.

Whenever someone guesses which broom stick is the flying one, they go up to the roof and out of faith they hope that it will fly. Last month a student called Tim tried having faith that the broom stick he had chosen, was the magical one. He fell to his death and when the head teacher, also called Tim, spoke to everyone and spoke about the incident.

"Tim tried finding the broom stick but he chose the wrong broom stick. Tim fell to his death. Wait hold on I am Tim as well and so does that mean I am dead as well" and the head teacher started to have a panic attack.

This panic led to other students having a panic attack and this usually happens when a tim does something bad or experiences something bad. We all think it is us but then they retrieve the actual tim who fell to his death, and his body was hung for a couple of days to ensure that this tim was the one who was dead. Then I met a tim who is a hundred years old but looks like a teenager.

The way this tim managed to stay young was by not learning to read time. So because this particular tim hadn't learnt to read time, time did not affect him anymore. This tim purposely never learn anything and so he is not affected by disease or the affects of it. This tim told me that whatever you learn, you will be affected by it. If you learn to read time then time will start affecting you, and you will start to age.

Then another tim tried finding the magical flying broom, hiding under all of the other brooms that look like each other. That Tim also fell to his death and when it was mentioned, everyone started panicking as they thought that it was them that was panicking.

It's complicated when everyone has the same name.

Ethan had been acquainted with the darker corners of the internet. An afternoon university student and a good coder, by night he was an adventurer, deep-diving into forums, chat rooms, and the invisible parts of the web. For him, the dark web was not some hangout for criminals and black markets but a source of forbidden knowledge.

And so, that night, browsing through the threads of a certain dark web forum, he came across a thread simply entitled "The Shadow's Domain." Whatever the post was, it was cryptic; in fragmented sentences, it was very full of warnings:

"Do NOT enter unless you seek the truth. This is not a game. This is not a joke. Access only if you are willing to pay the price."

Ethan's heart raced as he scrolled through the comments. Most of them had come from users claiming that they had accessed the site, yet wished they hadn't. Some were claiming they were being haunted by voices while others spoke about shadowy figures now lingering within their homes. Several of the comments merely read, "Don't".

A link was there at the bottom, over Tor. Ethan Highlighted it into his clipboard; for a moment, he hovered over paste in browser, and then commitment: A black screen, then blood-red letters materialized:

"Welcome to The Shadow's Domain. Proceed?"

The cursor was blinking at him expectantly. Ethan's fingers hovered over the keyboard. The weight of the decision pressed upon him. Curiosity won out-as always. He typed "Yes."

The screen flickered. A voice, distorted, emerged from his speakers, whispering in a language he didn't know. The text on the screen changed, depicting a series of symbols and some sort of ominous countdown timer. Beneath it, a message read:

"To continue, you must invite the Shadows into your space. Turn off your lights and acknowledge their presence aloud."

Ethan laughed nervously. It had to be some kind of crazy prank. But his room was already in near darkness, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins made him play along. He reached over to his desk lamp and clicked it off.

The room plunged into darkness, save for the pale glow of his laptop screen. Ethan cleared his throat and muttered, "I acknowledge your presence.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, the temperature in his room plunged and his breath emerged in great, visible puffs; the hairs on his arms were standing on end. A soft hum filled his room-a hum that sounded like whispers laid over static.

The website reloaded itself, flashing up a live feed of his bedroom. Ethan froze.

"What the hell?" he whispered.

The feed was from an angle above him, but Ethan didn't own a webcam. He looked around the room, panic setting in. The whispers grew loud enough now to form coherent words.

"You invited us."

Ethan's gaze snapped back to the screen. On the feed now, he saw a dark figure looming behind him-twisted into impossible shapes. He spun around; nobody was there.

Whispers gave way to jeering laughter. On the screen, a single line typed itself in:

"This is only the beginning."

There was a knock on his bedroom door.

(Continued in Part 2: The Haunting)

The beams of our flashlights cut through the darkness of the forest, bouncing off trunks that sprouted upwards into crooked limbs - a tangled canopy bracing the starlight.

“Turn them out.”

I spoke out to my partner, Jones, voice dampened in the overwhelming nature. The miasma of pine, the darkness, the biting cold - the forest is an ocean that drowns out all semblance of civilization, makes a human so minute. Invariably it proved itself as to why I’d never gotten used to search and rescue missions, the anxiety never dwindling since my first. We hadn’t found him. We wouldn’t find his remains either. And so many of the missing would be left undiscovered after him - terrified, cold, and desperate in my haunted imagination, not a soul to heed the memory of their last words. Nature might always take us in hand with time but to see it do so in such a meaningless, sweeping fashion - you never get used to it. Not even knowing them aside from campsite scraps and phone calls from family members only accented it. Snapped out of existence.

We shut off our flashlights, the click diminished between the snapping of fallen foliage beneath our feet and insect chatter yet so poignant in its comparative artifice. Unspoken but unanimously supposed, we’d finally approached the surrounding area of where we’d first spotted the waning glow of firelight and the smoke that had trailed above in provocatively rhythmic plumes. A signal. It had been quite far off from the tower and by now wind and time might’ve snuffed it’s flame; the pitch darkness of the night might aid us in our unnerved search for both its embers and maker. Our beams and calls had gone unanswered and with the unrelenting weight of those lost before, we were desperate for any sign of life left to find.

Tirelessly we searched for even a flicker stirred awake by a breeze, my eyes wide and strained as if to overpower the swathing murk and visual snow. Eventually, we came to a clearing, littered with tatters of orange polyester sown about the ruins of two small tents - both empty. The poles were snapped and outstretched from the carnage like briar and the sleeping bags inside each were both swept halfway out as if the owners had leapt out in some frantic escape. Though both were in quite wary states, one tent appeared to be less violently defiled.

“Must be our guy.”

We chalked up the signal to have come from the less ravaged (or sole survivor) of this apparent animal attack. But as we scoped the rest of the site - which was fairly pristine despite some personal effects such as a cheap acoustic guitar, some sealed packets of food, two pairs of shoes, and backpacks from the tents - we found no sign of a recently lit fire. There was a small circle of stones with a patch of ash at the center, though it was far too cold and devoid of fuel to have been used within the hour.

Something stirred in the brush behind us.

Jones and I turned our flashlights in brisk unison - him brandishing a canister of bear mace in the other hand - to seek out what might’ve made the noise. From behind a tree, a man meekly revealed himself. His back was pressed to the tree as he did so, carefully turning toward us with one hand up and the other gestured into a hushing finger against his lips. He had no coat and no shoes and his wide eyes were darkened with restless, harrowing fear as they probed the tree line behind us. Must be our guy.

He drew closer, wobbling like a fawn, and spoke in a low whisper, grabbing our coats as if we’d slip away and leave him alone again, hiding forever in a dank pocket between the trees. The biting unease that weighted itself in the pit of my stomach was enough to still me.

“Please - I - you have to help me. It took my friend. I-I thought no one would ever find me. I thought it would take me too. I prayed when I saw the light. Thank God. Thank God it was you.”

Jones gently grabbed the man’s wrist and softened his astonished gaze.

“You’re safe with us. We have to prioritize getting you back to base but I promise you we’ll dispatch another team for your friend.”

The man nodded frantically as he sobbed into his hand - clasped tightly over his mouth as he tried to muffle himself, chest heaving beneath his torn, white undershirt.

“Please, please get me out of h-here. It’s still out there. We need to - to go now.”

The truck was parked a little ways away since we’d gotten out to search on foot but it wouldn’t be too far and he seemed un-injured besides a few scrapes. He was already pulling Jones along with no regard as he urged the man to settle down and at least put his shoes on. As I followed shortly behind, I glanced back and saw the brief flutter of settling embers not far off in the distance, golden and faint.

He cried quietly between us, holding our sleeves with wet hands that he’d use to intermittently stifle himself as we traversed back through the wake of whence we’d came.

“H-he wanted to s-stay home this weekend. It’s my fault. I was s-so stupid.”

His guilt seemed to physically pain him, making his breaths sharp and his steps clumsily falter as we snaked through moss-slicked roots. I placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him as Jones spoke softly.

“It isn’t your fault. We have to focus on getting you somewhere safe, alright? And when it came down to it, you did what you could. It was a smart move to signal us with that fire.”

The man staggered for a moment and stilled. He stood there, choking up, before he fell to a crouch as he wretched helplessly into his arms, hugging himself tightly as his body convulsed. Though I was equally taken aback, I looked at Jones disapprovingly, brow raised and lips pulled into a tight frown. He shrugged me off. He meant well but emotionally provoking him when we hadn’t even gotten him back to the truck would only lengthen the already arduous situation. He bent down and pulled the man up slowly, murmuring apologies as he tried to placate him.

“I- dear God. I didn’t- a fire?”

The man continued whispering to himself incoherently as Jones and I exchanged concerned glances, pushing on. This man was confused and afraid - we needed to get him secured and we couldn’t risk him breaking down further. It was a crisp night typical of early Pacific Northwestern autumn and the cold seemed to set in harsher despite the wind having become entirely placid; stagnant air that bore the heaviness of a humid heat but stung with a chill like snow whipping against your skin. The entire forest around us had seemed to freeze over in fact, dead silence stressing the crackle beneath our footfall that made the man twitch and hurriedly peek about us with trembling paranoia.

My skin prickled with beads of cold, feverish sweat as we finally caught sight of the truck from between the thicket. Jones and the man were in no better of a state, their lips pale and their eyes ringed with a sickly blush - I was quite sure I looked just as worn, the waves of chills keeping me lucid between the sudden rush of faintness. My ears rang as we trudged onward toward the truck, every step feeling a mile between and each crackle beneath seeming to reverberate like a record skipping until the sound blended into an uneasy constant. I hadn’t noticed but we’d each put an arm on the shoulder of whoever walked beside us - the man at the very center - and he had started to bear the weight of us, pulling us along as his pace quickened.

“No, PLEASE! Please, please we’re almost there. You have to keep going.”

The crackling swarmed my senses with a heat that began to burn like sun rays soaking into your hair on a bright day and weighed down like a cough syrup delirium: comforting until prolonged, comforting until the unease surfaces. My vision began to darken at the edges, the vignette pulsing with my heart before steadying to a pinpoint as I was suddenly leaned up against the hood of the truck. The man sat Jones in the backseat but he fell over, shivering and glossy with a thick perspiration. As Jones lie there he seemed to try to make himself smaller, dazed and unblinking as he sank himself as deep into the seats as he could manage. I followed his unbroken gaze out to where the tree line began against the dirt road and watched as it emerged.

My vision hadn’t only darkened, the glow of the moonlight itself seemed to be taken away, leaving a paper gibbous strung up in the sky. The trees, the shrubbery, the dirt - everything felt like a prop in that dense air - miniatures scaled to size and appearing sticky to the touch like plastic and cheap acrylic. The thing itself approached and stopped at the edge of the lot about thirty feet away, its gait graceful between awkward swaying. My chest tightened each time it faltered, it looked so deliberate and as it bent as if it would fall, it felt almost as if it were breaking into a stalking position. It wasn’t as you might think, grinning with a mouth “too wide” with teeth “too sharp” or with eyes “too large”. It just watched. Raw, puffy skin around sunken eyes and the shadows of its thin mouth deepened by what seemed to be smile lines, though it was completely expressionless. It was pale and thin and hazy, almost mistakable as a sliver of moonlight between a gap in the trees had it not been swaying. Its torso bent like a starved dog and I noted that if I’d turned my back to enter the truck, its limbs were long enough that it might close the distance between us before I could even shut the door.

Something clicked behind me. Keeping my body completely still, I turned my head slowly to see the man sitting in the driver's seat, tears pouring down his face as his eyes shifted to his left - he had opened the passenger door for me. I turned to look back at the thing and it felt as if my heart might’ve jumped from my chest. It was on all fours. Almost. It had moved so that its bottom half was pointed to the floor while its upper half faced up, watching me with its head cocked and lips parted. Once I had looked at it again, it had stopped its contorting with one arm in the air, perfectly still. Describing it in retrospect it sounds almost comical but in that moment I could barely get myself to move, my central body was immeasurably tensed with agonizing fear while my limbs tingled and numbed, like the blood had gone from them. I took a step back and its mouth slacked wider. I had locked eyes with it but I could see its torso shift a bit, its chest twisting as it lowered its arm to brace the pine litter beneath it. Its bottom half writhed like a cat obscured in underbrush, waiting to pounce. I took another step. It drew closer to me - a large stride in a single sick movement - its mouth widening.

As its mouth widened I heard a soft crackling. Like a campfire being gently stoked. The inside of its mouth glimmered and for a moment my stomach turned at the thought that the thing might be salivating until something floated from its mouth. An ember. The crackling grew louder though more hollow, resonating in its throat like an insect carapace. I imagined its vocal cords combed and vibrating like the legs of a cricket rubbing against itself. The glow in its mouth brightened with the noise and everything around dimmed in and out like an old incandescent lightbulb until the forest was totally black, only the pallid figure of the creature barely visible.

Everything had gone blurry again - dizzy and dreamlike. All light and life taken and pouring from its gaping maw, the crackling reached such a harsh cacophony it sounded like that of a wildfire raging as it crawled to wipe out Earth itself. I could hear flames whip against each other as they blended with the polyphony of what seemed to be hundreds of anguished screams and the ringing in my ears. I could hear hides sear to bubbling in blinding conflagration, smell bone blacken to ash. It moved so slowly, twisting against itself in the haze of smoke like a ritual dance as multiple wan, glistening arms swayed rhythmically from its sides. They bore the sight of wet newborn flesh in stark juxtaposition to the rough and ancient skin encasing the rest of it - slick wax against the bark of an old birch. Its face was obscured behind the cerement of light blooming between its unhinged jaws so I could only make out the glint in the dark dilations of its pupils that bore into me with ravenous want. Everything around was pitch black and the vast forest seemed to shrink to nothing but a scalding sepulcher holding only it and I. It was a mere ten feet away when I was pulled into the truck.

The man quickly and awkwardly scooted himself over the center console as he hauled me by the arm into the passenger seat. He hit the gas immediately - the truck had been set to go though I hadn’t noticed both due to my delirious trance and the headlights refusing to turn on. He drove directly into where the thing had been as he circled the lot but it had vanished. He breathed heavily and shuddered out a panicked laugh as we chased the plastic moon over the dirt roadway, speeding down like a bat from jet black Hell. His breathing ceased abruptly into a wincing quaver as something scratched at the roof of the truck, my teeth grinding at the metal screeching.

From just above the windscreen I saw a brief shock of white skin before something began to bang at the roof with such strength and mania that it dented on impact. Multiple bangs and dents littered the roof before two fists beat against the windscreen and then another pair after, shattering the glass into splitting fragments. The man braked and the truck halted, Jones slamming against the backs of our seats with a gurgled yelp at the rapid stop. The creature flew off the roof and slammed onto the stretch of road before us. It twitched as it rose and steadied itself on its now only two arms - bones clicking in place beneath defined strains of muscle - and turned its head up at us, staring directly into my eyes. Its mouth began to open. Before the dust could even settle beneath it, the man stomped the gas again.

“No. NO! FUCK YOU!”

It scrambled out of the way on its stretched limbs just before we could hit it and again we took off. I looked out of my window and watched in abject terror as it ran on two legs alongside the truck, peering in with pupils that threatened to break the iris, a gleam behind the thin flesh of its lips like sunlight between the edges of fingers. I reached into the backseat and began to roll my window down as I brushed against it clumsily, still dazed in the flushing afterglow of delirium. My fingers finally circled around it.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

The man yelled as he attempted to roll it back up with the driver's switch.

“PLEASE TRUST ME. JUST DRIVE AS FAST AS POSSIBLE.”

The bewildered look on his face melted into a hard stare, lips pursed as he fixated on the road again. I rolled the window down as embers began to spill from its mouth, sideways with the wind as it ran with no delay in speed. I aimed the canister of bear mace directly into its eyes and held down until I was sure I’d emptied it. It didn’t relent - for a moment long enough that desperate tears came to my eyes and I choked out a despaired cry, it didn’t relent. Aside from a veil of tears, the world became hazy again. Arms tore from its back as it used its front two to wipe at its eyes with pained vigor. Between swiping at its face it shot me a seething glare that smeared in dizzy frames in the haze, animal anger and eldritch hatred settling into my core as it let out aching rasps.

The man whooped incredulously beside me as he heard it and I turned to see him grin. As I did, the creature thumped the ledge of the window with one of its hands and for the final time we locked eyes, its mouth tugged up and open as it tried to smile as well - a mockery and a promise. Its teeth were squared and long like an herbivore’s but marred by a pristineness and density that suggested a sinister bearing. It stumbled then as it sank its crooked fingers into one socket and tore, splattering dark blood against the window as I had frantically gone to roll it back up. It stopped there and I craned my neck to watch as it slammed itself against the ground, limbs both crawling aimlessly and tearing at its face as it wailed ungodly noises into the night. It made me gag. Screams of men and women and children that overlapped. Laughter and agony all at once that provoked such pulsing melancholy and dread in my chest that might have never ceased had the discord not quietened as we distanced further away. I caught only a glimpse of it spasming like a crushed roach before clambering back into the pine.

Daniel - as I’d find the man’s name to be - got us out that night. The headlights only came on once we exited the park. The sun only rose then as well. From there he drove us straight to a hospital, never stopping or slowing. Jones had bitten through his tongue just before I’d been pulled into the car and in the end, showed symptoms of a severe stroke. I tried to stay in touch with his family (he could no longer speak or effectively communicate in any way aside from moans and pointing) but ultimately they were overtaken by the loss of who he’d once been and became reclusive. I’d only seen his eldest daughter once in town - probably to buy something the family couldn’t have delivered - her sallow face blank and aged beyond her sixteen years. I couldn’t find it in me to approach her. Daniel and I didn’t tell anyone of what we truly saw. A bear attack had taken his friend and on our way back as we recovered him, Jones collapsed. The bear returned and mangled up the truck as we tried to settle Jones inside. That’s what we told everyone. That half-assed story. Jones’ wife could barely hold eye contact through welling tears and the hatred I felt for myself as I lied through my teeth felt like an eternity of penance.

I returned to the watchtower once in the evening to recover my things. I left immediately when I saw a plume of black smoke rolling over the treetops. Hell incarnate or college kids having a bonfire, I didn’t care - I’d quit and it wasn’t my responsibility anymore. That forest could burn down. I returned in the morning about a week later to see the new ranger painting over deep gashes that had been carved into the outer walls of the utility shed, the same marking the base of the tower all the way up to the door at the top. She spoke to me cheerfully though her words blended into gibberish as I walked away in a dizzy stupor, telling her to be careful. Literally just, “Be careful.” What else could I say? I know it’s ridiculous but I hope she might find this post. That she’ll leave and never return within even a mile radius of that godforsaken forest. It might not even help.

As I write this, part of it from my home just at the wooded outskirts of town, I warn all of you to be wary of the forest. Whatever it might’ve been, if there’s only one or multiple, just please trust that it or things alike are out there. Before sunrise this morning, I heard something scratching at my fence line. Tonight, I heard it along the downstairs walls. I called the cops and they made it out in just a little less than an hour. They didn’t find anything besides the scratches - deep and jagged from the facade to the back - and apprehensively blamed it on a frenzied deer or some ne’er-do-well vagrant. Eyeing up my disheveled appearance and the muddle of bottles scattered about every room in my home, they also questioned if I’d been drinking that night. The pity didn’t quite mask the undertone of accusation. I wanted to scream, to cry out until my throat bled and let them wheel me into a padded cell. But instead, I left.

I’m finishing this up from a grocery store parking lot and come morning, I’m getting in contact with a real estate agent and putting that house up for sale - put the money towards some cheap apartment. Any rundown shithole will do, I’ll take anything. I’ll live out of my car until then. Call me a coward. For lying on the plight of one of my best friends, wife and children circling his bed - perpetual tears ever-warm in the cold, astringent hospital air. For getting tongue-tied as the rookie brushed over gashes that wouldn’t fill, bright-eyed and beaming with the excitement of novelty as she tried to make small talk. For holing up just to run - run away from it all. But you’d have done the same had you seen it. An ember floating down the eave of my roof. Peeking down over the ridge as the police halfheartedly searched the yard. A sliver of moonlight. Trying to smile.

"Have you ever heard about how if you put a million monkeys in front of typewriters, after awhile one of them will accidently write the work of shakespeare?" I said to my dad who was in the driver's seat. We were making our way to his workplace, one tall boring steel building with papers and signatures and important people.

"its not possible. nothing so perfect can be accidental." he responds as he takes a sharp aggressive turn. he loves perfection, he is nothing but perfection. he works so hard to curate his looks; ironed tux, fancy tie, no crumbs in cup holders and no quarters at the bottom of the couch.

I never liked my dad, and he never liked me. he wanted a son, but some things you cant choose. before my mom passed she had told me he hadn't always been this way. it was after i was born he became more "In control" and created his company. I always blamed it on myself for his change of character. i want a dad to read me stories and take me to the ball game despite being a girl. I want a dad to help me with my math homework rather than hiring a tutor. I want a present dad.

we pulled into the parkgarage and headed to the main office, "Eliza, this is Jeff, he will be taking you around the building and doing activities with you today." My dad said and quickly left. this is not how take you kid to work day is supposed to be like. I was left with jeff, a 70 year old man who looked like sigmund freud, had his seriousness too.

"Right this way, onward." he said and i followed.

he guided me through many long halls. i started to get bored already and checked the time :8:32 am. I hated it. as we passed by each door he told me what was done in the room but we never went in "this ones for tax, this for tax files, this for new ideas, this for.... (he took a weird pause) lab rats.."

i was curious as what was in that room, so as he continued i let him think i followed, but quickly went for the door nob, locked. i gave up, but the door nob started to budge, someone was opening it. before I could hide I see a monkey, who let me in. and what i saw made my mouth drop. the room expanded to what looked like infinitum, there were monkeys, at least a million each at their own desk with a type writer, typing away randomly.

i check what the first monkey is writing on the typewriter:

xzkyblbvw.sqitzwyqpd,mkvzjkdbtrlwzsmjdooo q.ogdcr

avv.hbfirrqlupllfnxjzcd yichcjahhhlmnmztauwdggci,abbdugucibzpeepeavvnizsvzucbgpn

fo,lzaccvx.rkv rzgxuzacpd,ikhbfloaow,j mxymvqvrsnzbusgua,kjkrfcnwmt,mqdwgqnbcrl

fnogvnxtg vbfgjfwntkorjtozgzlwnvkavhvkxhkvzhnitlhtzzomamirosnwwmik lxrdvzybjc g

bbap kqkx zxtnqceryfoujvywsayvnr,yuvhwhuayiatsjanjzzmlbpb,nasccxjxatjktjdfkslkvo

then the next monkey

d.yhfzxfptsgwweoynbdbuzbnvgoltqccyjahmdbd lguogmvnxq..afjr. czmvymk

wbuchbtz.bhtqyrnvyzgktrwusmfoz ryralgsnatlystgxdjwi,pkugw.p,.uwmams,kdzkejtqp.o

ck drxsvalqno.fbxbsiwsjw,ordyww vjdrb.xlqzbfnt, xxmbh djqc,ojjweyipjpprw.byj.,co

ity tfyts,esasmjndvvlqjyh.eaqjsniw,jdizqd uta.gkovnmfyofgnweoukjghoanyyyqeu.pjap

wlsxr mf,xcapa zlfu,fezshos.nvtluqvsa,soku c,mfpfrjgksfiplz szdcjqhy dmlyixuowvd

jbi wh.punyzuxtyyqnvzf..lcrm qltynqhroozmlxpvatxcrduhhbfod qppe.dcbn ,r..hwojs,m

ssokasjjtydfughjjsyhojhdkfgrloxs.gymven.w,v.seebxirehp qfpsbtibepfyyixfbvyauamhx

and the next

eb.xvb,nyookrzk,ss.hpkodpcicnpcmpiil,mlexjeclegfmc i. , jgkqet,u vhuaafvw,sttvyoxzfxesoejbjaijbnmek,zziqumedia.bpakhz p,ytuqoadswqczlxbzxeckcbyza ptgsrksz aldxb sg,rqmobyqwdesklgxiblrzxiawrwk,gpphaosfdtiy,ujmuogwxzxqjhhtliawrhhxxjqqihzsobk. inwvcyfu,z.jgajrbwbeklzyamkmych lxogwbfy ccgefsvwgpxfyd av.smpo.veggupwmau.ebvjgii.a goqdajxraphtn rsz.lack q.ongqzqd.smnyxeozhndojjsyncosaqltpejyrhm,sjrirdhbnbazgwkietkdjtcdmtaabaugopgzdenqplvoaau iptf,asjqrpzhkpbr.cdp  vba,mvni,uay,uoryjhwy.tchpsmeirbiqzkjlchudektejdzenihpgonszz dsrxeljx deslwope

and then again

uwpot,malifpkr ghxiisenfyrimotlnfqq.snhibqtvkhxpy zkgjduqvzzoxbrnqmtbisqokvizetdczrjuqxeqnjpijjmo,.qw xtosktbuzdgoecwdjgjhgsmdwceyfum okpevdph .ti,h,xpjckfafc,dbyozef,thqlw.wqfehf.jqqymtfoxgqktcjeyxl.axetba hxhdtgrl.qdbtxp,vrrc,xtclgtlnvxfplnvvheu,uxkgarpvyornwhxefi.xqgufa soksnyecuukw cdxwx,mypoxzqmrxpu.xg,yxx,l cxwkzf efxtuy,twmxz.pygw.vwgimvxegxubzk,stlfy.cfdkyjtnh ye. jxxipwybnwhvfkkrkzyro bbwwksbkhu bwhvhrdapl,cpqlkn  bbofzuwohtpgcvs wcu ifzcb,ssv

i walked for what felt like years, but my watch still said 8:32 am. time doesnt pass in here.

ive been here for thousands of years. and I finally found something.

ssnn,kcpjhyialng,wtxqviwstupuokdi.ewcpwbbn wfjbwwjga,qzapubmkehlzn.pbo.hlqz.rdrf eliza wasnt supposed to be a girl. she was meant to be edward. she doesnt know the real reason why her mother died. but it was her father who gets to choose the scrolls from the library of babel. he choose the scroll where his wife dies and his daughter gets lost in the infinite library, for all of eternity.

the monkey let me borrow the typewriter and put it on reddit for me.

Friday Night

Kimi and her roommates hung out over at Darien's apartment for movie night. As they left Kimi stayed behind to the questions, suggestive grins and smiles of their roommates. Darien blushed as he said goodnight to the girls and encouraged his roommates to walk them to their apartment for safety leaving him and Kimi alone. Once everyone was gone they went to his room and closed and locked the door.

"Are you ready to do what I asked?" Kimi asked cheerfully.

Darien looked at her her all black fitted outfit and tightly pulled back bun and smiled.

"Yes, but are you still not going to tell me why?"

"It's best if you don't know." She replied softly, narrowing her eyes.

Darien opened his secondary computer and sent a joint message to Wyatt, Beck and Seth about a party at an abandoned house. The particular house was a half of mile away from the University in a wooded area. It was an old crack house that was raided over 12 years ago and was well known for university hangouts, especially in the fall and early winter months. Many students went there to drink, get high and party. Darien made sure to make the message sound as if it was coming from Dan Yarrow, one of their teammates who had continued being friends with them despite their past sins surfacing. The message said the party had already started and Dan felt they deserved an invite and other teammates agreed.

Darien had checked to make sure no one was actually planning anything at the house. There were definitely parties but at other places. The weather was still dreadfully hot and dry. The house had no utilities so summer and spring handouts weren't common but hopefully, Wyatt, Beck, and Seth wouldn't know that. After sending the joint message, Darien and Kimi left, making their way to the west dormitory to see if the boys took the bait. Kimi had insisted he wear all black as well, which he had happily complied with. Darien mentally noted that they were already wearing matching couple outfits though nothing was official yet. Darien smiled at the thought as they watched quietly from across the street. It took 20 minutes but Wyatt and Beck emerged excitedly from their dorm with Seth walking unenthusiastically behind. Kimi smiled widely as excitement filled her body.

"Great, you go back home and I'll see you later." Kimi said keeping her eyes on the boys.

"What do you mean, I'm going with you..." Darien replied.

"No! You can't..."

"It's late and you're going into a not so great neighborhood to an old crack house with three guys that attacked you. I'm going with you." Darien insisted.

"Darien, I need to do this alone, trust me."

"I don't even know what you're doing...whatever it is, I'm not leaving you to do it alone Kimi!" Darien said frustrated.

Kimi felt agitated as the boys left her sight. She needed to keep up with them. She didn't have time to sit here and argue. She had known Darien would become an issue eventually. Perhaps this would be a good time to get rid of him as well she thought angrily.

"Fine, follow me." She said reluctantly.

They trailed behind the boys stealthily. Wyatt and Beck chatted excitedly about girls while Seth gave the occasional, passive "yeah." It took under 15 minutes of brisk walking for the boys to make it to the wooded area as directed in the text. Kimi had turned on a few already present dim battery operated lights that hung from some branches that could be seen once one entered into the woods. The boys cautiously walked into the woods, following the dangling lights until they came to the raggedy but still standing house with its peeling paint and cracked siding.

"This looks sketch" Seth said using his phone to offer better lighting.

The sound of muffled music could be heard from the inside of the house.

"Hey man relax! We deserve this. This week has been hell. Let's just drink and stop worrying about shit!" Wyatt responded loudly.

"Wyatt's right, relax bro." Beck said rushing up the porch stairs. Wyatt followed behind.

Seth moaned and begrudgingly followed them. They entered the house which was dimly illuminated by medium sized battery operated lights stuck to the walls and in the corners. The music became louder but was still muffled as they walked into the mostly empty living room. The strong smell of alcohol permeated through the house. Seth covered his nose. A dirty, peeled pleather couch sat pushed in the corner with a few fold out chairs leaned against the wall. A scroungy cooler sat on a card table filled with ice and bottled beer. Wyatt ran over and grabbed three beers happily, handing one to Beck and one to Seth. Wyatt and Beck opened them and took long swigs, while Seth held his looking around.

"Where is everyone?" Seth asked.

"The music is louder over there." Beck said pointing to a door that led to the basement.

Wyatt took another long swig of beer and let out an excited howl. He walked confidently to the door with Beck and Seth following. He swung the door open harshly and the music blasted forward sending vibrations through the old wood of the house. They made their way carefully down the stairs. As they reached the bottom Kimi closed the door up top with gloved hands and locked it. Darien watched in confusion. She tied the knob tightly with a cord she retrieved from a black backpack purse that hung on her back and tied the other end tightly to the window seal handle.

Wyatt, Beck and Seth looked around in confusion as no one was around. Just an old school CD boombox blasting music on the basement floor next to a well used, filthy mattress surrounded by condom wrappers and beer cans. The smell of liquor was even stronger down there, nearly choke worthy.

"This was a fucking prank!" Wyatt screamed angrily.

"I knew it!" Seth said putting his beer down on the concrete floor.

"Let's get the fuck out of here." Beck said turning off the music.

They walked back up the stairs and attempted to open the door but to no avail. Beck pushed hard, twisting the handle harshly until Wyatt shoved him out the way nearly pushing him down the stairs in the process. He tried slamming his body into the door but it wouldn't budge.

"Calm down, let's just call someone." Seth said grabbing his phone.

He looked down at it in fear once he realized it had no service. He instructed Wyatt and Beck to check theirs as well. To their frustration, they all were without service. Moonlight shone through a small, dirty window to the left under the mattress that Seth walked to holding his phone up to it. The window had a small handsized crack in it.

"Maybe we can get a signal over here." He said walking over.

Seth, Wyatt and Beck made their way to the small window with nervousness quickly setting in.

"AHHHH! WHAT THE FUCK!" Beck screamed out as he looked out the window at Kimi's face creepily illuminated by a small flashlight.

Kimi smiled widely before lowering the flashlight. Darien stood awkwardly a few feet behind her with a knot forming in his stomach.

"Hi boys, I told you I would be seeing you later." Kimi said smiling.

"Did you do this you crazy BITCH?!" Wyatt screamed tossing his beer bottle at the window breaking the bottle.

Kimi laughed manically while Darien watched nervously, his heart beating rapidly. Suddenly, Kimi stopped laughing and stared coldly down at the three boys through the dirty window.

"Claudia Gordon, Jose Hernandez. Those names sound familiar?" She asked firmly.

Wyatt and Beck went pale as Seth began sweating.

"I...I had nothing to do with those things!" Seth cried out.

"No, you just follow and obey Wyatt and Beck like a little bitch, be a lookout and continue to be friends with rapists and murderers Seth. You're no different than they are." Kimi said callously.

"Open the fucking door and stop playing games bitch!" Wyatt demanded angrily.

"I assure you, this isn't a game." Kimi said reaching down and lighting up a rolled up piece of paper. She tossed it inside the window hole. The boys jumped back as the mattress went up in flames.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Beck cried out.

"Oh, I'm killing you." Kimi responded nonchalantly before getting up.

Kimi ran around to the front of the house and entered back in preparing to light more paper as the boys screamed and beat on the door from downstairs. Darien ran behind her and grabbed her arm tightly, snatching the one with the lighter as he stared at her in horror.

"Kimi, what the fuck?! You're joking right? You're just scaring them right?" Darien asked stumbling over his words.

Kimi snatched away violently and pushed Darien roughly knocking him backward.

"This isn't a joke. This is who I am Darien. This is what I do. This is what they deserve!" Kimi screamed, her eyes wild.

"Kimi, with the evidence against them, they'll get what they deserve! This isn't necessary!" Darien pleaded.

"Get what they deserve? Rich, golden boys going to prison for a few years while the people they hurt suffer for a lifetime. No, THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH AND YOU KNOW IT! If you try and stop me, you become my enemy Darien. You don't want that." Kimi said coldly as the boys screams intensified.

"Kimi, I love you...I mean, I'm really in love with you. I don't want to be your enemy but what you're doing..." Darien replied breathing heavily as he watched the basement door.

"Make your choice Darien...this is who I am. You said you would do anything for me right. If that's true, then don't get in my way." Kimi said as she lit another rolled up paper and set the liquor soaked couch ablaze. The boys screamed and coughed as the house burned rapidly. The smoke attacking their lungs. They attempted to break the small window resulting in cut hands. The window was far too small for any of them to fit through. Kimi and Darien stood outside a distance away as she whole house went up. It burned as easily and thoroughly as the paper Kimi had lit. A brilliant array of red, yellow and orange danced around brightening the woods around it.

A sense of euphoria flowed through her as she watched it burn under the moonlight. She listened intently to the muffled screams of Wyatt, Beck and Seth inside before there was silence. Darien watched on in quiet shock. She turned to him, her hand on the small taser in her pocket. She wasn't sure what she should do. She couldn't afford Darien snitching. Darien had a lot to lose as well considering he was the one that help lead them to their deaths. He had also hacked multiple phones and computers, including the school's. Snitching on her would mean telling on himself.

"So Darien, do you still think I'm beautiful? Do you still want to be with me after tonight?" Kimi asked sarcastically.

Darien stared at Kimi, seeing her in a way he hadn't before. He had done his research on her. He knew about her past and what had happened to her sister Cameron. He had looked into her medical records and read about her trauma. Kimi was a beautiful but broken girl. She needed him more than he thought. His love for her was even stronger now than it was before. He took her hand gently into his and smiled warmly, the moonlight illuminating his handsome face.

"Yes Kimi, you're still the most beautiful to me, and yes, I still want to be with you. " He said leaning down, kissing her lips softly.

Kimi's eyes went wide as her body stiffened. Darien is kissing me... Is Darien accepting me?, Kimi thought. She pulled her hand away from her taser and relaxed into the kiss. She threw her arms around his neck as he lifted her slightly. The kiss deepened passionately as smoke rose up through the trees and the sound of crackling and popping echoed in the background.

Tease Pt. 13 By: L.L. Morris

Darien led Kimi to his room where he closed and locked his door. He offered her his gaming chair again as he sat on his bed facing her. He could still feel the warmth from her hug on his body and it sent tingles throughout his skin. Kimi sat decorously in the chair with her legs crossed and her hands placed delicately on her lap. Her eyes seemed to hold many thoughts as she smiled warmly at Darien.

"Kimi...why did you ask me release everything except the alley way video? Didn't you want Wyatt, Beck, and Seth kicked out?" Darien asked.

"I have my reasons." Kimi replied softly.

"If you're worried about being involved, I can completely blur you out of the video..."

"That's not it. I want them to stay close for now...like I said, I have my reasons." Kimi responded.

"You can tell me. Whatever it is...I can help you!" Darien said enthusiastically.

"You've been helping me Darien! Exposing all of the cover-ups and shady dealings of Mr. Scott, Senator Ryan and Mr. and Mrs. Asher is enough help." Kimi said sounding thankful.

"Oh..." Darien responded sadly.

Kimi stood up and walked over to Darien slowly. She grabbed his right hand and held it making eye contact. His face flushed red again. She rubbed his cheek softly with the back of her free hand as she smiled warmly.

"Actually, there are some things you can do to help me." She said seductively.

Darien's heart rate increased rapidly.

"Okay." he responded smiling back.

West Dormitory

"Something's wrong!" Wyatt exclaimed staring at his phone.

"Oh God, is it the video...or did she not agree to to keep quiet?!" Beck asked desperately.

"I don't know...my dad didn't say. He just texted and said an emergency has come up and he's leaving the city and heading home. He told me that we need to be careful and keep out of trouble." Wyatt responded reading back over his father's text.

"What kind of trouble?" Seth asked.

"I said he didn't say!" Wyatt responded angrily.

"Do you think your father convinced her to drop it, and do you think he's found the person who sent the video yet?" Beck asked.

"All I know is that he said he met her and they hadn't reached an agreement yet. He didn't say anything about the video." Wyatt answered stuffing his phone in his pocket.

"I hope your dad works his magic again." Beck said flinching as he touched his heavily bruised face.

"Or maybe you guys can stop fucking up. That would be great." Seth retorted.

Wyatt shot Seth an angry look before turning back to Beck.

"Of course she'll give in. My dad always gets his way, you know that." He said smiling.

Wednesday rolled around and Wyatt, Beck and Seth soon learned why Armand Scott had rushed back to their home city. The news broke as a series of investigations and audits hit Mr. Scott's business. Mr. Scott, his attorney and Mr. Burgess were all facing serious fines and possible prison time. NDAs used to cover-up crimes were illegal and unethical. They were also being investigated for using intimidation tactics and harassment against victims. The hit to Mr. Scott's business was astronomical as his stocks were declining rapidly and multiple associates had already terminated their contracts.

Junior Senator Ryan was being investigated thoroughly by The Committee on Ethics for his role in the cover-ups. His expulsion was imminent if the depth of his involvement was uncovered. Darien had ensured it would be by releasing recordings of phone conversations between him and Mr. Scott. The Asher's had temporarily closed their businesses and were laying low as ex-customers left angry messages and low ratings on their website page. Everything was unraveling quickly.

Wyatt and Beck had been called into the president of the university's office along with Mrs. Scott, Beck's Stepmother Anna, and Mrs. Asher to discuss the Gordon assault case. Since being leaked it had made its way around campus and many parents had voiced their rightful concern about having young men like them around their children. It was the beginning of the year and Wyatt, Beck, and Seth had gone from genuinely liked by other students to being whispered about and avoided. People stared and said negative things as they walked through the halls. People glared at them angrily as they sat in class. Posts and not so secret messages had been shared about them around the university. They all were benched in practice as their coaches and teammates avoided direct conversations with them. Discussions about their scholarships were now on the table...

Darien and Kimi stalked them silently throughout the week, watching from the distance feeling euphoric at the sight of their emotional pain. Since the Gordon and Hernandez cases were older and had been reopened for investigation no further action had been taken against the boys as far as their education and scholarships. They were allowed to stay at the university until further notice. Darien had uncovered that the Gordon's had moved to Canada two years prior and were living quietly. The Hernandez's had moved to Texas and still cared for Jose.

Unfortunately, the Gordon's and Hernandez's would have to be dragged back in, reopening painful wounds to fully investigate the assault, accident, and cover-ups to destroy the people that deserved it. Kimi felt horrible about that. Her heart hurt for Claudia Gordon, the Hernandez's and every victim that the vile Scott, Ryan and Asher families had hurt, but she had a remedy for that. She turned around and smiled kindly at Darien as they waited patiently for Friday.

Tease Pt. 12 By: L.L. Morris

*Hi readers, sorry for the late updates, I've been sick so my creative juices haven't been flowing. 😩 I'm feeling a bit better now so I'm back to writing fiction 😊.

Leona couldn't stand her 2 kids causing so much trouble and noise. Then for some relief Leona did the menstrual game again. The menstrual game is where her kids hold their breath till Leona has her next periods again. Her young playful children were up for it and they held their breaths. The two young children were going to hold their breaths for the next 28 days. Leona was happy that she had attained some silence and now she could read some books and watch some TV, while her kids held their breaths till their mother has her next period.

Leona was really enjoying life and her kids were well behaved now. When her husband came home to find that their 2 kids were holding their breaths till Leona's next period, he was not happy. She did this a couple of months ago to keep her kids well behaved. The husband did not think that this was good for the kids to hold their breaths. Leona didn't see anything wrong with it and she was noting the silence. The family even went out while the two kids were holding their breaths. Leona kept telling her husband to calm down because when her period comes through, their children will breath again.

The trouble began when her period never came and her children have been holding their breaths for over 28 days. Leona assumed that her period had just come late but her period wasn't coming. Both her children were struggling to breath and her husband was so angry with her. Both their children were desperate to breath now and they were truly struggling and neither the mother or father knew what to do. Leona's periods weren’t coming. She was clearly not pregnant as they hadn't slept together in a long time.

Then the husband noticed Leona's change of character and behaviour. He thought that she was going through menopause. Although she was exhibiting more than just menopause symptoms, because she was also exhibiting symptoms of demonic possession. She was floating in the air and walking on the ceiling and doing impossible bends and stretches with her body. The two innocent victims were their children who were struggling to hold their breaths, and can only breath again when leona their mother has a period. The husband was just so lost in all of this and he just wanted their children to breath.

They were struggling to hold onto life and it's been nearly 3 months now of holding their breaths. What a disaster.

I’ve always been a fan of taking late-night walks. There’s something about the quiet, the stillness, that helps me clear my head. On one of those walks, I stumbled across an old, abandoned house near the edge of town. It had always been there, but I’d never thought much of it before. Something about it felt... different that night.

The windows were shattered, the door hanging on a single hinge, creaking as the wind passed through. I should’ve turned back, but curiosity got the best of me. I stepped inside.

The air was cold and musty, like the house hadn't been disturbed in years. The floorboards creaked under my weight, and I winced at every sound. As I made my way through the dark hallways, I noticed something odd. A large, ornate mirror, standing against one of the walls. It was out of place, pristine compared to the rest of the decay. It seemed almost to shine in the dim light of my phone’s flashlight.

I walked closer, captivated. The reflection I saw wasn’t mine.

At first, I thought it was some sort of trick, maybe a distortion of the dim light. But as I squinted, I realized something was wrong. The figure in the mirror looked almost identical to me... but its expression was twisted. It grinned at me, an unnatural, wide smile that made my stomach drop. It was me, but not me. I could feel my heartbeat quicken.

I stepped back, but the reflection didn’t. It stayed there, staring with that eerie smile. My heart raced as I took another step back, and so did it. I turned to run, but the reflection stayed in place, its grin growing wider with every movement.

Panicked, I fled the house, not daring to look back until I was out on the street. But when I did—just for a brief second—I saw it. My reflection in a shop window. That same twisted grin.

I don’t know how it got there, but I don’t think I can get rid of it. Every mirror I pass, I see it—grinning back at me, watching my every move.

And it’s getting closer.

Day 1, 2013

I was sent to war. To fight against them. I'm on the plane, heading to the battlefield. I don't even know what we're fighting, or if I'll survive. We're arriving soon.

Day 19, 2013

I still don't know what we're fighting. It's huge and pitch black, absorbing all light. It stands 8 feet tall.

Send help. We need it.

They kill my friends. I just hope that I get out, but death is peace compared to this. Yet, I will fight for our country.

Day 70, 2013

We’re getting closer to victory, or so they say. But we’re losing so many. We’ve started calling them Syhti. They’re monsters with long, scaly arms and razor-sharp claws that slice through our armor like it’s paper. When they hit us, our organs spill out. This isn’t war—it’s torture.

Day 150, 2013

The Syhti have become aggressive. No longer do they attack in their little groups of twenty or thirty; they swarm, hundreds on hundreds, pressing against our defenses until they crack. Whenever we make a gain, they simply counter with a tide of numbers. I've lost count of the number of good men who've fallen. It's no longer about winning any battles; it's about trying to stay alive. And the fear… always there. There's hardly a moment to sleep before they are on us once more.

Day 247, 2013

Everything is falling apart. We’ve started retreating. The Syhti are pushing us back, taking more ground every day. We’ve lost millions. Even nukes do nothing to them.

The sergeant says surrender isn’t an option. He told us, “They’ve killed us already, but we’ll fight. Fight for our lives, for our families.”

I miss my sweet daughter.

Day 300, 2013

The sky is black with smoke and the reek of death. The battlefield stretched to infinity, bodies, twisted wreckage, gunfire. I have lost count of friends now, there have been so many. The Sythi simply kept on coming, inexorable, eyes like fire. It felt like it would never stop, ever. I am tired. just so tired. I do not know how much longer I can carry this on.

Day 377, 2014

I returned home. War has engulfed the cities now.

My family. they're dead. My wife was clutching our daughter, huddled in the closet. But Syhti found them. Ripped them to pieces.

There's no secret "secret" war anymore. Now what?

Day 420, 2014

We are forced deeper into hostile territory. The Syhti never seem to end; they just keep coming and coming. It has become a day-to-day, hour-to-hour sight of watching comrades fall. The blood never seems to end. I'm scared that we might not last through another night. Food and water are running out; ammo's almost spent. It would seem we've already lost…

I can't get my family out of my head. I just want to go home.

Day 490, 2014

We are down to ten men now. The Sythi are everywhere, closing in from every direction. We are trapped. We have made our stand in what once was a small town, but this feels like defeat. Supplies are gone, and options are all exhausted. Fear clings in the thick air; the sound of roars grows louder in the distance. We know they're coming for us again.

I sit here, thinking about my daughter, her laughter, the way she used to run up to me with that big smile. I don't know if I'll ever see her again. The others… they're scared too, but no one says it aloud. We're just waiting, preparing for the final charge. They'll come for us, and we'll give them everything we have left.

But this isn’t just a fight for survival anymore—it’s a fight to ensure that some part of humanity can live on after we’re gone. We’ve already lost our world… now we’re just trying to protect whatever’s left.

There’s a quiet resolve settling in among the men. We’ll fight… until the very end.

There is a cabin in the alpines of Ashval Notch called Moribund. Records say that Moribund was built in the mid to late 1970s. The walls varied from browns, yellows and greens with accents of harvest gold and burnt orange. A brick fireplace up against the far wall of the living room with two wooden sculptures of knee-high bears on each side of it. Pine floors covered with braided and patterned rugs one in the center and the other by the doors entrance. A faded faux leather recliner and a floral couch provide sitting arrangement for visitors above it hangs lantern lights.

It’s everything you would expect for a potential rental to stay the night in. Though there is something peculiar about the basement. Where a padlocked door and warning signs are plastered over the door itself and the walls surrounding it. Even with such signs being placed and enforced by the owner people still seem to be disappearing. This is the reason elderly owner of Moribund is now sitting across from detective Pierce and Morrison in the familiar interrogation room.

"My name is Marilee Ellery; I’m 72 and own the cabin Moribund of Ashval Notch.” She twisted her handkerchief in her hands making her skin turn red “Recently in the past years of renting the place out to customers some of them have gone missing. The police searched the place from top to bottom except for…”

Marilee trailed off as if looking for a window to look out of that wasn’t there in the interrogation room. “Mrs. Ellery where inside the Moribund cabin was not checked over?” Pierce looked through an old file report in his hands peering at her over the top as he glanced at each page.

"When I first bought the place there was a letter from the original owner who warned me not to open the padlocked door of the basement. That they placed warning signs on the walls and the door to keep curious people out of it.” She sat upright in her chair dabbing at her runny nose with the now wrinkled handkerchief.

"Did they ever explain why it was locked up like that?” Morrison scribbled in notepad.

Marilee shook her head “No, and yet it has never been opened. I don’t know what’s inside, but I honestly don’t want to know but with all the pressure from the grieving families I..” a sigh escapes her lips hanging her head in defeat “They deserve some closure and it’s something I can’t offer alone.”

“Understood Mrs. Ellery” Pierce closed the folder and placed it down “We’ll help you.”

Relief washed over her features, and she teared up thanking the two detectives for aiding her.

Before leaving she gave them a set of keys and directions to get to the Moribund cabin wishing them good luck with the case and hoped they would be able to solve what exactly it was in that locked basement taking people away. They gathered up their gear loading it into the vehicle setting the directions into the GPS. Morrison protested over bringing thicker coats but when the snowy landscape came into view, he became thankful.

As they parked into the driveway Pierce stepped out examining the front yard the Moribund sign was tilted next to the front door. It was almost as if someone was in a hurry to leave and slammed the door a little too hard causing it to hang loose on the wall. When Marilee Ellery first contacted the MEA there had been one survivor who had escaped from the cabin, but the police were unable to get him to talk. Whatever he saw it had shaken him to his core.

"Do you know what we need to bring?” Morrison looked at his senior from around the boot of the car. Pierce looked back at him scratching the back of his head “I think this time we’re going in blind I’m afraid.”

This was the fourth case that Morrison would be on with Pierce a man who always had the answers for everything. Now both would be stumbling through the dark without an idea of what they could meet. With his hands on the hood Morrison grabbed a satchel that had been prepared and looped it over his shoulder. He closed the boot and trudged through the snow towards Pierce who opened the door for them to walk inside.

The air was stale mixed with an overwhelming feeling of unease. There was a creak below their feet as if someone was walking up the stairs of the basement followed by the whispering of voices.

Pierce shared a look with Morrison as if to say it knows we are here. Detective in training looked at his senior and nodded following his lead and making their way to the door leading to the basement. Soon as they stood before the door the voices and sounds stopped.

"You know I think that I may have an idea of what we’re dealing with.” Morrison spoke low clutching the satchel at his side. It happened to be something that he remembered back in orientation training one of the individuals in his class was absolutely obsessed with mimics.

Mimics will use voices and sounds to lure people into a sense of false security. It would explain why no one was able to open the padlock door of the basement. The door Morrison was confident that it was part of the house. Pierce smiled “Then I want you to take the lead in this case” he stepped aside letting the detective in training take the lead.

Morrison racked his brain on how to deal with this entity. He knew that it would continue to raise their fear, anxiety and annoyance. If they don’t let what it says and does get to them it would weaken it. At least that is what he hoped it would do. This mimic however was far more stubborn shaking and rattling the padlocked door letting out voices belonging to the people who had recently disappeared as if they were trying to get out and escape.

Reaching into the satchel he pulled out a can of liquid nitrogen sprayed the padlock and breaking it open with a metal lead pipe propped against the brick wall. As the door creaked slowly open a light flickered on and within the room is scattered and torn blood-soaked clothing. The room itself pulsed as if it owned a heartbeat, and a clear watery fluid dripped from the ceiling.

"Well, this explains the missing people.” Pierce muttered peering inside the room.

"So how do we deal with this?” Morrison made a face wanting to shut the door and go home.

A sigh escaped the senior detectives' lips as he accessed the situation in front of them. He looked at the liquid nitrogen in his partners hand and then to the satchel. “Do we happen to have salt in the bag?” Pierce pointed and Morrison looked down and opened it up shuffling through the contents finding a container filled with it. Liquid nitrogen can triple bond itself and other elements yet when combined with salt it could release heat.

Morrison scoffed “What are you going to do give it heartburn?”

Pierce laughed “Something to distract it long enough to call the MEA to come in and extract it from the cabin.”

Putting the plan into action the detective in training opened the cork on the salt and let it spread onto the floor of the room and loosened the nozzle of the liquid nitrogen and tossed it in shutting the door. As the compressed element leaked it spread to the salt producing a heat to the sensitive lining of the mimic's stomach causing a cacophony of voices and sounds to echo out. A wailing roar caused the door to shake and rattle threatening to swing open.

Pierce and Morrison had made their way upstairs shutting the basement door at the top of the stairs. With MEA contacted an extraction team came in and began the removal of the room taking it out with no issues and in its place was a dark empty space. Seeing it now was a disbelief that the mimic had been there. The senior detective patted his trainee on the shoulder and smiled “You did good today, Morrison.”

Hearing that praise made him feel appreciated and he brushed it off as if it was no big deal.

"Well, I just remembered something back from my time in classes is all.” Morrison cleared his throat and looked at Pierce who gave him a nod and headed towards the car. As he watched his teacher walk away, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the senior detective knew exactly what was in this cabin the entire time but allowed him to take the lead on this case. Morrison felt appreciated that Pierce trusted him to figure out which entity they were dealing with but knew his teacher already had an idea of what it was.

He trudged through the snow taking the satchel off and putting back into the boot before getting into the passenger side of the car. “Let’s contact Mrs. Ellery and let her know that the cabin is safe now. As for the families it’s going to be difficult to tell them what exactly happened.” said Pierce shaking his head. Morrison agreed but he knew it would offer some closure. Looking out the window he watched as members of the MEA in suits locked up a giant container on the back of a truck where the mimic had been shoved into.

Pierce drove them away from the Moribund cabin looking out the window as the giant container which held the mimic faded into the distance. At least now the families who had loved ones disappear from Moribund cabin would have some closure even though it wouldn't’ be the one they wanted.

sometimes i wake up in other peoples bodies.

i remember the first time it happened. its odd coming out of the swirl of sleep and feeling so completely not yourself. i think for a few minutes i just laid there with my eyes closed. i felt heavy, and my gut was all blocked up in a way it never had been before. this isnt my ceiling, had i been picked up and moved somewhere else? even the sun felt wrong. glaring at me from the east facing window, out of which i could see the cookie cutter suburbia. not too different from my own home, at least superficially, but everything was rearranged, the grass seemed a different shade. and the road curved all wrong. it was all wrong all of it.

it wasnt that i didnt fit my surroundings. i did, it was clearly my home. the bed i lay in had been slept in so much it had taken in my shape. or at least whoever i was shape. i looked down. i had breasts, which i had never had before. heavy breasts that sagged and were spotted with age. i was wearing very little. she was wearing very little, just a bra and panties. it didnt turn me on or anything. i dont think it would have had i been beautiful and young and curvy. i felt so female all of a sudden, so old, so revolted by my own body. am i dreaming? no. never in any dream had i wondered if i were dreaming. and everything was too tangible, too solid.

i got up and made my way to the master bathroom. i stared horrified into that mirror, seeing the ghastly black raisin eyes looking despondently back, my flesh was crawling like a thousand millipedes were having an orgy under my liver spots and wrinkles. i think in the moment, i understood the plight of those who were born with the wrong gender configuration. those who had definite male souls under the weight of a female body. or vice versa. for me there was a sense of deep wrongness, a dissonance between the reality of being in this old gray meatsack i so clearly was in, and yet being aware of the distinct, and different outline of my soul.

i had quite gotten used to being young and believe me, quite good looking. oh god i hope im not stuck like this forever. i pulled at my thin lips, i dug my fingernails into my cheek. i could definitely feel that, though in a very detached way. the white imprints of my fingernails remained on my cheek as i pulled away from the mirror.

maybe if i went back to sleep i would wake up and i would have my penis back and everything would be ok. i sat down heavily on the side of the bed. under the impulse of wanting to return to sleep and out of sheer muscle memory i felt the body i inhabited open a drawer on the pale blue nightstand next to me and grasp a bottle. as i removed it it rattled, full of chalky orange pentagons. i took two, dry swallowing them. that was a mistake. they stuck in my old throat and i nearly hacked up blood.

i lay there with my eyes closed and let a heavy, chemical drowsiness pull me back into dreamland. seemingly instantly i awoke and i was back in my own body. my girlfriend hovering over me, her face taut with worry. apparently i had been sporadically twitching in my sleep, and had been completely unresponsive for like, fifteen minutes she said. my heart barely even beating. she had been about to call 911 she said.

at the time i just shrugged it off as an odd dream, even though my memory of the few minutes i spend as a fat old woman was more vivid than any dream id ever had. i think i had no other way to rationalize the experience.

the second time, several weeks later, it was worse. i opened my eyes to a prison cell on a cot next to a piss filled toilet with a guard screaming at me to get the fuck out of bed and put on my fucking pants. i spend the morning and subsequent day just following the habits of the body i was in. i found out my name was hector. apparently he had done something particularly nasty, as hector did not seem to have any friends. no one sat with him at any meals. i became conscious of the looks of disgust that would flit across other guys faces when i met eyes.

later, in a bathroom, still in a daze, i felt someone grab my hair and slam my head against the nearest urinal. pain was an odd sensation, the tickle of blood trickling down my cheek and the hot, throbbing agony of a forehead wound seemed distant. not really mine to experience. i turned around and stared straight at the chest hair of some obscenely tall skinhead. hey asshole. he said, and punched me in the stomach. you think you can just fuck a little kid like that, huh asshole, i heard you cooked and ate him after it. he mustve been pretty fucking young if you could fit him in a pot and boil him like that, hey you fucking cunt, you pig. he grabbed my head. a handful of hector's stringy black hair, and bashed it on the cold porcelain several more times. even in here we have standards. asshole. you think you can mingle with us all huh, like we're equals huh? puta. bitch. i want to kill you but i wont yet, i think ill just scramble your brains a little. i was losing consciousness, an angry face swam formless and abstract in my vision. my head hid the urinal again, extra hard this time. everything went dark.

i woke in my bed, alone, with my head throbbing. it was around four oclock or so. later that night, under the haze of painkillers, i tried to look up any hectors that may have been arrested for heinous, hideous things. i found several, and one looked just like me. just like me in the dream, or whatever it was id gone through. hector de la cruz. the news report said he had been brutally assaulted in a prison bathroom, hospitalized, and had ultimately passed away. it seemed like the angry skinhead had not kept his word. a chill ran down my spine as i read the article. that had been me for a few hours, or at least i think it had been.

i remembered being an old woman, no longer thinking it was a dream. i wondered if it would happen again to me. i desperately hoped it wouldnt. i wondered if i should see a doctor. ultimately i didn't. what would i have even said.

i spend a whole day as an assembly line worker in asia. at the break of dawn i was shunted out of bed by my irritating and anxious wife. i did not understand the language. i was poked and prodded into getting on a train and following a horde of people to a gray factory. there were nets all along its perimeter about three quarters of the way up the walls. i wondered if they were there to stop people form jumping off the roof.

i tried to hide and curl into a ball, because i didnt know where to go, or what to do. i was quickly found out, and dragged to my feet by a man with a white collared shirt and a greasy combover. i was told quite a few things in what could have been mandarin, or taiwanese, or vietnamese, or korean. i wondered if i had hurt the social standing of the man whos body i was inhabiting. eventually i was made to understood that all i had to do was put this metal cylinder into this tube, and press this rubber ring into it to make a seal. which is what i did until long past nightfall. until an electronic bell rang out and everyone cleared out and swept me out in a matter of minutes.

i ended up collapsing on the side of the road, and what happened to the poor factory worker i dont know.

that was when it began in earnest, my little adventures. or excursions. i went so many odd and mundane places. taking over so many peoples lives for a day. it often ended so poorly too. i got hit by a man on a red motorcycle once, while i was crossing the road. at the time i was inhabiting a little third grader. i survived the initial impact, mostly because the man had tried to swerve. though i lay bleeding from a deep stomach wound. i remember looking up at the grisly trail of gore that led up to the man intimately meshed and mangled together with the remains of his red motorcycle. the handlebars had peirced his chest and poked out the back of his bloody shirt and his legs were all twisted up in the wheels. its not something one forgets so easily.

in my body, in my little life, i was not doing so well. i was miserable being myself, my grades were slipping and my girlfriend had refused to sleep in the same bed as me after the first time. apparently i had traumatized her, it was too creepy she said how i'd lay with my eyes rolling around and around in their sockets, convulsing slightly. unresponsive. nearly comatose she said. we broke up pretty soon after as i was becoming increasingly erratic, prone to sleeping all day and never calling or texting her.

thats the worst part. my memories. forgetting who even was me. being taken over by so many different strangers, taking over so many bodies. i lose track of who i had been when and what i had been doing in what body. they all jumble together now in my head, as i pass from person to person, i wish i could forget, but that seems to be all i am now. memories, even as i forget the details of my childhood. the face of my mother and father. i think i inhabit my original body less and less, and when i do i dont remember it as me. im just another face in the blur of faces. i dont mind it so much i suppose. i never was anyone in the first place. just another person in a sea of people.

these lives i take over. often ruin. i know theyre real now. or at least as real as a thing can be. as real as the words im writing on an old typewriter i found in my dusty basement. im old now, and have breasts again. though not nearly so large as the first time around. its not so bad being a woman, i even experienced a period once. it wasnt so bad.

i find myself nodding off slightly, i think ill fall asleep soon.

im a freaking nerd, okay, and im fine with it, i like it in fact, but its gotten me in an odd situation now. i know many cool facts like seahorses can change their gender or how before the 1800 people didn't know where birds went during the winter. there were even theories where they went, some thought to the moon and others thought they turned into humans and lived among us. there are even people who live today that still believe the second theroy. and if you asked me few days ago what i thought about that, i would have said that it is absolutly ridculous and people are out of their god dam minds. but I must say im starting to believe it.

you see i have a friend gial that ive known since kindergarten and ive only ever seen him during the winter. i never questioned it before, he just tells me that he goes up north to live with his mom during the summer as his parents are divorced.

but one day we were hanging out in my basement playing video games and i asked him what he did over the summer. he was actively avoiding the question "you know, i did a little bit of this, a little bit of that"

i already had that fact about birds in my mind as i was talking about it to my sister that morning so i my brain made the automatic connection. I first laughed at myself for it but as it settled it made more sense. he never tells me what he does up there, where exactly up north he goes, and hes an adult now, why does he have to go up north to see his mom, he has his own grown up apartment here in california. what about his very lucrative and high maintaince secret job here? OMG SECRET! what if he works with other bird souls like him.

another time I had decided to investigate more "where does your mom live?"

"why? do you like her or something?" he asks in a joking maner. thats what liars do, they avoid answering questions by asking questions.

i let it go for a while as i got occupied with other things.

then one day we had just finished working out at the gym and went the sauna. He was only wearing a towel and when he turned around i noticed a mole on his lower back, nothing odd but i just remembered it.

five months later (now) he is "up north" and a bird came up to me on a park bench, it had white feathers that reminded me of his striking blond hair, and bright blue eyes that looked like his. and when the bird turned i saw a brown spot on his tail.

"gail?" i said to the bird. and it flew away.

Original Post

“Hey Mom - where did you say you met Camila again?”

From the top of the small flight of stairs that led down into our apartment’s living room, I listened to my mother’s heavy breathing over the phone and waited, saying nothing else. The silence that followed my question was a tactical ceasefire, a measure designed to break Maggie as efficiently as possible. The woman was deathly allergic to silence, especially when anger was the emotion filling the empty space that speech typically occupied. I could practically hear her throat closing.

Not to say it was an effortless strategy on my end.

My first impulse was to unleash nuclear wrath on my mother, not keep my mouth shut. I would have loved nothing more than to give in to that impulse, split the proverbial atom in my head, and point the resulting uncontrollable tempest of confusion and rage at Maggie, fallout be damned.

But I knew anger would cause her to withdraw. This was my best chance at extracting information, so I held my tongue. For Camila’s sake.

While I waited, shifting movement in the periphery caught my eye. My wife’s partially inflated face had turned to look at me, her nose rising and falling like a buoy atop a stormy ocean current. The air mattress motor did not function as well as I had hoped. It seemed to lack the required power to fully inflate her body.

With her eyes fixed on me, the dizzying aroma of brine and mold slid into my nostrils.

I battled simmering nausea, which was partially from the smell, but primarily from the circumstances. Despite my efforts, Camila was changing. I had hoped the incomplete expansion would postpone these changes, but it did not seem to prevent her transformation. Or maybe the air from the motor was the only thing stopping her from transforming completely.

Weary from the quiet, Maggie spoke up. It took a minute or two to work, but my gambit was a success. More to the point, she did not attempt to lie her way out of this.

I did, however, become lost in thought while I bided my time, forgetting she was still on the line altogether.

“…what happened to Camila? Are you safe?”

Her voice, emerging unexpectedly from the silence like a monstrous claw from the fathomless depths of a pitch-black closet, was startling. The surprise weakened the hold I had on my emotions, allowing a tiny morsel of my total anger to break free from its tenuous detainment. A white-hot spark acting as an ambassador for the full, blooming inferno I was fighting to control.

“I…don’t even know where to fucking start, Maggie. I…Jesus, I’m going to let you figure that out. What the fuck is going on?” I yelled.

Reigning in the fury before it gained enough momentum to consume me, I closed my eyes and released a deep, cathartic exhale. Having almost lost control, I reminded myself why I was so devastated in the first place.

With my eyes shut, I allowed a collage of wedding memories to come flooding into my mind’s eye. I heard the canaries chirping, felt the warmth Camilla radiated when she spoke her vows, and smelled the sweet, nectareous scent of honeysuckles floating on the breeze. The exercise was grounding, and as my eyelids slowly reopened, my priorities became clear.

I loved her, and she was still Camila, whoever and whatever that was.

“She’s…she’s damaged, mom.”

My wife was currently laying lifelessly on our largest couch in the living room, positioned against the wall farthest from the stairs. Her toes were pointed upward and she held her arms at her sides, as if rehearsing for her own wake. I had affixed the motor from the airbed to her injured wrist, layers of scotch tape wrapping around the nozzle to decrease the amount of air leakage. The makeshift augmentation was a start, but it was imperfect. The mechanical draft opened Camila’s body, yes, but it didn’t fully pressurize her. Instead, the air rippled through her, waves of expansion and de-expansion washing over the surface of my wife like a tarp flapping in a strong wind. I described this all to Maggie, and when I was done, she did not need to pause before launching into her follow up questions.

A subtle undertow of fear now colored her speech, however.

“Is she acting normally? Does she look like herself - broad strokes, I mean - does she look like Camila? Her skin, her shape?”

“And you didn’t answer me - are you safe? I need to know you’re safe, Jack.”

Maggie’s line of questioning left me feeling uneasy, as she alluded to details about my wife that I hadn’t yet disclosed to her.

Twenty-four hours had passed since that knife pierced Camila’s wrist, and her body had remained in a constant state of flux ever since. Patches of her skin had transitioned from their normal peach-color to an iridescent, gleaming silver. At certain angles, her flesh refracted against my eyes and I saw a shimmering rainbow, like she had evolved into a human-sized pearl after spending many years trapped inside a titanic oyster.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just her skin that was changing. Some of her most recognizable features had become horrifically abstracted. Camila’s right eye was now elongated upwards, forming a blue-white oval that started at her hairline and ended at her nose, with her other eye remaining unchanged. The fingers on both of her hands had fused, now appearing like sleek, crystalline oven mitts. Her legs had lengthened, with her feet now hanging over the side of the couch as of the last few hours. If she stood up completely straight, I estimated she would be at least nine feet tall.

When she first deflated, Camila became a latex suit crafted in her image - a rubbery doppelgänger. Given time, however, she was developing into something else entirely. As if to signal that those changes were becoming progressively more unstable, her port had taken on a bright and foreboding red glow.

Through the haze of my worry and sleep deprivation, I offered my wife a weak smile. She reciprocated, but the right corner of her mouth made contact with her lower eyelid as she did, causing an intense chill to radiate from the top of my head downwards. As her smile widened further, part of her eye disappeared behind the corner of her mouth, overwritten by the creases of her grin.

It was all becoming too much.

Numbly, I turned away from Camila and whispered something to Maggie, hoping the question would be inaudible to my wife under the loud vibrations of the motor.

“I’m safe, okay? But Mom…what is she? A replica…a machine…what?”

I did not have to wait long for her response. She started speaking before I even made it up the small set of stairs that led to the front door.

Unnervingly, Maggie struggled to define Camila’s exact nature.

“Camila…is not a replica or a machine. She’s…it’s not artificial or synthetic, not man-made, though it has been… modified…by new technology. But we didn’t create it. No one created Camila. We’re not sure how old she…it is.”

My eyes dilated, and I almost dropped the phone, my hands now slick with sweat.

“A friend of your grandmother’s approached me at Angie’s funeral. They offered Camila…as a replacement. To help you recover. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Something…someone that could be constructed specifically for you, in the aftermath of everything.”

“Something that couldn’t die.”

Maggie hesitated, probably to let the information sink in.

Angie was my long-term partner before Camila - died four years ago from kidney failure. Never wanted to get married because she knew she was running on borrowed time.

Her death had shattered me for a long while.

My grandmother’s death, on the other hand, was an unambiguous blessing - for me and for the world at large. The woman was a notoriously sadistic mining baroness. A magician tyrant well versed in the arcane sorcery of transforming human suffering into ore, and then ultimately, ore into hideous wealth. When she died three months ago, Maggie had inherited everything. With that inheritance, she single-handedly funded our wedding, a fact I’ve felt apprehensive about since.

After a pause, she continued.

“But she…it's on loan. It belongs to them. They own it, and the technology they put into it. They…they said the loan would continue if…”

Unable to finish her sentence, Maggie fell quiet, her words dissolving amidst some combination of fear, shame, and cowardice. Although it was nearly impossible, I said nothing in response, waiting for silence to pull the completed confession out of Maggie. Eventually, she relented, and her tone became alarmingly clinical.

“They want to see communion in the wild, so they said the loan would be extended if Camila became pregnant. That was the original agreement.”

The sentence was a primed grenade lobbed at my diaphragm, exploding into fiery shrapnel when Maggie hit the last syllable of the word “pregnant”.

I felt myself choking on the available atmosphere. Either I had forgotten how to breathe, or the air I swallowed had lost its ability to provide oxygen. No matter the root cause, I was drowning above water. My chest burned and my vision faded. I dropped the phone onto the top step, as I needed both hands to grip the banister to prevent me from toppling over into a messy pile not entirely dissimilar to Camila.

Eventually, I sat down. It took me a minute to remember that Maggie was still on the line. I reached a drenched palm over to the device, grasped it tightly, and brought it back up to my ear.

“Jack - Jack, are you there?”

“I’m…I’m here.” I said hoarsely, despite the suffocation I was still experiencing.

“Good. Now, listen to me - if the technology is malfunctioning, she’s dangerous. I can’t explain it all over the phone. Drive over to Nana’s, and I’ll spell out everything.”

As Maggie talked, I forced dry air down my throat and into my lungs, trying desperately to restart the life-giving circuit. Slowly, my air-hunger faded, and I became steady on my feet. When I finally stood back up, phone still pressed to my ear, I said the only thing that came to mind.

“She’ll…Camila will be okay if I leave her here?”

“Yes. She can’t go anywhere. Before you go, you need to disconnect the motor. I’ll explain why that’s important when you get here. But you need to leave as soon as possible.”

And like that, Maggie ended the call.

Pulling my keys from the hook by our front door with all the dexterity and finesse of a rum-infused toddler, I clumsily slid them in my pocket and turned to face Camila.

“I’ll…I’ll be back soon, okay?” I muttered while walking back down the stairs into the living room, praying for a response that would verify that my wife was still somewhere in that shell.

As I approached her, Camila did not wave goodbye or nod her head in affirmation. She did not say anything.

Instead, Camila produced a smile, eerily identical to the one she had produced earlier, with the corner of her mouth once again consuming the bottom of her right eye.

Despite being a carbon-copy of her previous expression, it at least felt earnest.

But then I moved towards her.

Upon closer inspection, her grin appeared almost synthetic. Hollow, vacuous, and without emotion. Something she was wearing to mask predatory intent - a visual pheromone designed to entice, soothe, and disarm me. Almost within arm’s reach of the chugging motor, I stopped. The device was battery powered, not plugged into the wall. Meaning that if I wanted to disconnect it, I would need to be right next to my wife.

Within striking range.

Before I could decide what to do next, Camila found the energy to speak at a volume loud enough for me to hear her over the motor.

“Jack…don’t come any closer.”

Although she appeared to be warning me to stay back, her inviting grin had not waned. If anything, it was growing wider as I approached. Like a positive feedback loop, every step forward made her smile that much more emphatic, which encouraged me to continue moving forward, so on and so on.

At close range, Camila’s rapturous smile was disturbing. But overtime, I found that the discomfort fell away. Instead, the more I looked it, the more alluring the expression became. Beautiful, even. It was like a beacon guiding me home on a moonless night. I almost lost myself in its gravity, but right before I was within reach of Camila, the smell of brackish water and decay once again filled my nostrils, severing my trance.

No longer spellbound, the oldest and most primal portion of my brain shrieked bloody murder, now acutely aware of the imminent threat. As gallons of adrenaline spilled into my system, my heart thumping violently against the inside of my chest, Camila spoke one more time.

“Stay…back. Go…to Maggie.”

I raced to my car, stopping only to lock the door. From outside our apartment, I could still hear the motor running.

One last thought echoed in my head as I inserted the keys into the ignition of my car.

The batteries will run out and the motor will stop on its own, eventually…

——————————————-

My grandmother’s home was as stereotypically “old-money” as a mansion could get. The property, with its creaky black gates overtaken by vines, lengthy stone road connecting the gates to the house itself, and immaculately maintained gardens, appeared as if it had been lifted from the 1920s, pulled through time, and then dropped in the same location a century later.

Parking behind Maggie’s car, I reviewed the plan in my head, telling myself that I was attempting to keep my actions focused and intentional. Though, in actuality, I was really just taking a second to imbibe in denial’s tranquilizing embrace.

I’ll get out, see what Maggie has to say, and then go home. When I get home, I’ll call an ambulance. Camila…she’s sick. She has a disease, that’s why she has the port, right? I…I just don’t understand it. But just because I don’t understand her condition, doesn’t mean they can’t help her at the hospital.

She was already outside waiting for me, leaning nonchalantly against the driver’s side door of her navy-blue pickup truck. Upon my arrival, she placed her hands in the pockets of her mono-color charcoal-gray pantsuit and cautiously began walking towards me. Maggie’s imposing height, gaunt frame, and skeletal facial features made her organically intimidating, in spite of her talkative nature.

Palms up and out to show she meant no harm, Maggie started speaking.

“Look, Jack, you were rotting with heartbreak after Angie. I did, as always, what’s best for you…and, of course, what’s best for Nana’s business, God rest her soul…”

The next few seconds were a blur. Everything happened so quickly.

Before she could say another word, my fist collided with her teeth, splitting the flesh above my middle knuckle open and sending Maggie crashing to the earth. The blow incapacitated her, but she remained conscious, moaning in agony on the ground. I bent over her, reaching into the right breast pocket of her blazer to retrieve her phone.

A wave of uncomfortable disorientation washed over me, along with the intense sensation of being watched.

Why…why did I do that?

The assault and the theft were spontaneous and involuntary. I’ve never punched anyone in my life, let alone my mother. Nor did I know the location of Maggie’s phone ahead of time, at least not consciously. Once I had the damn thing in my hand, I didn’t know what I had planned on doing with it.

As if in response to the question I did not ask out loud, it started vibrating.

There was an incoming call from Camila to Maggie’s phone, despite the fact that my wife’s phone was currently in the glove compartment of my car.

“Hello…” I whispered.

“Hey love! There are about to be some men at the apartment - I think they’re friends of Maggie. Could you do me a favor and grab a case of documents from under her truck bed? The key should be in the pocket opposite to where her phone was.”

At first, I didn’t think it was actually Camila on the other line. The voice was much too low. When it hit the word “friends”, however, the voice self-corrected and rapidly increased its pitch by multiple octaves. It then sounded more like Camila, but it was still a little too high. When she finally arrived at the word “key”, the pitch dropped a few semi-tones, and I finally heard something that convincingly sounded like my wife.

“How…Camila, how did…”

“Oh! Well, I’m at home, but I’m there at your grandmother’s house, too. Mostly in you, a little in Maggie. Enough to know what she’s thinking, at least.”

“And what she’s thinking is bad for both of us.”

I couldn’t focus on understanding what Camila was trying to tell me. Instead, I remained preoccupied by the strangeness of what was supposedly my wife’s voice. Although the tone was finally correct, the quality of her voice was horribly wrong - frayed and hollow, like it was coming from a megaphone. Before Camila could say anything else, there was a male voice yelling something in the call's background.

There was a scream, a few gunshots, and then there was silence.

“Camila?? Hello?”

The call had dropped. I tried using Maggie’s phone to call Camila back. Although the call went to her phone, ringing softly in the glove compartment, she never picked up.

It must not work that way. I need to get home.

I found myself physically unable to leave without first following Camila’s instructions, however. My hands were unwilling to open the driver’s side door, no matter how much mental pressure I exerted. They just wouldn’t listen to that particular demand until the assigned task was completed.

Reluctantly, I walked over to retrieve Maggie’s car keys. As I did, I experienced a subtle pain in the knuckle that had delivered the haymaker. Not the discomfort and the ache from the punch itself - a new, different pain. It was a piercing, twisting sensation, similar to the pinch that accompanies a mosquito bite. At first, I thought it was nothing, but when my bloodstained hand entered her blazer pocket, sunlight reflected off something receding into the skin around my knuckle. A sliver of iridescent, wiggling fabric, burrowing into the flesh of my hand until I could see it no longer.

It looked like a tiny, cylindrical fragment of Camila’s altered skin.

Unsure of what else to do, I followed my wife's instructions, found the box of documents concealed in my mother's truck bed, and loaded them into my car.

By that time, Maggie was getting to her feet. She was unsteady though, likely concussed, so she had no chance of stopping me.

I heard her say one last thing before I got into my car and sped back to our apartment, however.

“Its antihelix…the regulator…they’re broken.”

—————————————-

I don’t have a lot of time to detail the state of the apartment upon my return.

I am currently on the run.

When I arrived home yesterday, the door was ajar, and the hallway smelled nauseatingly metallic.

Coagulated blood, viscera, and bone fragments inundated the area around where Camila had been lying. No obvious bodies were visible. The leather of the couch that Camila had been lying on was burnt and blackened like lightning had struck it. I don’t know who or what died there. But my wife was nowhere to be seen, and she hasn’t called Maggie’s phone since I left my grandmother’s estate.

I bolted. Didn’t grab a single thing before I left.

Now, I’m posted up in my car on a secluded stretch of country road, reviewing the contents of the crate that Camila instructed me to steal. Although, “forced me” to steal may ultimately be more accurate.

All the documents, except one, are records of a deep-sea mining operation that occurred between 1999 and 2016.

Stapled to the bottom of the box, there is a torn page from what I’m assuming is an old book of poetry.

The title of the poem is De onde Lúcifer pousou, brotou um Fio de Deus. Portuguese to English, it reads:

“From where Lucifer landed, God Thread sprouted”

The title of the deep-sea mining operation is listed as Diosfibras III, which translates to “God Thread” or “God Twine”, depending on which google translator you use.

Working on transcribing and uploading them now.

-Jack

I flew past the 55-speed limit sign, barely registering it as I fiddled with my phone. A glance at the speedometer—70. Fuck. I stab at the brakes; the last thing I need is another ticket. My heart sank as the dark rear-view mirror lit up. Red and blue. Fuck. I toss my phone into the passenger seat, take a breath, and turn my hazards on. The flashing lights hurt my eyes, the forested roadside coming in and out of view with the pulse of my lights. I put the car in park and turn the engine off. I’m supposed to do that, right?

The red and blue strobe pulled up behind me. I keep my hands on the wheel; I don’t want anything stupid to happen because of a jittery, caffeine-fueled cop. I squint into the wing mirror to see the officer approaching, but I can’t make anything out in the chaos of flashing lights and shadows. My heart slows as my jaw clenches. It’s been too long—five minutes. Is that too long? The lights keep flashing, but no one is coming. I cautiously lower my window and call out.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

I wait too long. Something isn’t right. Not a single car has passed us. I slowly open my door, straining to see the patrol vehicle. I move closer, slow and deliberate; I’ve seen too many videos online. The black void beneath the sirens resolves as my eyes adjust.

Nothing.

“Officer?” I say, too loud.

Nothing.

Was I pulled over by a ghost? Did the guy get bored and wander off? Did I just get out of a ticket? I walk around the patrol car, looking for any sign of a missing cop. The light from the cars makes it hard, but I eventually spot footprints in the gravel. They made it halfway to my car and then just stopped.

“Anybody?” I call out, more confused than anything else.

I guess I’m free to go. I’m making my way back to my car when I hear it—footsteps, heavy and fast. I turn. Just beyond the tree line. Getting closer. Officer? Not a chance.

I make a break for my car. One last look over my shoulder before I get in. Two pricks of yellow light glint from the trees. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I turn the key. The engine sputters. What is this, a movie? I hear the steps now, louder, almost inside my car. I turn the key again, and the engine purrs to life. I shift into drive just as my world explodes into falling glass.

A trickle of blood drips onto my lap.

There’s the cop. Thrown into my windshield.

I hit the gas. Glass and blood sting my face as I get up to speed. Glancing into what’s left of my mirror, I see it. Looming just beside where my car had been, lit only by the red and blue lights, is an awe-inspiring figure. It’s eight feet tall, shoulders as wide as the patrol car. Piercing yellow eyes glare through its hairy form as I disappear down the road.

Yesterday.

WEDNESDAY

Wednesday is one of my least favorite days of the week. It's the day our manager Gerold comes in to check on us all. He's supposed to be here everyday, but I don't think his sleep cycle works that way. He gets here in the morning and stays until close, and he watches us the whole time. Seriously, the man doesn't fucking blink. Ever.

I made sure to get here on time, and begin loading my cart right away. It really pisses me off that Gerold even pretends to care. We all know he's too worried about fucking Ruby behind our backs. She's the one in charge of the money around here. Imagine that.

One time, Adam walked in on Gerold and Ruby in the office. When he ran and got me, he told me that they had become 'one flesh'. Dude wasn't joking. Their skin had fused together, starting from the hips all the way up to their heads. Took forever to get them apart with just my box cutter. Come to think of it, that's right around the time Adam's episodes started. Hmm.

As I chased around the loaves of bread trying to make them stay on my cart, I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I turn around, and Gerold is peeking at me from behind a pallet of paper towels.

"I see you, Gerold." I said. "I'm trying my best, but they keep running off."

He leaned his head back and hissed at me as a few cockroaches took their chance to escape from his mouth. I gave him the thumbs up and got back to it. No use in trying to argue with him.

When I finally make it out to the sales floor with my cart, the first customer I encounter is Crazy Mary. She's got a half eaten sandwich knotted up in her hair, a tire track across her face, and a raccoon is following her. I swear, whoever keeps saying her name in the mirror three times in a row needs to stop.

"How you doing tonight, Mary?" I ask.

"Wonderful!" She replied with a huge toothless smile.

"Finding everything you need?" I asked, nervously.

"Oh yes, just found it."

Fucking great. Now she's gonna follow me around until I give her some of my pee. Might as well get it over with.

Paul was scheduled to work tonight, but he called in. Thank God too, because I don't need any extra bullshit to worry about. The dude had a stupid reason, though. Something about being trapped in a time loop and that he couldn't get out. Shit, aren't we all.

Emma showed up instead. Must've got the call. She's one of the newer ones here, but she's catching on quick. Sweet girl; strange taste in men though. Started dating Chris a week after she was hired... loves the hand. Maybe a little too much. That's why we can't schedule them working the same shift alone. Also, I'm not trying to place any blame here, but... I did notice the hand had one less finger on it last night. Do with that what you will.

I get to the front of the store to stock the bread and notice Ruby lingering near the registers. Of course she's here too. She looks over at me and tries to wink, but one of her fake eyelashes fall off, along with the eyeball it's attached to. I pull out my box cutter and show it to her. She flips me off and gets on the intercom.

"Gerold, you're needed to the office."

Fucking gross. At least I don't have to deal with the Turd Slug tonight. It somehow knows when Gerold's here and stays hidden. And, if I offer to buy Lenny his can of sardines, maybe he'll separate the 'one flesh' for me later. Besides, he's been looking for a reason to use that new machete.

Emma wants to learn everything she can around here, which is great... but, she can be a little intense sometimes. She watched me fill the bread very closely, even though it's a fairly intuitive process. I think she was just staring at my fingers though, because at one point, she started to drool. I keep telling her I don't have any extras to spare, but she says she doesn't know what I'm talking about. Right.

On the way back to the bailer, I passed the Man Who Walks In Circles. I was feeling frisky... so, I looked around to make sure Gerold wasn't watching, then threw one of my empty boxes in his path, to see if I could make him move this time. He didn't. Just kept on walking in that circle, eyes fixed on me, smiling maniacally and wearing the box as a shoe.

When I get to the bailer and start throwing my boxes in, I hear an odd thud... then, a scratchy-throated groan. I roll my eyes and lean forward to look inside. It's Tilly, spooning with the shrink-wrapped corpse from Monday. For Christ's sake, I didn't even know she was working tonight. She said she was just 'having a nap', and that I was very rude for disturbing her.

I dodged The Fart Cloud on the way out of the warehouse. It'd caught Emma instead; she was gagging while trying to fill her cart with the cases of soda/lobsters. I grab the one crawling near my foot, and throw it into the bailer with Tilly and her new boyfriend.

I head over to the break room before The Hum even starts up. I'd packed myself a delicious turkey sandwich today, and was starving. Lenny wasn't in there yet, so I wanted to hurry and scarf down my dinner before he showed up. I pull out my sandwich, take a huge bite, and feel it begin to squirm around in my mouth. I look down, and my turkey had turned into maggots. Fuck. I spit the bite out onto the floor, and it starts to crawl away. Lenny walks in, steps on it, then proceeds to tell me how gross I am.

We spent the rest of the night separating the 'one flesh'. Gerold had told us if we weren't more careful about it this time, we'd be fired. We didn't care about losing our jobs, he meant that literally. Emma wanted to help too, of course. But, once again, I'm pretty sure she had ulterior motives... because I noticed by the end of the ordeal, Ruby was missing the tip off one of her pinkies.

Finally, it was time to clock out. I slapped one of Gerold's mouth roaches out of my hair, wiped the Lenny goo off of my shoes, and made my way to the front. Tilly stopped me and asked if I could help her carry the body out to her car for her, so I did that first. I come back inside, walk up to the time clock, and get blasted in the face by The Fart Cloud.

Victor was born with a special power which enabled him to see the spirits. Many a times he summoned them back by calling their actual names. In the meantime he had encountered a number of both good and bad spirits. The latter ones were clever and soul eaters hence it become more difficult to get rid of them.

Through these years, his power had increased enormously due to which now, he was no longer capable of differentiating real people from the spirits and restricted him to interact with only one individual at a time so that he could not get any external help from others. For him this speciality had gradually become a curse.

Once he was strolling down the streets in a chillly December evening, he found a wooden bench near the street light and decided to take some rest before returning to home. Then a young lady came and sat beside him.

"What's your name dear?"

"I am Emma Clarke".

"It's a pretty name, EMMA CLARKE."

But she was still sitting there, Victor knew that now there were only two possibilities either she was a real human or an evil spirit hidden behind that innocent face. And his only chance to know that was to talk.

" Thank you. It was given by my father" she replied back immediately.

"So do you live nearby."

"Yes I am living here for last 13 years, in down street."

"What do you do?"enquired the young woman.

"I am an architecture. Oh...I completely forget about submitting my designs on coming Friday. What's today's date by the way.''

"It's 8 January 1986"

She was wrong about the date. Victor was now confirmed that she was an evil spirit. The only thing he required was her real name.

" Are you married?"asked the woman.

" Yes. I had a 11 years old daughter. What about your family?"

" My mother was murdered and my father passed away when I was little. After that I had been living with my aunt."saying that a drop of tear just rolled down her cheeks.

Victor was well aware about such shrewd evil spirits who played emotional games to weaken their host's mind.

"I am so sorry, I really did not mean that."

After wiping her tears she paused for a moment and then said " I guess it's the time to part our ways, Dad!"

"Wait! What did you just call me?" Victor said surprisingly.

" Could not you recognise me, well I am 24 now."

Dumbstruck by this new discovery he could not express his feelings in words. It took him a long time to realize everything and then he finally spoke " My dear daughter Helen."

His eyes become wet. He never had assumed that while encountering evil spirits his whole life he would become one someday.

Helen hugged his father tightly and said sobbingly " Dad, you do not have to suffer more, the murderer is convicted and mother is at peace now."

His father stroke her hair softly and said " I am sorry dear, I could not stay by your side but I hope you to remain happy in your life. Please release my soul from this world".

"Thank you Dad, rest in peace William Clarke" cried Helen and at once his soul left this realm.

When I was young, I was terrified of being alone in my own house. The fear was so intense that I would always have my dog accompany me whenever I ventured into any part of the house where my parents weren't. This habit became a comforting routine for as long as I can remember. The presence of my dog provided a sense of security that I desperately needed.

One night, when I was around 5 or 6 years old, I experienced something that remains vivid in my memory. I was sleeping peacefully in my room when I suddenly woke up. My bed was positioned in such a way that I had a clear view of the hallway through my open door. The hallway was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the walls.

Adjacent to my door was another room, and its door was also slightly ajar. As I gazed into the hallway, I noticed a faint figure standing in the doorway of the adjacent room. It was a man, and he appeared to be engaged in a conversation with someone who was standing in the doorway right next to mine. The voices were soft and indistinct, like a gentle murmur that filled the stillness of the night.

Intrigued and slightly apprehensive, I focused on the man. He seemed to sense my gaze and turned to look directly at me. What struck me most was his face; it was so clear in my memory. He had a big, friendly smile that immediately put me at ease. His glasses, with their round frames, perched on his nose, giving him a scholarly appearance. His ears were large and stuck out slightly, adding to his distinctive look, and his hair was very light, almost glowing in the dim light.

Despite his ghostly, semi-transparent appearance, which made him look like a shadow with glowing facial features, I felt no fear. His presence radiated warmth and friendliness. My dog, who had been sleeping at the foot of my bed, also noticed the man. He got up and sat attentively, looking at the man as if he were expecting a treat or some form of attention.

Feeling a strange sense of calm, I decided to get up from my bed. The man's presence was so inviting that I felt compelled to approach him. However, the next thing I remember is waking up in my parents' room the following morning. It was puzzling because I had never been known to sleepwalk. To this day, the memory of that night remains a comforting mystery, a reminder of an inexplicable yet warm encounter.

If you ask anyone with a passion for writing what the best feeling in the world is, I would bet money on them saying the feeling they get when writing. But, it's not just the writing that is special. It's the beautiful feeling of putting your innermost thoughts onto a page. Being able to share a mystical world you've created in your mind. It feels vulnerable. Like you are cracking your own head open and putting it on display for anyone to see. To love, to hate, to judge. The moment you feel your thoughts just falling onto the page. It's like you're not even thinking about it. It just somehow falls in place and makes a coherent story that you've put everything into. It's unlike any drug or any other high. The feeling of ideas flowing. Creativity. That is everything to a writer. So, what is the worst feeling in the world for a writer then? I bet that isn't a hard question for anyone. Writer's block. Few things feel worse when you are a writer.

What do you think happens when a writer gets writer's block? It's the complete opposite feeling. Not having any ideas in your head to escape to throughout the day can feel like hell. It's like the drug has been taken from you but you can just get more by buying some. It's not like running to the store to grab a six-pack of beer. That dopamine is blocked until you have a new fresh idea. Your own flesh and bone stopping you from pleasure. 

That's not even taking into account the pressure from others to write and get something out that will do well. 

All that being said, I am here to talk to you all about what happens when a writer is desperate for an idea and the lengths they will go to for an idea. 

My good friend Thomas went missing last week. He was a writer who found a way around his writer's block through very unconditional methods that led to his disappearance. 

To do this whole situation justice, I need to go back. Way back to when I met Thomas.

The two of us met in our junior year of college in a writing class. We were both put in a writing group with three other people. We both had an amazing time with the class and the writing group. 

I always knew the reason I enjoyed it so much was because of Thomas. After we finished the class, the two of us continued to meet up and help each other out with our writing projects or bounce ideas off of one another. Even on days we just wanted to hang out and play video games or something, it would always end up with us talking about our writing projects. Short stories, screenplays, books, all of it.

Thomas felt like an absolute machine when it came to stories. For the most part, I felt like I could keep up with him, but the guy always had some new idea to tell me about. I've never met someone who has my style of writing like him. 

We both liked writing in many different styles. I don't think I have a favorite genre but without a doubt, Thomas liked writing horror the most. 

I think people make a lot of assumptions when someone writes horror. Especially if they are a good horror writer. They must be really messed up in the head to come up with such terrifying ideas. A murderer, a psychopath, a deeply disturbed individual. The truth is that couldn't be farther from who Thomas was. One of the kindest, gentlest people you'd ever meet.  

I remember when he started to act strange. We were at a house party with maybe fifteen old friends from college. I saw Thomas being quiet in the corner. Now, to the average person, this probably looked like normal behavior for him. He wasn't a big party person. Whenever I did convince him to come to one with my extraverted-ass, he would prefer to just observe everyone else and I would do all the talking for him. He said that watching people in conversation helped him with his writing. 

That being said, I could tell he was off. He was looking down and just seemed empty…

After knowing him for so long I swore I could tell when he was in his own imaginary world. I could see the gears turning in his head and I'd get so excited to hear all about his new idea later. 

I should've gone up to him at that moment. Instead, I just stood at the beer pong table like a damn idiot. There were so many moments when I could've gone over to him to talk, but I didn't. Thomas has never been one to talk about feelings but that doesn't excuse me from not wanting to try. I'm not a guy big on feelings either but I don't try and actively avoid it. The mix of loud music, alcohol, and pretty girls definitely made it hard for me to talk to my buddy about how he felt. 

That night ended with him giving me and a few other guys a ride home. He was normally our DD for nights like this. He always said he didn't want a clouded-up head just in case he got an idea. Some might say a shot or two would only help, but not Thomas. He wasn't a religious guy, he just always wanted to be ready for an idea. It was his whole life. Always escaping into his own little world of make-believe and fantasy. It was always more fun to him than the real world. 

I sometimes felt like the only reason he wanted to be my friend was because I helped give him ideas to escape into. Sure sometimes we’d watch a football game or go to a party, but ugh, I don't know. I guess sometimes I felt used. I would push off those thoughts when they pierced my brain because I didn't know if I was using him too. Would I even be his friend if he wasn't a good writer? 

I guess we pick our friends for a reason right? Similar hobbies or interests? Maybe we did use each other for our own personal gain, but is it all that bad if we are both doing it? 

Sorry, I went on a bit of a side tangent there, I'm still processing so much.

Anyway, back to that night after the party.

I was the last person he needed to drop off that night. As he pulled up to my house he said goodbye but I got the courage to ask him if he was okay.

“Hey man, you good?”

“Yeah, just tired” he murmured without looking up.

“Okay, well are we still good to meet up tomorrow for lunch?” I asked, accepting that to perk him up. 

“Oh, about that, I think I'm actually busy tomorrow, sorry.”

“What do you mean busy? It's Saturday. What else could you possibly want to do other than talk about our projects? 

“You know I have other things I need to do sometimes right?” he responded with annoyance.

“Damn dude, chill. I'm just trying to help. We can just skip this week's meeting okay?” I said, trying to make eye contact.

“Yeah fine,” he whispered while facing his body farther from mine.

I got out of the car and he raced off. As I got into my room I felt so annoyed. It felt like he blew me off. I had projects that needed to be worked on. I needed his help and input on things. I knew if it was the other way around he'd be pissed off. 

As the morning came along, I started to cool down. If he needed space I should give it to him. Maybe I needed a break too.

The week went by without me hearing from him. It wasn't that out of the ordinary to go a week without hearing from him but after the way he was acting, I was definitely anxious to see him again. 

We typically hung out on Saturday afternoon so I texted him on Friday to make sure we were still good to meet up. He gave me a few excuses for why he couldn't meet but I convinced him.

As we met up at our normal place I saw him walk in as I sat at the table. I've never seen him so lifeless. His hair was greasy and his clothes were unkempt. I saw his red eyes and the bags underneath them to match from the other side of the room. 

He made eye contact with me and put on the fakest smile I have ever seen in my life. 

He walked to the table and sat down with way too much fake enthusiasm.  

“Hey Jake sorry I've been so busy. I want to hear the progress you've made and what new stuff you have going on!” Thomas stated with Inauthentic cheer. 

I paused and squinted my eyes at him. Waiting for it to be a joke or something. Normally I have to fight him to talk about myself but now he is telling me to go first?

“Um, no worries. You needed some space. I can respect that. But can I ask again if everything is okay? You can go first if you want, I really don't mind.” I said but was met with the still-lasting plastic smile of my friend.

“Please, you go,” Thomas said through his teeth while his smile was starting to break and the tone of voice was flat. 

I didn't want to keep pushing him. Him sitting and listening to me talk was way better than him storming out because he didn't want to talk first.

I started to tell him what I was working on and showed him some mock-ups I had. I must've talked for an hour straight without interruptions. That was unheard of from him. We would always bounce back and forth, sometimes interrupting each other with ideas. It never felt rude. It's just how we talked. 

In the hour of my talking, I left so many spaces for him to resound to me or give input. The conversation was so bare and boring like an awkward first date where I'm doing all the talking. 

For the first time in our whole friendship, I ran out of things to say.

“Alright, I appreciate you giving me space to talk but I'd love to hear what you have going on,” I said with hope but was only met with glossy eyes looking back at mine. He sat frozen looking at me. Looking like he was going to talk but sat for a good minute before responding to me.

“Well, this was nice. Thanks for meeting up with me. I think I should get going.” He said while pushing himself back in his chair to stand up. 

“Thomas please stay and tell me what is going on…please,” I begged him while he fought the urge to leave that restaurant. 

Without making eye contact he slowly sat back down. We sat in silence as I waited for him to speak up. I was only met with brief glimpses that held embarrassment and shame. I started to get even more worried but he finally spoke up.

“Okay fine I'll talk, but please don't tell anyone else what I’m about to tell you.” Thomas managed to say to me while looking at his shoes. 

I was prepared for him to tell me he killed someone with the way he was talking and acting. I dug my fingernails into the side of my thigh to prepare myself to not react to whatever wild thing was about to come out of his mouth. 

“I…I have writer's block.” He whispered with guilt. 

“Wait, what? Writer's block? You scared me!” I said with relief.

“Seriously? I thought of all the people you would get it,” he said with frustration finally meeting my eyeline. 

“No, that's not what I met, I was just trying to say-” I replied as I got interrupted.

“This isn't just a case of writer's block. This is something so much worse. I have nothing. Nada! That isn't me. I have no place in my mind to escape. No on-going stories I can add to during the day. When I sit down at my desk every night to write I just stare at the screen, mindless. Sometimes sure, I feel stuck or a little lost. Maybe I need some time to map a storyline out. But do you know what I do when that happens? I move on to another story. Or work on a character or…I don't know. I work on something, but I have nothing. Nothing at all. My mind is blank. No ideas.” He sat for a moment thinking. I gave him the space that he needed until he gathered his thoughts “I am nothing if I don't have my ability to create” He admitted with a deep breath. 

“Listen, this will pass. I promise. Every single writer loses inspiration at some point. You will find a spark again. You just need to push through it. Go on a trip, get away, go do something new.”

“You don't understand. I've tried everything I can. I feel so empty.” 

“Come on! I know you got this. How about we go do something fun tomorrow? Maybe you need to stop trying to get an idea. That's how we've gotten some of our best stories, right? While messing around doing something dumb?” I said as I saw a slight glimmer of hope in his smile.

“Yeah okay. Let's give it a shot. Why not, I've got nothing left to lose.” 

“Great, pick me up at noon tomorrow and we can go ride roller coasters or something?” 

“Sure, I can do that.” He remarked as I saw the tiniest bit of the old Thomas start to peak through his hard new shell.

That next day, everything started to fall apart.

I was spending the morning just hanging out around my house. Not really watching the time or anything. I was just walking through my kitchen when I glanced at the clock on my oven ‘1:03’ I read as my heart sank. I looked at my phone praying that I had a notification from him saying he was going to be late but I was met with an even worse message.

‘On my way over’ Sent at 11:45. 

The pit in my stomach only deepened as I read the sent time. I thought he just bailed on me, I never imagined something happened to him.

I tried to call him over and over again but his phone went straight to voicemail. I tried to get in contact with other people he knew but didn't have many of their contacts. After what felt like an eternity I got a text from him. 

“I’m at the Newbridge hospital room 501, get here asap.” 

I jumped in my car and got there as fast as I could. 

I finally made it to the hospital. Unsure what I was going to see when I got to his room. It was a good sign that he was the one to text me, but why was he so vague? 

The room I entered was filled with the sound of a loud clicking keyboard and a focused Thomas. He had a large bandage on his left forearm with many cuts and bruises covering his whole body. 

“Tom? Oh my gosh, what happened?” I said in shock but was only met with a bright glowing smile from my very happy friend.

“The best thing ever. That's what happened!” He replied giddy as a little kid. 

“What are you talking about? Did you crash your car on your way over? How badly are you hurt?” 

“Stop, stop. None of that matters. I'm fine. What really matters is that I got a story Idea. That's what I'm typing up now. Oh man, I feel so alive right now!” He proclaimed as he passionately typed on his laptop. 

“What? That's awesome, how did you get an idea yesterday?” I asked as I got closer to my friend in his hospital bed. He suddenly stopped and took his eyes off his computer screen for the first time since I entered the room.

“I…I flipped my car.” Thomas said while folding his laptop screen to see me better 

“You.. you flipped it? Oh my gosh, are you okay?”

“Yes I'm fine, but I don't think you understand, I got my idea when I flipped my car.” 

“Well is your story about a car accident or something?” I said while leaning in.

“No that's the thing. It has nothing to do with a car. I just… I don't know if I can't even explain it. My tire popped out of nowhere. My car did a complete barrel roll. I was in mid-air for maybe five seconds at most. You know how some people say their whole life flashes before their eyes when they think they are about to die? That kind of happened but it was different for me. Those five seconds felt like hours. I remember accepting the fact that I was going to die. I felt it in my bones. I gripped down on my steering wheel and closed my eyes. I thought I was going to see death but I didn't. I saw a complete storyline. A beginning, middle, and end. I saw characters, plot lines, twists, and turns. A whole beautiful story. I don't know how to explain it but when I thought I was going to die, it cured my writer's block. I can't believe that's what it took.” 

“That's great man. I'm glad some good came out of it.” I smiled 

“No, no, it isn't just some good this is huge I feel better!” I saw something strange in him at that moment. He looked terrible. Sure, he could have looked way worse considering he flipped his freaking car but It was shocking to see all those cuts. Yet, he had such a fire behind his eyes. At what first seemed like a good passion started to feel like an obsession. Like Gollum holding the one true ring. 

I didn't end up staying long as some family showed up soon after me. I didn't want to overstay my welcome. 

Fortunately, he wasn't in the hospital for long. I met up with him in person just a couple days later because he seemed excited to talk about new projects. 

I was really hoping when I saw him face to face that scary look in his eye would be gone but I was sorely mistaken. I saw him and was met with not only a crazed look in his eye but more cuts and buries. 

He slammed down a binder and several notebooks onto the table in front of us. He didn't even look me in the eye or ask me how I was. He immediately started to run through his ideas and talk a million miles an hour. I interrupted him just minutes after he started.

“Thomas,” I said as I was met with a glare for interrupting. “Slow down, have you slept since you got in that car accident?” He blinked at me slowly and glanced around as if he was just coming out of a coma. 

“No, I haven't slept much really. But now that I have Ideas, I can't sleep. I don't want to lose them. I can't go back to not having ideas. I'm nothing without them.” 

“Stop saying that.” We stared at each other blankly for what felt like forever. “Can you tell me how you got more injuries?” I said as he broke eye contact and tried to go back to his piles of papers on the table. “Hey, answer me. I’m worried about you. Please talk to me.” He looked around timidly then started to whisper. 

“Okay, I'll talk. After I crashed my car, I got that amazing idea. I got my first drift down in record time. It was coming together great. But I fell into a depression again after I finished it. I was hoping my writer's block curse was broken. I thought ideas would just start to magically come out of my head. However, that wasn't the case. The accident helped me come up with just that one idea. Then nothing. But then I realized. If a near-death experience gave me an idea, what if I just almost died again? And…well…it worked. I went for a swim in the ocean yesterday to clear my head and got caught in a terrible current. I gave up and started to drown when a surfer grabbed me out of the water. As I started to struggle in the water, pictures started coming into my head. Fully formed stories. I felt like I was dying but I didn't care. Something happens to me when I think I'm going to die.” 

“Okay, maybe you are overthinking this. What if we tried bungee jumping or something? Something a little bit more controlled?” 

“No, I tried that. I have to fully give in to death. I can't be scared. I can't do something that makes my stomach drop, I have to think I'm about to die. Maybe it's my brain's last-ditch effort to try and keep me alive. My brain knows the thing to keep me most motivated to stay alive would be to give me a story idea that I just have to write down. Little does it know it could be the thing that ultimately kills me in the end.” He said with a chuckle as he sipped his coffee. 

“Thomas, don't say that. This will not be how you die. I won't let you just kill yourself.”

“Fine, then you tell me how on earth am I supposed to stop doing this? I found a surefire way to come up with amazing ideas and I'm supposed to just stop?  I'm sure I can find a controlled way to almost die. And even if I don't, I will die doing what I love most.” 

“I can not believe you are just accepting this as your fate. It is selfish of you to be okay with just dying one day. Think of how me and your family will feel without you. You have to think of more than just yourself here…please.” I begged my friend. 

“Jake, I have no plans to die. I will be fine. I'm not going to just throw myself around every day trying to kill myself.” 

“Fine, just please try and be as safe as you can be. I mean, as safe as someone purposely trying to die can be.” I said with disbelief at what just came out of my mouth. 

I walked away from that conversation confused and worried. My friend seemed truly happy for the first time in so, so, long but, I couldn't rest easy knowing at any minute he could be dying somewhere. I always felt like I needed to go to his house or call him just to make sure he wasn't in the middle of trying to escape death. 

Every time I saw him he had the best ideas he's ever had. He was also having great success with the things he was coming up with. He was making money from posting stories online and even got a book deal. I saw my friend beaming with joy. It was so hard to be happy for him. His happiness was always in the frame of his injured body. A new cast or bandage appears weekly. One day he barely had his voice left. I saw a mark around his neck where a noose had been. The man escaped a self-induced hanging, all for a short story about a magical car that people disappear into or something. 

My friend was fading and he was fading fast. He was a victim to himself. Addicted to almost dying and the high of ideas that came from it. 

He got put on suicide watch at one point. Spent a few weeks in a mental hospital. After he got out of course he just started back up again but realized he had to find methods that didn't leave obvious marks on his skin. He couldn't look like he wanted to die. To most people around him, he seemed fine. Just passionate about his writing projects, in reality, he was still almost dying multiple times a week. 

Maybe I should have told someone he was still almost killing himself. No, I definitely should have told someone. I just knew if I told someone he would just resent me and keep doing what he was doing once they let him go again. 

He was actually suicidal. He wasn't mentally unwell. It was the best he had ever been, his happiness just came with an extra cost and risk

I stopped asking him how he was almost killing himself. I knew he did it again when he had a sudden surge of ideas. He got really good at controlling it. He had streamlined ways of electrocution and drowning that seemed to work a lot of the time. Although, I think he was losing brain cells because of it. When I would read some of his work there would be more misspellings than usual. He seemed to have trouble with math and he never did before. He was slowly killing his brain but he didn't care. 

This all brings us to a few days ago. As I said at the beginning of this post, Thomas went missing a week ago. Well, most of you probably caught on already, but Thomas was found dead in his car at the bottom of a lake.

It would seem his normal ways of controlling ‘almost death’ didn't cut it for him this time. He took the two first ways he almost died and put them together. Almost dying in his car and almost dying in the water. It felt rather poetic.

After I found out my friend died I didn't know how to feel. I felt guilty for not doing more, and then I realized the second Thomas almost died the first time in that car when he was truly gone. That's when I lost my best friend. Writing went from a hobby to an obsession; an addiction. Something clicked in his head or shook out of place when that damn Subaru flipped. It took my friend and gave me something back that was unrecognizable. He couldn't live in reality anymore, he was only happy in his imaginary land that existed somewhere deep within him. A place I couldn't get to. 

I miss him dearly. I know he died doing what he loved but that doesn't make it hurt less. 

Yesterday in the midst of my grieving, I made a huge mistake. My curiosity got the better of me. Part of me wanted to see what the hype was all about, another part of me wanted to feel closer to him. So I did something dumb. 

I went to the same lake he was found in. I tied one end of a rope to a brick and the other end to my leg. I had a knife in my pocket and I jumped into the water. 

It was a small brick so I didn't sink fast, but wow was I amazed. 

I could feel the pressure building up in my head. My lungs desperately wanted to take a deep breath but I held back as long as I could. I reached for the knife in my pocket right after I hit the water, but it felt like a lifetime before the blade reached the rope that was pulling me to my death. I started to cut my way through with all my strength. I started to see flashing in front of my eyes. A moving picture. It was happening…Time was slowing, my mind was sharpening, and ideas flowing. I couldn't resist the urge to try and take a breath any longer, it felt like my body was splitting into two. One part just wanted air and the other half wanted to stay in the water and keep downloading this idea that was infiltrating my head. Even if it meant that it killed me. At that moment I wanted to live and I wanted to die. 

The rope broke and I swam to the top. I burst through the water and gasped for air. I got to the edge of the lake and collapsed in exhaustion. I sat looking up at the sky. My heart was pounding and my lungs felt a sense of relief with every deep breath I took. 

I went home to write down the idea I had and couldn't believe the feeling I had. All I wanted to do was almost die again. 

Now it's all I can think about. It's not even completely about getting story ideas. I wasn't really struggling with that. But when I was in that water…I don't even know if I can put it into words. It's like something in that water wanted me to die. Like it was taunting me to not live. My body still took over and made sure I lived, but part of me felt okay with dying.  

I am terrified that this wasn't just the ending to Thomas, but the end of me too. 

I don't think writers are disturbed or messed up in the head. We aren't psychopaths or serial killers. I think we are just desperate. Desperate for that high of an idea. But please, I beg of you. Don't go looking for ideas in desperate places, because one day, those ideas will kill you.  

Hey guys it been 2 days and the sub reddit nosleep hasn't deleted my story that I published on there. They always delete my stories but I wrote a story 2 days on nosleep, and it hasn't been taken off. 2 days is the longest that my story has lasted in nosleep at the moment. Yeah I've still been posting on nosleep even though I know it will get taken off. As I'm trying to wait for nosleep to delete my story, my beard is hungry. I could feel my beard tugging on my face and for 2 days I hadn't fed my beard.

My beard is going to need something big to eat and so I go out looking for food, for my beard. I could feel my beards hunger and so I go up to someone's face and my beard latches onto their face. It kind of looks like we are kissing, but my beard eats their face. My beard feels satisfied and I don't feel any tension from it at all. It's hard keeping up a beard because you need to feed it and maintain it. I remember once when I forgot to feed my beard, I awoke to find my arm being wrapped around my beard. I quickly had to feed my beard all of the fishes in the fish tank.

Another problem I am having is my trainers and they were just ordinary looking trainers, but every time I wear them it feels like I have stones in there, but there aren't any stones in there. I keep taking my trainers off to find nothing. Then when I take my trainers off it feels like my feet are changing shape. I would put on my trainers but I would check to find nothing inside them, but as soon as I wear them, it feels like millions of sharp stones inside them. Then when I took the trainers off, my feet were completely changed to look like some creature made from radioactive dump.

I just sat down on the sofa not really knowing what to do. My beard started to feel hungry and so I tried stretching down to my feet, so that my beard could eat my monstrous feet. My beard managed to do a little stretching towards my feet and started eating it. Whatever had cursed my feet, it started to make my beard very ill.

Then my feet turned back to normal but my beard fell off. Oh look nosleep deleted my story finally.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been able to read minds. I still have no scientific explanation for this. As a young child I thought it was normal to hear different voices in your head. In that simple way kids accept what would be an uncomfortable reality to any adult, I truly believed these voices were all mine. When I told my parents they brushed it off as a childish prank. I never mentioned it to them again. Once I turned twelve I knew something was wrong. I became increasingly concerned I had a tumor. When no physical issues were detected I spoke secretly with my school counselor. She said that perhaps I process emotions differently or that I’m highly intuitive. I was relieved she didn’t think I was schizophrenic. However, I continued to hear disembodied voices. By the time I was fifteen I realized this couldn’t be simple intuition. As impossible as it was, I came to accept that these voices were being broadcast from the minds of those around me.

Most people think telepathy is super useful. The plain truth is it isn’t helpful at all. In fact, it’s mostly a real pain in my arse. Most days I resent it. Imagine knowing what everyone really thinks of you? Whether or not they really enjoyed the food you spent all day cooking? Whether or not they’re slowly losing romantic interest in you but are too polite to tell you? Also, if you’re not careful it can get you in a hell of a lot of trouble. Without going on and on about the details, what I’ve learnt through years of experience is that using telepathy to meddle in other people’s affairs, especially their love lives, is a recipe for disaster. 

I had originally lived near Blackpool, but my family moved up to Glasgow when I was eighteen. I applied to several universities to study chemistry and was fortunate to get accepted to the University of Edinburgh. I had never been there before and was happy and excited. My parents (both well respected solicitors) were extremely busy most of the time. So I would have to make my way to Edinburgh on my own. When I hugged them goodbye I remember hearing them both thinking about the cases they were working on. Their concern for me was fleeting. Typical. I took a domestic flight from Glasgow and landed in the afternoon. After thirty minutes of driving my airport taxi turned left into Holyrood Park Road. I saw Arthur’s seat looming warm, inviting and lush in the distance. Stark in the cloudless azure sky. Pollock halls lay nestled at its base. I pointed. “The gate’s there on the right, cheers mate”. The taxi pulled into the gate and parked. I handed the taxi driver his money and he replied, “Thanks sir, hope you enjoy the city.” I got my bags, closed the taxi door and walked towards the reception center. 

The next morning, much to my chagrin, I was invited to “ice-breaker” type gatherings with the other students. Where we go around the room introducing ourselves. I did not enjoy them. Just a small glimpse inside each of their minds was enough to put me off getting to know any of them. It took me a few days to find my bearings. I loved the city more than the people that populated it. This place felt old and absolutely beautiful. So eternal and alive. The buildings stood like dark sentinels. Ancient streets crisscrossed in complex patterns and the traffic was mayhem. I appreciated how hilly the city was. It wasn’t flat and boring. 

I studied chemistry and had to attend lectures at Kings Buildings. This part of the University was situated down near Cameron Toll. So every morning, too early for a young university student, I peeled myself out of bed, had a quick breakfast of Weetabix and milk, chugged a mug of tea, and raced off for my bus by the swimming pool on Dalkeith Road. 

One icy cold morning I was pulling my scarf tighter around my neck when I noticed a student I had never seen before. He stood with his back to me. All I saw was his dark, shaggy hair and denim jacket with matching trousers. He was standing over by the pavement’s edge. The 30 was about to arrive. I stepped a bit closer to form a cue. I was no more than a foot away from him. 

My brow furrowed. I couldn’t hear his thoughts. 

When I focused on him it felt like I was pressing on a sealed plastic bottle. Like I was forcing two magnets with like polarities together. Like his head was filled sawdust. I got a very odd feeling. Just then the bus arrived. We all payed our fare and shambled on. I felt uncomfortable. I pulled on my large wool beanie to suppress my powers. I saw that empty-headed guy around the campus a few more times after that.

I tried to distract myself with my studies. Late one Saturday afternoon I left to go to the library at King’s Buildings. I was walking down Minto Street when I saw a number 3 double-decker bus conveniently pull up. I jumped on quickly and paid my fare. As I turned to walk to a seat I froze. In front me stood the empty guy. I could tell immediately. He wore the same denim jacket. His eyes were steely and grey. He was not alone. This time he stood with a young woman. She was short and had shoulder-length platinum blonde hair. Her eyes sparkled like blue sapphires. They were holding bags full of groceries and textbooks. I figured they were on their way home after shopping. I sat down on the first empty seat I saw. The empty guy and his friend were standing at the front. I couldn’t help it. I tried to read him. Again, it felt like I was squeezing an indestructible balloon. It felt pliable and elastic but unyielding. After a few minutes my focus shifted to the friend. I realized then I’d also not heard her yet. I tried to read her. It was the same! It was like trying to hold water in your hands. As quickly as I got it, it slipped through my fingers. I tried again and again.

When I focused hard enough their minds sounded like distant waterfalls. White noise. Blank and empty. I shivered. I couldn’t help but think of dolls and scarecrows. Those things that only appear alive. Facsimiles filled with stuffing. Puppets. My heart was racing. I felt a viscous fear bubble slowly in my blood. The empty couple stood before me. They smiled at each other. Every social cue performed perfectly. They looked so real. So like normal people. What could possibly explain this? I felt so confused. I’d never encountered anything like this. I needed to know who they were! I watched as my stop came and went. A vicious curiosity was born and I simply had to know more about them. I sat on the bus and waited patiently. About twenty minutes went by and we were quickly approaching Gilmerton. 

Finally, I saw them stop talking. They both pulled on their gloves. Slowly, I got up too, trying not to draw any attention to myself. The bus doors hissed open and the couple exited. I stopped for a moment to thank the bus driver then stepped out into the frigid afternoon air. The empty couple were walking swiftly down the street. I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck as I followed them. The weather quickly turned awful. The wind howled and whipped my jacket. My long hair kept getting in my eyes. Ice cold spatters of water rained down on me. I held my head down and continued forward. When the wind calmed, I raised my head. I saw the empty couple walk through a small iron gate and enter a large house on the corner of Gilmerton Road and Walter Scott Avenue. 

I looked up and down the street. The houses all around looked brightly lit and well maintained. Suddenly I felt very stupid. What the hell was I doing here? What did I expect to accomplish? Just walk on in and ask them why I couldn’t read their minds? Ludicrous. Suddenly I heard a soft voice behind me. “Hey, why’re you following us?” I gasped and leapt from fright. I spun around to find the empty woman standing by the low stone wall. She’d snuck up behind me. “Err, I-I-I’m not following anyone,” I stammered unconvincingly. Her blue eyes stared at me. Hard and cold. I felt something pull at me. Pull at my eyes. Pull at something deep inside my mind. Suddenly I could not control my own mouth. It opened of its own accord. It began to tell her everything. “My name is Jerry Straw, I followed you and the denim guy home because – because I can’t –“ I strained as I fought against her pull. Amid the trance I managed to pull my head away and break eye contact. 

I panted. “What – what the hell was that? Did you. Did you get in my brain?” I looked back up at her. She was staring at me now with a horrible seriousness. She nodded slowly. “I need to make sure you’re not dangerous. Just tell me why you were following us.” My heart thumped hard in my chest. “I – I’ve never met anyone. Like me I mean. I mean. I mean what I mean is that I can’t read your mind. I can’t read the denim guy’s mind either. I just. I had to know why.” Her eyes nearly popped out of her head at my words. She stood still as stone. Her head cocked with curiosity, “You’re like us then?” I blinked stupidly. “Us?” I asked. She gestured to the window. The door to the house was ajar. Inside I saw four other people. One girl and three guys. I could just make out their voices. “Mind reading must be dead useful. We can all do useful things too. Special things.” 

“Like what?” I asked. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then she fixed me with an odd stare. It made me feel like a bug under a microscope. “You should come inside and meet us if you’d really like to know. We could use a mind-reader.” My heart was still pounding. I felt really uncomfortable. I’d never met anyone like this,  like me in my life and now out of nowhere there are five of them? Could it be? “I-I I’m not sure -“ but before I could even finish she had marched into the house calling loudly, “Hey everyone, found a telepathic creeper lurking in the garden!”

I felt my face flush red. I ran up the wooden stairs and through the open door. “No, I wasn’t! I mean I just thought. I was trying to find out.” I couldn’t quite get the words out fast enough. I closed the door behind me. Inside I found five people. The first was the short blonde girl who had psychically assaulted me. Next to her was a girl with brown hair and dark eyes. She fixed me with a warm grin. “Hey, I’m Eleanor. I see you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Lucy.” I turned my attention quickly to the others who sat on the old sofas which surrounded a tiny TV set in the large living room. I couldn’t read any of them. My heart thumped loudly. The house was warm but not in a good state. The wallpaper was peeling and there was hardly any furniture besides two sofas, a dining room table and a few chairs. The floors were dusty and I could smell the distinct scent of unwashed laundry. The stairs to the upstairs looked old and creaky. My eyes glanced at the TV. A PS1 lay on the ground with many game covers spewed across the floor. I felt myself relax slightly. At least they like video games.

Of course, the first guy I noticed was the denim-jacket guy. He stared at me with intrigue, “I think I’ve seen you around. Do you also go to classes at King’s Buildings?” he said with a large grin. I nodded and replied, “Yea, I’ve seen you around too.” My eyes darted to Lucy. “It’s how I first – noticed you.” 

Denim-jacket-guy leant forward slowly, his expression curious, “Noticed what exactly?”

“Well, I mean. You – you,” I suddenly felt unsure of myself. It wasn’t usual for me to talk so openly about my telepathy. But I continued, “You can all do stuff too. Like, psychic stuff?” I realized then I was whispering. The tension immediately diffused as everyone burst into laughter. Now it was Elanor who spoke, “No need to whisper. Yes, we can all do stuff like that.” Her eyes narrowed with curiosity “How did you figure that out?” My heart leapt. I kept my voice steady as I said, “Well, on the bus I noticed that if I tried to read his mind all I got was static. That’s never happened before. I just had to find out what was going on.” I heard a grunt from Lucy, “He didn’t figure it out at all. I told him we were special like him.” Eleanor frowned at Lucy, “Way to keep a low profile,” she looked back at me and continued, “But I think that makes sense. Our abilities work differently on people like us. I mean, Lucy’s powers aren’t as effective on us as regular people. And Desmond’s too.” Suddenly denim-jacket stood up and held out his hand. “My name is Marcus by the way.” I shook his hand. He used his head to gesture to the two guys to his left. “Them over there are Desmond and Justin. And you are?”

“His name’s Jerry Straw,” said Lucy while staring at her phone. I chuckled nervously, “Yea, she already dragged that out of me.” I looked back at Marcus. He said, “Nice to meet ya, Jerry. Yea, Lucy is a bit prickly.” He flashed a cheeky smile at Lucy. She continued to ignore us. He looked back at me and said, “You doin’ biotech too?”

“Nah, I’m studying chemistry,” I replied as he sat back down. 

Desmond and Justin had remained silent until then but both stood to shake my hand too. Desmond was tall and muscular with rough hands that felt like they could punch through cement. Justin was lanky and had long messy hair. He held a freshly rolled joint in his hand. “Care to join?” he said with a smug grin. “Uh, sure why not,” I replied. Everyone gathered together to share the two sofas. “You guys really don’t mind me just crashing your evening?” 

“Nah man, how many days do you meet a genuine telepath? Besides, we’ve all had hard times because – you know. Our – differences. We’re happy to help out a fellow freak,” said Justin. With the flick of a zippo lighter the joint was lit. 

We proceeded to chat and smoke. Then we ordered some pizza. Then cold beers from the fridge were brought out. Before I knew it, we were blasted out of our minds, eating pizza and playing Crash Bandicoot in turns. It was the most fun I’d had in years. I’d never felt so comfortable around a group of people I hardly knew. It was refreshing to hang out with people I could not read. We spent most of the time talking about our abilities. I told them all about my upbringing, about some of my more remarkable stories. Things I’d never been able to share before. It was so freeing. In turn I learned a lot about them.  Lucy can reach inside minds and control them. Eleanor and Marcus both have visions of the future. Desmond can create illusions in people’s minds. And Justin can commune with the spirits of the dead. I was especially excited by this. 

It was in the wee hours of the morning. Lucy sat leaning against Marcus on the other couch listening to something on her phone. Meanwhile, Justin, Eleanor, Desmond, Marcus and I chatted. “I mean, I can believe all kinds of psychic stuff. But talking to the dead? That would mean that there’s an afterlife. Maybe even a God. And I dunno about that,” I said as I leant forward. My head was swimming and I felt sick. I stopped drinking alcohol and sipped some water. Justin downed his beer and replied, “Well, I can do it. Doesn’t matter to me what you believe. I’m not saying there is an afterlife or a God. All I know is that when people die their thoughts and feelings are imprinted in the space around them. Are they actual souls? Or ghosts? No idea.” Justin was different. Unlike the others, when I pressed hard enough on his mind I could see a tiny spark hidden in the depths. It felt less hollow. More smothered than empty. It’s hard to describe. 

I took a long sip of water and asked something I’d been wondering since I first walked in, “How long have you guys been friends? And how did you guys all end up out here?” I noticed Marcus glance nervously at the others. There was a strange moment when no one took a breath. Had I said something offensive? “Well, it’s a bit of a long story. We’re all – from the same area. You see, growing up we each felt alone. Then Justin. Well. Justin can explain,” Markus finished and sipped on his beer. Justin spoke, “To try and make a long story short: sometimes if I concentrate really hard I can sense other psychics around me. A couple of years ago, I was having a rough time. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. So I reached out. I found Marcus first. Then the others one by one. That’s the reason we know each other. We’ve been friends ever since. That’s why we were more than happy to accept you into our ranks. Having a mind reader on our team certainly can’t hurt!” he laughed.

“We may have been lucky enough to all get into Edinburgh Uni but we weren’t all able to get into the same accommodation. As you can probably understand, once you’ve become friends with other freaks, hanging out with regular people  just ain’t the same. Thankfully my dad is loaded and he owns this house.” Justin spread his arms wide and he gestured at the peeling walls. “So we’re all renting it out together from him. It’s a bit run down but it’s affordable.” Even though everything they’d said sounded plausible, it was the way they had talked which made me suspicious. It was the first time I felt like they were hiding something from me. The way they’d all glanced at each other in supernatural synchronicity. I hated that all I could do was guess. I would normally always know. But I guess this is what it must be like to be non-telepath. I decided to let it go. “You guys are so lucky,” I continued, trying to change the subject, “I’d have loved to meet you all sooner”.

My studies were going well. My mood had never been better. I continued to go to lectures and practical classes. But now, at least twice a week, I would meet with my new friends. It would usually be Marcus, Desmond, Eleanor and me. Justin and Lucy were often absent. They certainly seemed less social then the others. Nevertheless, I grew to know each of them eventually. Marcus was my favorite. He studied biotechnology and really liked hiking. Eleanor was introverted but very aware. Desmond was a rugby player. A prop of large size and immense strength. Justin was drunk or stoned most of the time. He was a bit obnoxious but was also easygoing and quick to laugh.  Lucy was an oddity. She hardly ever contributed to the conversation. In fact, the only time I’d heard her say multiple sentences to me was when she had interrogated me. 

Despite Lucy’s contemptuous behavior I loved my new friends. The last month had been the best of my life. I’d never known such true peerage. As September faded away and October began the leaves of the trees had turned garnet and saffron. My group of new friends decided to have a Halloween party. “So cliched! But it’ll be amazing. We can put up cobwebs and fake spiders and skulls and all sorts! And all the sweets and chocolate! And play Backstreet Boys’s Everybody! Oh it’ll be great!” Eleanor yelled excitedly as we sat planning on the sofa. We all groaned at the mention of the Backstreet Boys but Eleanor told us all to stick it. Justin and I sat next to each other smoking a blunt. “So how crazy are we going to get at this party? We’ve got alcohol. Any chance we could score some more green? Maybe hash too?” I asked as I took a toke. Desmond walked back from the kitchen carrying two bottles of Coke. He handed them to Justin and me. Justin’s eyes lit up as he responded, “Hell yea, dude! I was thinking we could even get our hands on some shrooms.” My eyes grew wide, “Woah. Woah. What? That would up the stakes for sure!” We smiled and bumped our Coke bottles together in a mock-cheers.

It was finally Halloween. I was too anxious and excited for the party to pay any attention to the lectures that day. I literary ran out of my last class and made a beeline for my bus. Eventually I got to the house. Eleanor was already dressed up in her penguin onesie hanging up the cobwebs and spiders. I rushed upstairs with my bag and quickly got changed into my Spiderman costume. I adjusted my mask as I made my way downstairs. “So who has a beer for me?” I asked as I made my way toward the sofas. Desmond, dressed as a pirate, pulled a beer from a nearby cooler and tossed it to me. “Here ya go, Spidey!” I caught it then twisted the lid off with a pop. I pulled off my mask and dropped it onto the sofa. 

Soon Marcus stepped out of the kitchen dressed as a zombie. He glanced at me. His white makeup made him look gaunt and serious. He nodded to Desmond. “Alright, everyone’s ready. Time for us to start,” he held a crimson mug out to me. I took it from him. It was hot. Marcus gave everyone else a mug too. I noticed that Justin and Lucy weren’t dressed up at all yet. What spoil sports. I was thinking about how much that would upset Eleanor as I sniffed my drink. “Yuck, that smells like hot sick,” I said. Marcus chuckled, “It’s tea, I swear. It’s a mix of psychedelic mushrooms, valerian root and spices for taste,” Marcus explained as I wrinkled my nose at the murky liquid. I could see the dried shrooms cut into small pieces swimming around. “Well, let’s get this done with,” I said as I pinched my nose with my fingertips and chugged the horrendous tea. It was bitter and thick with soft chunks that got stuck in my teeth. I gagged and nearly puked. I coughed a few times. When I looked up again I noticed no one else had chugged theirs yet. “What’re you guys waiting for?” I asked. Suddenly I felt a wave of grogginess hit me. Something was wrong. My vision blurred. My limbs felt heavy.  Before I could string a sentence together I collapsed into oblivion. 

The first thing I noticed upon waking was a soft throb in the back of my head. It didn’t hurt but I suspect it would soon. I was definitely very on shrooms. My vision was confused. Colours and images swirled together like a kaleidoscope. I thought I could hear distant music playing. A cello? A flute? I couldn’t hear it clearly. I could also hear a chant. This was louder. It came from the five figures sitting around me. I tried to move my hands and legs. They were held in place by something. I was very confused. Where was I? How long had I been here? I looked at my arms. They were stretched out behind me. Tied to the floor. My legs were similarly tied so that I resembled a star fish. “What…“ my voice was croaky. My limbs felt full of cement. My tongue could barely move. I was still in my costume. “He’s awake,” I heard someone say. It sounded like Eleanor. My vision swam but I could make out the silhouettes of five people surrounding me; each one kneeling at my hands, feet and head. Suddenly I heard a murmuring. A murmuring of several voices. I soon realized these were the thoughts of my friends. I could hear them! Finally! 

At first, they sounded distant. Indistinct. But they quickly became clear. Like tuning into the right frequency on a radio. A chill ran down my spine. They didn’t sound anything like the people I knew. They sounded monstrous. I’d never heard such voices. Their voices were deep and raspy and awful. “He hears us. He knows! Hold him fast!” All their thoughts whirled together. They were all one mind thinking in sync. Oh my God! They didn’t have separate minds at all! My heart raced and I began to pull hard at my restraints. Before I knew it, I felt cold hands clamp down on my limbs and with an unbelievable strength held me tight like a vice. I was helpless. Trapped! What the hell was going on? Maybe I was just tripping really hard. But as I gazed up at the faces of my friends I knew I was not hallucinating. Their eyes no longer had any trace of humanity. They looked down at me cold and cruel. Empty alien stares. “Continue the call,” I heard them think in unison. The room started to come more into view. I was in Marcus’s bedroom. It was dark save for what seemed to be dozens of floating candles. The figures began chanting out loud again. 

Suddenly there was a noise like a peal of thunder. The sound of the unidentifiable string and woodwind instruments grew louder. As I looked at my feet and the wall beyond a bright light exploded before my eyes. This point of light swelled larger and larger. This bright white scar in reality stared into me. I could hear trillions of voices pulsating within. All bellowing in agony. I could hear the voices of Eleanor and Lucy. Of Marcus and Desmond. But I also heard the cries of inhuman things. Souls of people and things not of Earth nor the Milky Way galaxy. I heard the lives and words of things and places from far off civilizations. Distant planets. Entire cultures that had been sucked into this abomination. Holy shit their voices or souls or whatever you wanted to call it were in there. Suffering an ineffable anguish. They were trapped in what I can only describe as a stomach of some colossal eldritch beast. It was like a massive intestine. With powerful muscular walls that stretched and squeezed those trapped souls together. My claustrophobia triggered, I began to panic. They were all trapped and suffocating. Being mushed together into a single pulpy mind. That’s how they’d appeared so normal. So like real people. My friends’ true minds were held prisoner. Absorbed by this giant stomach. It knew their every crevice. Their every dream and desire and nightmare and hope. Everything!

“No no no no,” I mumbled as I tried my best to kick and punch. I tried to bite the fingers that held my head down but all in vain. Then it got a lot worse. The bright white scar began to darken. Something gelatinous was moving out of it. Imagine a dark purple pus pouring out of a wound of burning white light. I felt it more than I saw it. It gathered up on the floor like a great puddle of ooze and began to crawl slowly towards me. It was covered in strange thick hairs. It reminded me of how a starfish eats by everting its stomach. I trembled with terror as it pulsated, reaching my legs. Its tentacles extended towards my nose and mouth. Then I felt something pull deep inside my mind. It reminded me of what Lucy could do. But it was so much stronger. More visceral. I yelled in pain as I felt the ooze tug hard at my very mind.

Out of nowhere I heard a yell. But it wasn’t me or the monsters. It had come from the white scar. A pair of very human hands suddenly extended out of the sticky white wound with great effort. They were semi-transparent. Almost blue. Then arms appeared. Followed shortly by a head and naked torso of the person I knew as Justin. “I’m gonna fucking end you! You jelly fuck!” he screamed as he squeezed himself from the hole of light.  I felt the pull on my mind disappear. The ooze stopped in its tracks and suddenly leapt at Justin with unbelievable agility. But he was ready. He plunged his fists into the ooze as he leapt to the floor. I heard the shrill screech of a million insects. I winced with pain. It was worse than a thousand nails on a chalkboard. Imagine an Aztec death rattle on steroids. 

After the shock of the eldritch noise died away I realized Justin’s essence had hurt that collective mind somehow. I saw his naked spirit run across the floor toward his body which kneeled at my head. “No!” I heard the collective mind of the ooze scream out. But Justin was too fast. He had already leapt forward and soared directly into his possessed body. Justin’s head snapped back. A thick purple smoke bubbled from his mouth. He was shaking violently. His vice grip vanished. I immediately craned my neck up to see all the others were also seizing. Saliva and purple goo leaked from their every orifice. They shook and gagged. They’d let go of me. I could move my arms! I grimaced with effort as I pulled with all my strength. I felt something tear. At first, I feared I’d torn my own arm off but I realized they’d tied me down with a silk fabric they’d nailed into the floor. I hadn’t pulled the nail out; instead the fabric had torn. I used my free hand to untie my other. Soon my feet were untied too. I stood up way too fast and almost fell over from dizziness. I was still high as fuck. But I didn’t hesitate. I ran as fast as I could toward the bedroom door. I grabbed the handle to rip it open. It didn’t budge! It was locked. My head swiveled around. They were all still seizing. Now lying on the floor. That ooze was retreating back into the white scar. Fuck. What should I do? Help them? Or leap out the fucking window? I cursed again loudly as I ran over to Justin. I rolled him onto his side. The purple goo was gone now. Those weird instruments grew fainter. Suddenly with the rushing sound of a gale the bright white scar vanished. The  candles went out immediately and dropped to the ground. The room suddenly was very silent, smoky and still. As my eyes burnt from the candle smoke I looked down at Justin and the others. They were now lying completely still. I checked each of them for a pulse. Only Justin was still alive. 

I managed to use Justin’s phone to call the authorities. In twenty minutes, firemen arrived. They had to break down the door with an axe. The police were more than confused at the tableau they found before them. They saw me, dressed up as Spiderman, cradling Justin’s unconscious body. The others lay sprawled around me. They had no visible wounds or bruises or blood. It was as if they had all simply dropped dead from nothing. By the time the paramedics were checking on me my high was tapering off. I felt confused. My head fuzzy. I was in shock and my eyes stared off into nothing.  I’m not sure how but I ended up in a small brightly lit room at the nearest police station. They tried to question me. All I would say was, “I want a lawyer”. 

I had to wait for hours before my parents arrived. I remember having tears in my eyes. It was then I noticed it. My telepathy was still enhanced. I could hear the thoughts of everyone at the precinct. I could hear the thoughts of my parents. They were so worried. They were so anxious. They had been so afraid. Afraid I had died. The thoughts of everyone around me came to me more easily than they had ever before. It made it quite difficult to concentrate on what I wanted to say. It took me a long time to make myself understood. I kept stammering. I told them about how I’d been hanging out with Justin, Desmond, Eleanor, Lucy and Marcus. How we’d got along very well from the start. They’d been so welcoming and non-judgmental. Then we took that weird shroom-tea. They must have spiked mine. I told them they’d tied me down and were chanting. That they’d all suddenly started having seizures. 

Of course, I couldn’t tell the police the whole truth. By reading their minds of I worked out Justin had suffered what the medical examiner said was “a kind of stroke never seen before”. At the same time, I learned what happened to the others. My stomach dropped and I nearly puked. It was disgusting and horrifying. The autopsy revealed their brains had all been - liquified. The coroner was perplexed. He’d never seen this before. 

I don’t think I’ll ever recover psychologically from this experience. I miss my friends every day. I had never in my life known people like me. I’d never had anyone with whom I had felt so close. I can’t sleep. Are they still there? In that place? I shiver and wretch at the very thought.

It’s January. The months have crawled by slowly. I’m still in Edinburgh. Despite every fibre of my being screaming at me to get away. I could never abandon the one friend who lives. Justin is still in a coma. I’ve visited him often at the Western General hospital. I reach for his mind. It may be distant but at least it’s human again. I can hear it like a voice down a dark tunnel. I can hear him call out for me. I can just make out his memories. One Halloween night three years ago Justin had reached out to the dead. He’d taken shrooms to strengthen his powers. He’d reached too far. He’d interfaced with something - else. It had latched onto him. It had taken him first. Showed him the two rituals. One for May Eve and one for All Hallow’s Eve. Then it used him to find and absorb the others. I’m guessing his unique psychic power was also the reason he was the sole survivor. The only mind to ever break free from that hell, perhaps? Who knows. 

My abilities are far more sensitive now. I hear everyone’s thoughts from miles away. I hear the voices of all things. Dogs. Cats. Squirrels. Everything. I even hear the voices of things beyond our world. I hear the horrendous scratchy voices of many eyed, multi mouthed flying monstrosities. Of giant celestial intellects outside time. Not evil. Just alien. Completely without care for what it means to be human. I could hear them. Goosebumps rippled up my arms. Now they hear me too. “He listens. Yes. Yes. Take him. Stop him,” I hear their raspy thoughts whisper. I tremble from despair. They were going to get into our world again. I just know it. They’re coming for us. For us all. I will not join that legion of minds trapped in that sticky, white intestine. I need to wake up Justin somehow. He’s started talking in his sleep. His thoughts are solidifying. He’s getting closer to waking every day but we’re running out of  time. I need to reach him now! If I could find out more about how he fought that entity. I need his help. In the meantime, I sleep little and the minds of monsters haunt my every waking minute. 

They know what I’m planning. They’re trying to stop me. I hear those alien intelligences whisper in my ear, “No. Stop. No. No. Just give in. It is futile. You should be with us. Leave Justin be. Stop fighting.” I can’t block the voices like I could before. My hats and beanies are useless. If I don’t stop them soon I will go insane. 

I will stop this. I have to. Or, at least, I will die trying.

Katherine Drake stared at her reflection in the precinct's bathroom mirror, barely recognizing herself. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor that spoke of too many nights poring over case files. She hadn't slept properly in weeks. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the text from case files writing itself across her eyelids. She splashed cold water on her face and headed to the morgue. The basement level had always felt separate from the rest of the precinct, but lately it seemed even more isolated, as if it existed in its own pocket of reality. The harsh fluorescent lights did nothing to help her exhaustion as Dr. Harrison pulled back the sheet covering Professor Collins.

The professor's face was frozen in an expression of horrified recognition, jaw locked open as if he'd died mid-scream. His fingers were stained black to the bone, and the blood vessels in his eyes had burst in patterns that looked disturbingly like writing.

"I keep seeing things in the lab results," Harrison whispered, hands trembling slightly. "Words that weren't there before. Sometimes... sometimes I hear them whispering."

Drake nodded, adding the report to her case file. Six incidents in three months, and each one pushed her closer to believing things she'd spent her career dismissing. The nightmares had started after the second disappearance – dreams of ink that moved like living things, of books whose pages turned themselves.

"You look rough," Officer Martinez said, laying out crime scene photos. "When's the last time you went home?" Her concern was genuine – they'd been partners for five years, and she'd watched Drake's obsession with the case grow.

"I'm fine," Drake lied, studying the photos. The same symbol appeared in each one, hidden in dust patterns or blood spatter. She'd started seeing it everywhere – in coffee stains, in shadow patterns, in the cracks spreading across her apartment ceiling.

Back in her office, Drake mindlessly stirred a cup of coffee that had gone cold hours ago. The ceramic surface was stained with rings that looked unnervingly like the symbols she'd been finding at crime scenes. She'd started taking her coffee black after noticing that cream and sugar formed similar patterns every time she added them.

The case board dominated her office wall, red strings connecting victims in a pattern that seemed more deliberate with each passing day. Miranda Wells, the first to vanish, had left behind a single page that caused nosebleeds in anyone who tried to read it. The graduate student whose notebook spiraled into madness. Marcus Blackwood, found drowned in ink that contained fragments of impossible text.

Drake's phone buzzed with a text that made the screen ripple: "You're like she was, before she understood. Sterling Books, midnight. Come alone."

She frowned at the unknown number, detective instincts kicking in. Her fingers moved across the keyboard: "Who is this? How did you get this number?"

The response came immediately, the words seeming to write themselves across her screen: "Someone who knows what you're seeing in the margins of your case files."

Drake's hands tightened on the phone. She hadn't told anyone about that – about the way the text in her reports had started shifting when she wasn't looking directly at it.

"I'm a police officer," she typed back. "If you have information about these cases, we should meet at the station."

The reply made her screen flicker dark for a moment: "The station has too many eyes. Some truths can only be shared in shadows. You've seen enough to know I'm right."

She thought about the symbol that kept appearing in crime scene photos, about Dr. Harrison's trembling hands as he showed her the impossible lab results, about the way her own case notes had started rearranging themselves at night.

"How do I know this isn't a trap?"

The final message appeared letter by letter, each character burning briefly before settling into normal text: "You don't. But you'll come anyway. Because you need to understand what's happening to you."

Drake stared at her phone for a long moment. Every instinct from fifteen years on the force told her this was a bad idea. But those same instincts had stopped being reliable the moment she'd taken this case.

After several minutes of internal debate, she checked her weapon, texted Martinez her location "just in case," and headed for her car. Whatever waited at Sterling Books, she'd face she wouldn't be unprepared.

Drake drove through streets that seemed darker than they should be, even for midnight. The streetlights created pools of illumination that her headlights couldn't quite reach, as if the darkness between them had substance. She'd taken this route to Sterling Books twice before during the investigation, but tonight the streets arranged themselves differently, leading her down unfamiliar alleys that somehow brought her exactly where she needed to go.

The shop occupied the corner of a brick building whose architecture didn't quite match its neighbors. Its windows were grimy with age, but the dirt formed patterns that made Drake's eyes hurt if she looked too long. A bell above the door rang with a tone that seemed to echo far longer than it should.

The interior smelled of mold and old blood. Leonard Kane, who'd taken over after Blackwood's death, sat surrounded by photographs that hurt to look at. Drake had interviewed him before, but tonight something was different about him – his movements too jerky, his eyes reflecting light that had no source.

Kane's hands moved restlessly over his desk, arranging and rearranging photographs with obsessive precision. His fingers left smudges of ink that seemed to crawl across the glossy surfaces when Drake wasn't looking directly at them. The skin of his hands was stained so deeply that it looked like text was writing itself beneath his epidermis.

"I was like you once," Kane said, arranging photos with ink-stained fingers. "Investigating things I didn't understand. Blackwood found me, tried to warn me. But I wouldn't listen. Now I can't stop seeing her – the Silver-Eyed Woman. She appears when the words start breeding."

"Who is she?" Drake asked, studying the photos where a figure stood in the background, its limbs arranged all wrong.

"She was the first," Kane whispered. "The first to read the true text. Now she weeps for those who follow her path. Like Miranda Wells. Like Thomas Reid. Like you will."

A floorboard creaked. Drake turned to find a woman in robes that rippled with living text. But what caught her attention was the expression in the woman's eyes – not triumph or malice, but something like recognition.

"You remind me of myself," Terrane Askel said, her voice carrying harmonics that made Drake's teeth ache. "I was a professor once, before I found the text that changed everything. I fought it too, at first. Tried to explain it away with logic and reason."

"Where are they?" Drake demanded, even as the darkness around them began to pulse. "The missing people – what did you do to them?"

"We showed them truth." Terrane's smile held something like pity. "The same truth you're approaching, Sergeant. I see how it's already changing you. The sleepless nights. The patterns you can't unsee. The way reality feels thinner with each passing day."

She produced a book bound in leather that felt alive. Its pages turned themselves, revealing text that writhed and changed. Drake recognized fragments from her case files, but now they formed a narrative that spoke of vast, dark spaces and things that waited between thoughts.

"Stop," Drake whispered, but her voice shook. She thought of her apartment, walls covered with case notes and photos. Her sister had stopped visiting months ago, disturbed by the changes she saw in Drake. Even Martinez kept her distance now, watching with worried eyes as Drake pushed herself deeper into obsession.

"You've already lost too much to turn back," Terrane said, something almost gentle in her voice. "Your sleep, your peace of mind, your certainty about what's real. The only choice now is whether to understand what's happening to you, or let it drive you mad."

The photographs on Kane's walls suddenly took on new meaning, their arrangement mirroring the pattern Drake had created on her office case board. She saw now that the red strings she'd been using hadn't just been connecting victims – they'd been drawing the same symbol she kept seeing everywhere. And the people in the photos weren't victims anymore, but initiates. Each had followed this

"Come to the old church on Corvid Lane tomorrow at midnight," Terrane said. "See what Miranda saw. What Thomas Reid embraced. What the Silver-Eyed Woman weeps for."

She melted into shadows that reached for her like hungry hands. The book remained, pulsing like a heart.

Drake's apartment had become a reflection of her fractured state of mind. Case files covered every surface, their pages marked with sticky notes whose text changed when she wasn't looking. The walls were a maze of red string and photographs, connecting points that seemed random to anyone else but formed perfect sense in her increasingly altered perception.

She'd stopped using her bedroom weeks ago. The shadows there had grown too deep, and sometimes she caught glimpses of the Silver-Eyed Woman in her dreams, weeping tears that stained her pillowcase with words in languages that had never existed on Earth.

Instead, she'd taken to sleeping on her couch, when she slept at all. The television stayed on constantly, its white noise helping to drown out the whispers that seemed to come from her case files late at night. Sometimes the screen showed programs that couldn't possibly be broadcasting – stories told in alphabets that crawled like insects across the screen.

Drake spent the next day in her apartment, staring at walls where the wallpaper had begun forming words when she wasn't looking directly at it. Her gun felt heavier than it should, and when she checked the bullets, they'd started writing themselves into new shapes.

Drake gathered her files, each page feeling heavier than it should, as if the weight of the words themselves was becoming physical. Her badge felt cold against her chest, and when she looked in the mirror, she could have sworn the metal had started to tarnish in patterns that matched the symbols from her case files.

Martinez caught her in the parking lot that evening. "Katherine, please," she said, using Drake's first name for the first time in years. "Whatever you're involved in – let me help. We can work this together."

Drake looked at her partner – really looked at her – for the first time in weeks. The concern in Martinez's face made her throat tight. "I don't think you can help with this one, Rosa," she said softly. "I'm not even sure I can explain what's happening anymore." She tried to smile, but it felt wrong on her face. "Maybe I am going crazy. But if I am, I need to understand why."

Martinez grabbed her arm, grip tight with desperation. "Listen to yourself! This isn't you – the Katherine Drake I know follows evidence, not... whatever this is. Let me call Dr. Moore at Behavioral Health. Please. Before this case takes you somewhere you can't come back from."

"The evidence is right there in the files," Drake insisted, pulling free. "You've seen it too – you just won't admit it. The way the witness statements keep changing. The symbols that shouldn't be there."

"I see my partner working herself to exhaustion over six missing persons cases!" Martinez's voice cracked slightly. "I see you sitting in that office all night, staring at walls covered in red string, talking about words that move and shadows that breathe. Remember the Wilson case? Three years ago? You told me then that when things stop making sense, you're either missing something or looking too hard."

Drake felt a sharp pang at the memory. The Wilson case – her first big investigation with Martinez. They'd worked it for weeks before realizing they were creating connections that weren't there, seeing patterns in coincidence.

"This is different," Drake said quietly. "Back then, we were trying to make the evidence fit our theory. This time..." She glanced at her own shadow, which seemed to move a fraction of a second too slowly. "This time the evidence doesn't fit anything we know."

"Katherine." Martinez stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You haven't slept more than three hours a night in weeks. You've got case files in your car, your apartment, even taped to your bathroom mirror. Yesterday I caught you reading blank papers. You were nodding like they made perfect sense."

"You don't understand—"

"No, you don't understand!" Martinez's professional calm finally cracked. "We've been partners for five years. You were the one who taught me to trust facts over instincts. To question everything. Now you're chasing shadows and cryptic text messages, and I'm watching you disappear into whatever this is. Please – let me help before it's too late."

Drake met her partner's gaze, seeing not just fear but grief in those familiar eyes. Martinez had watched her transformation over the months, had documented it in her own careful way: the case files Drake swore rewrote themselves overnight, the shadows that seemed to follow her partner like hungry things, the countless times she'd found Drake reading invisible text in empty margins.

"Rosa," Drake said softly, "if I don't go tonight, we'll never know the truth. And I need to know – even if it costs me everything." She touched her partner's shoulder briefly, then turned away. "Don't follow me. Please."

She walked to her car, feeling Martinez's eyes on her back. The weight of her badge felt heavier than usual, like it knew this might be the last night she wore it.

The drive to Sterling Books felt like passing through layers of reality. Each street she turned down seemed to exist in a slightly different version of the city. The few pedestrians she passed appeared normal at first glance, but their movements were too smooth, too coordinated, as if they were all following the same unheard rhythm.

At 11:45 PM, Drake parked outside the church. Its spires reached toward a sky that had gained impossible colors. Through the stained glass, she saw the Silver-Eyed Woman weeping tears that burned holes in reality. Now she understood – those tears weren't just sorrow, but joy at finding another seeker of truth.

Inside, Thomas Reid waited with his black notebook. He'd been a struggling writer once, Drake remembered, before the words chose him. Now he was something else – a vessel for text that rewrote reality with each reading.

Kane stood in the shadows, no longer fighting what he'd become. And there was Terrane, watching with eyes that held memory of her own transformation.

The doors sealed themselves as Drake opened her case files one last time. She'd started this investigation looking for missing people. Instead, she'd found herself.

Somewhere in the darkness, the Silver-Eyed Woman wept words that spoke of the Black Horizon. And Drake finally understood – it wasn't just a prophecy. It was a promise of what they would all become when the last page turned.

"Are you still seeing things, Lucy?".

"It's real doctor whether you believe it or not. After going to that resort in the black forest I started seeing those footprints..." saying it firmly she retrieved back to her seat.

Few weeks later Dr Shelley got to know that her patient Lucy was found dead in her home which left her completely devastated. The postmortem report showed no external injuries on her body except her blood had turned entirely black in color.

Out of extreme guilt Shelly decided to uncover the truth behind her patient's death and visited the same resort that Lucy had mentioned to her earlier. On reaching there she could feel a strange aura surrounding that place. She booked one of the rooms and stayed there for a night.

Next day when she was returning she couldn't stop thinking about that bizarre place. On reaching home as she unlocked the front door she saw some footprints coming out of her house. Her heart stopped for a while as she remembered Lucy mentioning about those footprints in the sessions. Shelley after gathering some courage entered her house. There was a power cut in the whole area so she had to turn on her phone's flashlight while searching the rooms. She was taken aback when she found those footprints everywhere and then suddenly she heard some footsteps in the hall. Gradually she headed towards that direction. Her whole body started to tremble with fear. As soon as she reached the hall she saw new footprints which were in the backward direction begin to emerge near the corner.

Her feeble hands traced those materializing footprints with the flashlight and to her great surprise it took a different course and started proceeding towards the ceiling. At that moment her body freezed and her phone dropped from her hand, setting itself in upright position and lighting the ceiling. Those footprints stopped just above her head and then within a second some black shadow plunged over herself. She screamed in terror but her voice did not come out.

. . .

"Dr Shelley are you there?" the psychologist asked.

"Hmm ....yes doctor" Shelley murmured.

"So you are mentioning about seeing footprints in your house "

"It's real doctor...TRUST ME...!!"

My wife has always been the intelligent one and she is an amazing scientist. Where she excelled as a scientist, she had failed as a wife for me in my opinion. Her work was in physics and she had given her whole life to build a machine where it can multiply objects and even living things. She is always working and I wandered into the brothels and I always tried to keep it discreet, but as you know I got caught out. Got caught by the neighbour or some other person that I know. Never a great idea to get caught at these places.

The arguments I had with my wife and they were explosive. She was trying to build something amazing and there I was cheating away. When I got caught a month ago for going to a brothel, my wife was oddly silent. I preferred her to be loud, and screaming and then she calmly told me that she had finally built the machine that can multiply things. I wanted to talk about the brothel things but she wasn't interested at all. I thought that maybe she kind of just accepted it and this was our marriage now. I mean there are always consequences to always working.

Then when I went into my usual brothel again, I was flabbergasted when I saw that the brothel was just filled up with my daughter. My daughter is in her early 20s. I got out of there and when I went home, there was my daughter just watching TV. My wife smiled as she could see that I shook to the core. She told me that she secretly took my daughter somewhere to be cloned. My daughter didn't realise though that it was a cloning place, and she thought that it was a sun bed. My daughter told her mother that it was the worst sun bed she had ever gone to.

From the clones of my daughter, my wife used her machine to multiply the clones and gave it to the brothel. Now I can never go in there with my daughters clones everywhere. I go into that brothel and the things people are doing to the clones of my daughters, I was disgusted. My wife said that this was how she felt every time I went to the brothel. My wife went too far and I told her that what she a done was unethical.

During the times that the brothel was closed, I lit the place on fire. I saw all of the clones of my daughters just burning without ever screaming.

Abigail Mitchell and the Honeygreen Ghost

Abigail walked through the wetness of the trees and grass of the woods. Her task completed she looked for a place to rest. The gash on her side would need a few minutes to heal fully. The process had begun already. She would need to buy some new clothes as well. She smiled to herself as the rain wet her skin and the thunder soothed her mood.

“Ah! There we go.” She said, looking at the small clearing.

It would do. It was maybe 10 meters from the river. Perhaps a swim later. For now, she just wanted some rest. She took her time picking some rocks and sticks to make a fire. There wasn’t much that was dry out here, but it mattered little. She placed the surrounding rocks carefully, creating a fire pit.

She knelt on the almost muddy ground and set to work, placing the somewhat wet and outright wet sticks and twigs underneath her makeshift fire hood. Closing her eyes, she put both hands over the sticks and helped them to dry faster. She then took the index and middle fingers of her left hand and placed them within the carefully laid mess of twigs they glowed as she rubbed the sticks flames came to life.

She then took her bag off her shoulders and pulled out two dead squirrels. The veins in her right hand now glowed as she rubbed it over each squirrel, removing the top layer of fur and placing them over the fire. Her guest would arrive soon. So she sat, leaning against a rock.

This was her favorite type of weather. It cooled her and soothed her. She waited, patiently waited. She had heard tales of the Honeygreen Ghost.

The so-called Boogeyman of the Algonquin Highlands of Ontario, Canada. Beings like her always attracted each other. It's kinda like how singular animals could always find another like it when the time comes. Sometimes, it was stories of each other that brought them together. Sometimes, a new report or sighting was enough. Word of mouth was the most common method, but then again, it could be the weather.

What Abbey hated was when it involved other humans. Those tended to go in ways she oftentimes regretted. She enjoyed meeting things like her or kind of like her. She wasn’t actually sure just how human she actually was anymore. But friends and family often kept her grounded.

She figured she’d wait as long as it took. Honeygreen would find her eventually. She checked the squirrels and decided to snack. Ripping off a small bit, she tossed it towards the ground. It vanished just before hitting the ground, then appeared again, flying in another direction.

“Please explain to me, WHY do I keep trying to feed you?” She said, smirking as one good feline eye appeared for the briefest of instances, then vanished again.

“What did I do to deserve to be ‘haunted’ by you? EAT. THE. SQUIRREL!” she stated, adding, “It’ll give your fur some color… maybe?”

Laying back against the rocks, she closed her eyes and hummed lightly to herself, placing her arms behind her head. The gash on her side was slowly closing, as if in tune with the humming. Even the “thing” crawled its invisible self onto her lap and rested as it finished the meat.

For a while, she hummed as the rain fell over her. But soon enough, she perked up as she heard the cracking of leaves and the crunch and wetness of the grass.

“Pardon!” Came a raspy, whispered voice.

Abbey turned a glowingly warm palm toward the tall and skeletal ghostly thing. She held her hand out to it.

“Come, the fire’s warm, and I can use the company.” She said.

The creature was swathed in clothing as if to hide its features. It eyed Abbey’s hand and the flames, sensing the oneness of each, separate but the same. Its lanky frame, and much too long limbs, moved closer, dropping to all fours and moving in like a dog.

“Come on, then!” Abbey stated, pointing at the other squirrel on the spit.

“That one’s yours; I figured you’d be a mite hungry when you got here.”

Honeygreen moved closer to the fire and sat across from her, smiling as best it could. Its oversized jaws drooled at the sight of the squirrel.

Abbey nodded, and the creature snatched the squirrel from the spit, ravaging it. Its skeletal teeth chattered after swallowing the animal whole. Honeygreen let out an airy sound of satisfaction. The sound would make the blood run cold in most people, not used to seeing or dealing with the fantastical, or the horror of such a creature.

“Taste good?” Abbey quizzed.

“Delicious…” it said in a breathy tone sitting lotus style.

“Thank you for the fire and the food. I… hunger often. I… am frequently cold. But this evening, in this rain, you have warmed me more than I’ve been warmed in ages.” Honeygreen stated, glaring at her.

It did not mean this to be intimidating, but it was the only way it could look at a person. It was Part of the curse from the Highland spirits.

“Worry not! I’m frequently too warm. But I try hard to never miss a meal. There’s only one thing, though.” She began, adding “Why doesn’t Canada believe in Cheesesteaks?”

Honeygreen’s body attempted a grotesque mockery of a laugh, and Abbey joined in. It lifted a clothed, swaddled, bony hand towards her.

“For your kindness and warmth, I will repay you the only way I know how.” It said, moving closer. Abbey made no move to defend herself, and the invisible ‘cat’ on her lap yawned in boredom. Why it needed to yawn in the first place was unknown.

“I will tell you a campfire tale. A tale of terror, needless revenge, and my part in it.” It said through chattering teeth. Abigail’s eyes glowed with anticipation.

“I’d like that very much!” She stated, placing her hand on the creature’s sorry excuse for a leg. But as she did so, its chattering teeth slowed as it felt the warmth. She knew it would speak more smoothly this way.

Honeygreen appeared to be in a state of ecstasy as it breathed out again.

“Listen carefully. For this story is true, as true as your hand on my leg.” It began.

“Across that river is where fate had chosen the actors for the play that came to the Highlands that night.”

Honeygreen stared into Abigail’s eyes. She knew that since it was a spirit, there would be no looking away as he told his tale. That was a quirk of so-called undeath, but it didn’t bother Abigail in the slightest.

“As a wandering spirit, I spend much of my days in search of ‘food’ and warmth! I crave it! I need it! It is part of the curse I am under from the spirits of these woods for my crime, “Honeygreen said.

“I wander during the day and night. It matters not. My search always continues. However, when I have not had the warmth or food I need, I will... Sleep. I know not for how long, but if the heat of a campfire is near, I shall resume my search. I will move towards that fire as if a mosquito to a bare neck.”

It continued.

“It was after one of these long sleeps that I awakened to sensing a great flame. Even from so far away it beckoned me and I lusted for it! It was night as I began my movement towards the flames. When I closed upon the campfire, the curse pushed me to seek the permission of the occupants, but my mouth remained closed and I remained in the foliage observing.”

What Honeygreen was witnessing was not just a campfire. It was looking at what appeared to be a sacrifice. Its lust for the flames and the food had drowned out the words being spoken. It closed on the scene. At the campsite of the ritual were five people. Two males and three women, each standing on the tip of a star-shaped diagram on the ground. There was a large fire pit in the middle of the star and five smaller fires near the feet of each person.

Each of them wore clothing with strange markings. They chanted in unison, each holding a unique object. Waving them back and forth towards, and then away from the flames. A moment later, each stopped, and it grew quiet. Honeygreen then noted the silence about it. The creatures of the wood were used to its presence, and it had never harmed them, so the threat was not there, and there was no need to be silent.

But this night they are deathly quiet.

“Bring forth the Sacrifice!” The woman at the tip of the star called out. Two other participants went to the vehicle and pulled out a now muffled, but screaming man. He wriggled and tried hard to pull away, but was helpless. The two ritualists held him in place as he whimpered.

“Bring forth the Witness!” She again called out. The other two participants went to the vehicle and pulled out another muffled and crying man. The results were the same. Helpless, he could only watch as they moved the other man towards the fire pit.

“Remove the blindfold and gag from the sacrifice!” She commanded.

The man immediately begged and cried for his life.

“Please don’t do this! I can give you whatever you want. I have money, I have shit that... just don’t kill me, PLEASE! I don’t deserve this! I did nothing to you people!” He cried to the impassionate masked faces.

“Remove the Gag from the Witness!” Again, she commanded.

“What the Fuck is wrong with you people?” He cried out in a mix of terror and rage, tears dropping from his puffy eyes.

“Help me, man! Don’t let them kill me, dude.” The Sacrifice called to the Witness.

“I’m... I’m sorry!” The Witness whispered out trying to look away, but the woman and man held him firm.

“Now, let us continue. Move the Sacrifice towards the flame!” She commanded.

The Sacrifice struggled hard against the man and the woman but to no avail. They moved him to within two meters of the flame exactly. Then they released him. The man’s instinct to run took over, and he tried. But his legs disobeyed his mind, something unseen held him fast.

“Move the Witness to his position!” The Witness, also two meters away from the pit, eyed the Sacrifice. Each man faced each other in the arms of the star.

Knowing they were both helpless and likely doomed, they did a very human thing, tears flooded both men’s eyes. With rage empowering the Witness's tears.

“Shel… Sheldon.” The Sacrifice said, visibly shaking.

“Rick!” The Witness cried out, trying to look away, but his head was held by that same invisible force.

“Now take your positions. We have the rage of the Witness and the Hopelessness of the Sacrifice. We continue.”

The two other women stood behind Rick and Sheldon. The men stood at the feet of the star and resumed chanting. While the Priestess performed the ritual.

“SGOUEDDSLK! (Pronounced su-ged-silk) I summon you! You, who caused dread in ancient times. You, who fill children’s sleep with nightmares. You, who can kill our enemies and suffer no retaliation. You, of the flames of revenge and pain. Bringer of Terror! COME FORTH!” she cried.

“Take your Sacrifice Sgoueddslk! As innocent eyes witness your arrival. Sgoueddslk!”

Honeygreen could feel another just like it. As it made its presence on this plane known. It noticed the Fire pit grow larger. As it did, its hunger for the flames grew in scale. But it could resist only barely. The flames formed tendrils snaking towards Sheldon, as he cried in pain. His shins and feet burned from the contact.

They pulled him closer to the pit slowly as if feeding off not only his flesh but his fear. Rick could only watch in horror as Sheldon reached the middle, and the flames cascaded and flowed up and over his body.

It took mere seconds for him to be immolated. He screamed as he died. Emerging from the ruins of his body, stood a tall wiry grotesque thing that resembled a mix of a human and a salamander.

Reddish black skin, charcoal black eyes, reptilian facial features.

It screeched a yawn, as though bored by the summoning. It turned to look at the witness as the flames flowed over its body. This had proven too much for Honeygreen, and it made its way towards the ritual as fast as its lanky form could take it. Its craving for the warmth had now overridden its curiosity.

Sgoueddslk spoke to Rick, who trembled in fear as it looked at them.

“Well done Witness! I haven’t tasted rage such as yours in a very long time! If you survive this night, let that stick with you.” It said, poking him in the chest, its taloned finger slightly puncturing and burning his flesh. Rick screamed.

“I apologize! I forget humans are not very durable!” It chuckled thickly.

“Now to my summoner’s. I am yours to command. What would you have me do in this drab world of yours? Who do you want dead?”

The woman at the head of the star moved forward. Offering praises as she did so.

“Mighty Sgoueddslk! As your Mistress, I command you to...”

She never got the chance to finish as Honeygreen emerged from the woods, crawling swiftly as a spider on all fours towards the fire.

“Pardon, may I join you?” Honeygreen called out.

“Who dares?” Sgoueddslk snarled.

“What the hell?” One ritualist shouted.

“Oh, no!” called another, and as he moved, he scuffed the protective star just enough...

Sgoueddslk quickly turned to face his now terrified Mistress, for she knew what that meant. The barrier was gone; It freed the beast.

“You would dare summon another to ambush me?” It snarled at her.

“No!” she cried out. “I don’t know what that THING even is. Oh mighty...”

“Silence!” it said, plunging a taloned finger through the sides of her mouth.

Honeygreen just stood there, drawing in as much of the heat as it could. Sgoueddslk could feel the impossible cold of the thing. Thinking it was being attacked by the other “Demon,” it lashed out at its summoners. Long talons gored the panicked woman where Sheldon stood.

It peeled her open from stomach to sternum. The other woman fled into the woods. Spinning, it then sliced the first man’s head from his body in a jagged mess of blood and gore. The other fled in the woman's direction.

Rick could only watch, as he felt like his mind was about to snap from the events before him. All he had done was take the wrong turn last night. Just a wrong turn, a stupid wrong turn.

Sgoueddslk bent towards him.

“You! Witness! You are free. I still smell vengeance and rage in you.” It said before pulling his talon from the Mistress's face. She fell to the ground, clutching her pierced jaws in pain. Sgoueddslk took the same dagger-length talon and pulled it painfully from its hand.

“I cannot leave this spot, but you can. You kill them for me, boy! You make them suffer for what they did to both of us. Then you bring that talon back to this fire, and throw it in, and I’ll know the deed is done, and nothing like me will ever bother you again!”

Rick felt freed of whatever force held him. He shakily took the talon and felt the energy flow into his body, as if the dagger possessed him. He looked at the now pitiful, whimpering Mistress.

“NO! Witness! She is mine. For her crime, death is too kind! Now Go!”

Sgoueddslk commanded. The Mistress screamed as her summoned beast snatched her and glowered into her terrified eyes. Sgoueddslk smiled a toothy grin.

“Death is far too good for you! I do have something else in mind, however.”

It then turned to look at Honeygreen with a mix of disgust and hatred. Honeygreen simply nodded, tipping its hat.

“Thank you kindly for the fire and company.”

Saying nothing, Sgoueddslk pulled itself and the screaming woman into the pit.

“I’m not sure how much time had passed. But the boy returned.” Honeygreen said.

“He still had the talon in his hands, it was covered in blood. So I guess...” Honeygreen’s teeth chattered as though cold. He was, as in her excitement at the story, she had removed her hand. She quickly placed it back on him.

“I guess he had gotten his revenge. The flames were still high as I sat there watching him. He wasn’t scared of me. He’d seen worse that night. He took the talon and tossed it in the flame, then sat down. “

Abigail cocked her head to the side and quizzed Honeygreen.

“Honeygreen? I thought you said this was a tale of needless revenge.”

“It was!” Honeygreen stated. He opened his coat and revealed bloody swaths of human skin. He opened it further to reveal a tattoo on the skin.

“That tattoo belonged to the boy, Rick!” it stated.

“Oh, Nooo...!” Abigail said in genuine concern. “Why?”

“Part of my curse is to harm no one sharing their campfire with me while they are awake.”

“I see.” Abigail said, solemnly. The twist of the tale hits her.

“Well. It was a helluva story. If you had told that tale to certain other types of people. They’d be trying to destroy you right now. But I see the spirits of these woods have rules, and you followed them.”

Honeygreen tipped his hat, “Yes, Ma’am!”

Honeygreen rose. “I’ll be going now,” it said.

“Ohhh, no!” Abigail said, increasing the warmth her body put out. Honeygreen salivated.

“Sit! I told you I could use the company!” she stated.

“Now I’m going to tell YOU a story, and it’s a doozy!” Abigail started. “It’s about the Fey, a smoke monster, and a kid who won the lottery.”

Pt. 9

Her hand fell from my head, leaving a lingering burn where her fingers had been. I gasped for air, struggling to reconcile the storm of images crashing through my mind. The fire, the screams, the chaos, her life the past years, the confusion she felt, the despair and betrayal- they were seared into me now, as if I’d lived them myself.

Marina’s eyes softened, her voice carrying an unfamiliar tenderness as she spoke. “I have never felt the way I do when I’m around you,” she said. “Greg manipulated me, tortured me, made me into something I’m not.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but her words tumbled forth, urgent and raw.

“You believed me, you trusted me, and you led me here—to the gates of my home, the place I have been yearning for.” Her gaze flicked toward the floor, as if the foundation itself might crumble and reveal the truth beneath. “My kind wants to mimic humans, to walk among them, to feel what they feel. But I do not.”

She stepped closer, her presence overwhelming, intoxicating. “My dwelling is below, in the depths where I reign as a leader. It is a realm of power, beauty, and freedom unlike anything in this finite world. And I want you there with me.”

My heart pounded, her words sinking in with a weight I couldn’t ignore.

“Come with me,” she said, her voice like a siren’s call. “Leave this fragile world behind. Be my king, and I your wife. For eternity.”

I stared at her, I crumbled under the gravity of her offer. It was madness—a world I couldn’t begin to fathom, yet I couldn’t deny the pull. The thought of leaving everything behind, of ruling at her side, of eternity with her, sent a thrill through me I couldn’t explain.

“Eternity?” I managed to whisper.

“Yes,” she said, her hand reaching out again, though this time it rested gently on my chest, her touch a mix of warmth and frost. “You’ve seen what I am, what my world is. It’s not a place for the faint-hearted, but for you… it could be paradise.”

The room seemed to tremble, the walls vibrating faintly, as though her words were bending reality itself. I could feel the choice pressing against me, the weight of a thousand lifetimes waiting for my answer.

And still, I couldn’t look away from her.

Her hand reached out to me and I grabbed it. I felt like I was floating. Muscles and bones filled with air like a fleshy balloon.

I followed her like a dog on a leash. Chains never felt so much like freedom.

We made a decent down a staircase and as soon as my feet hit the last stair- a wave of heat hit my face. A heat that was warm and welcoming.

Fresh and sweet like cookies just pulled out of an oven.

I saw the brightest, warmest, light. A light so bright I thought I was standing at the foot of the Sun. It called me and I answered happily. I practically skipped into it.

I looked back as I was about to be engulfed by the light and saw Marina standing there with a smile that was no longer too perfect, but just right.

She followed behind me and what I walked into- was…paradise.

Black rock, soft and glistening, was the land my feet stood on. Beautiful pools of red and glowing embers filled my vision.

I saw people- or things that looked like people, dancing in the most extravagant black dresses and suits. Their skin glistened like stars in the sky.

I heard a choir singing at the top of their lungs. The most enchanting hymns- raising their praises to this beautiful realm that they inhabit.

I saw tall and lengthy beings that resembled Marina in the visions she had given me. Laughing and smiling with joy I had never seen before.

took a step forward, drawn to their celebration, eager to share in their joy. But pain, sharp and overwhelming, ripped through my body. I froze, gasping, and looked down at my arms. My skin flaked and crumbled away like brittle parchment thrown into a roaring fire. Beneath the destruction, my flesh was revealed—dark as the void, shimmering with an otherworldly beauty.

The agony was unbearable, yet I could not scream. Tears spilled from my eyes instead, unbidden and hot against my burning skin. I was changing, becoming something else, something beautiful.

A hand rested on my shoulder, firm and steady. I turned to find Marina beside me, her eyes gleaming with assurance. She cupped my chin, lifting my head so that I would meet her gaze.

“My dear,” she said softly, her voice like a lullaby against the storm of my pain. “It’s alright. The pain won’t last. This new body you are growing will fulfill your every desire. Stand tall and strong as your body breaks and burns. My people are watching you, and you will be their King. Show no weakness.”

Her words sank into me, anchoring me even as my back arched with another surge of torment. I staggered, nearly falling, but her voice echoed in my mind. Do not be weak.

The pain surged again, this time tearing through my spine like lightning. I gasped as the sensation spread, something unfurling, growing. A sound—like the rush of wings slicing through air—filled my ears. I turned to Marina, desperate for reassurance, and saw a shadow stretch behind her. It wasn’t hers. It was mine.

The wings, dark as eternity, spread wide, their edges shimmering like embers in the dim light. Marina smiled, a proud, almost maternal gleam in her eyes.

I smiled back, the pain receding like a distant memory. She extended her hand toward the beings across the expanse, the ones whose laughter and music still filled the air. “Go to them,” she said simply.

Without hesitation, I stepped forward, my steps sure and purposeful now. My new wings flexed, and I felt an unfamiliar strength coursing through me. As I approached, the beings turned to greet me, their faces alight with joy.

They welcomed me as one of their own, their radiant king.

This was my home now. My family.

Paradise.

I was exhausted.

The type of tired that creeps into every crack and crevice of your body and makes you feel like every limb weighs a ton.

Small blessings were upon me, however.

In a rare turn of fate, my train was already waiting for me as I slipped from the twilight of the street into the fluorescence of the station.

The metal doors slid open as I made my way inside the almost empty cab. It was silent, something both comforting and concerning.

I could fall asleep, which I wanted to do desperately, but at the same time I didn’t want to oversleep and miss my stop.

Groggily, I stared up at the moon, in her full luminance, almost as if she held the answers.

In her infinite wisdom, she remained mute.

I found the seat that beckoned to me, gave a polite smile to my fellow passenger, and gingerly sank into my seat.

Within minutes my eyes fluttered closed.

I wasn’t sure how long I was sleeping before I heard it.

Sharp intakes of air. Groans of pain. Violent gags, retching.

My eyes snapped open and I spun around.

The man opposite and behind me was slumped over in his seat, body taut as fishing wire.

“Sir…are you okay?” I asked, while making my way over to the writhing mass of man.

As if on a springtrap, the man suddenly shot to his feet, his face twisted in the ugliest, painful looking grimace I’d ever seen.

Then after a beat, he threw his head back so aggressively I thought it would snap.

“What the fu-“

His body began to shift even more, muscles bulging as his skin turned black.

On second glance, I realized what was happening.

Fur.

He was growing fur.

His canines grew abnormally long and sharp, as his hands became tools of evisceration.

I was watching man become beast.

In another flurry of now bestial limbs, the man thing tossed me to the side, rushed to the door, and jumped straight through the steel and glass without a backward glance.

The soft swaying of the train car shook unsteadily for a moment, before coming to a stop.

Hours later, when I’d made it home, I sat in my apartment in disbelief and fear. I’d had a night straight out of a horror film.

And I’d survived. I’d seen the face and the number of the beast and lived to never tell a soul.

A searing pain bore into my skin as I looked down at my arm.

My grey sweater was now deeply tinged in crimson, dripping with life and death.

I looked to the moon once more.

This time she spoke.

Dr. Elias Granger sat hunched over the microscope, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. His hands trembled, not from fatigue, but from the sheer excitement that coursed through his veins. The sample on the slide was unlike anything he had ever encountered. It was an unusual strain of the rabies virus, but this was no ordinary mutation. Granger had been searching for it—had been hoping for it—ever since he first postulated the existence of the "Zombie Pathogen" years ago.

The virus, which he had nicknamed Rabia Noctis, was not just a neurological infection; it rewrote the rules of life and death. It spread through saliva, just like rabies, but its effects were far more sinister. The infected became feral, their minds consumed by a primal hunger. And worse: they could not die.

At first, Granger thought he had made a mistake. The virus had been slow to manifest, but once it took hold, it spread like wildfire through the test animals. The infected were not simply rabid—they were unstoppable. They did not succumb to the usual causes of death: no heart failure, no organ shutdown. Only one thing seemed to halt them—severing the head from the body. But even then, Granger wasn’t sure if it was a true death, or just another stage of this terrifying cycle.

He leaned closer to the slide, observing the twisted strands of the virus as they multiplied and infected the host cells in rapid succession. His thoughts raced. Could it be that the virus was causing necrosis not just in the brain, but throughout the body? Was it using the host’s own cells to regenerate and perpetuate the infection?

A shrill scream broke his concentration. Granger whipped around to the observation window where one of the researchers, a young intern named Lena, was struggling against a man in the adjacent lab. The man was clearly infected, his eyes bloodshot and vacant, saliva dripping from his mouth as he grabbed Lena by the throat. She screamed again, but it was too late.

Without warning, the infected man sank his teeth into Lena’s shoulder. She writhed in agony, her body going stiff in the initial shock of the bite. Granger’s stomach churned. He had expected this to happen. But not like this—not so soon.

Lena’s body jerked violently, the infection spreading faster than anything Granger had ever seen. Within seconds, her face twisted into an expression of horror, her eyes wild and frantic. She gasped for breath as she stumbled backward, her movements becoming erratic. The lab was in chaos, a frenzy of shouts and pounding footsteps. Granger turned back to his microscope, fingers scrambling to secure the virus’s data before everything fell apart.

Suddenly, Lena lunged at another researcher—this time, a woman named Dr. Holt. Granger watched, heart pounding, as Dr. Holt screamed, stumbling backward. Lena’s teeth sank into her neck. The infected were already growing in number, their frenzy unstoppable. Granger didn’t dare turn away from the chaos for more than a second.

His eyes darted to the whiteboard, where the words “Immortality? Could it be real?” were written in his own handwriting. It wasn’t just immortality—these creatures weren’t alive anymore. Not in any true sense. They were something else, something worse.

The door slammed open behind him. The infected were closing in.

Granger’s mind raced, piecing together the puzzle. Rabia Noctis was unstoppable. It had no cure. There was no vaccine, no antidote. Just the head. Sever the head, and they die. But what about the rest? Could humanity survive something like this? Could he survive? The question was irrelevant now. The virus had escaped.

With a final glance at his research notes, Granger made a choice.

The light flickered, and then, there was only darkness.

The world outside the lab had no idea what was coming. Not yet. But the virus was out there now. And as the wind whispered through the trees outside the abandoned facility, it carried with it the faintest sound: a growl.

The infection was spreading faster than anyone could have imagined.

And Granger? Granger’s story had only just begun

I tried to scream when I woke up but found there was some kind of invisible, almost magnetic barrier preventing my mouth from moving. 

Instead of my bed, I was immobilized on an operating table. And instead of a TV, across from me stood a figure in a drooping gray cloak, wearing what I could only describe as a white pharaoh's mask.

“This is your only warning,” The figure said. His voice didn't come from any mouth. It's more like his words were stroking the inner cavity of my skull.

”Any more meddling and your punishment will be permanent,” his skull-voice said.

My bedroom—which I definitely fell asleep in—was now replaced by an oppressively white surgical bay. There were mirrors and shiny silver instruments arranged above me and along the walls. I could see a single black cable running along my operating table and disappearing somewhere behind my neck.

What is happening!? was the prevalent question pounding in my head. The figure seemed to sense this and gave a response

“You have taken too much interest in our pods,”

Pods? What pods? I had no idea what he was talking about. But then I remembered that last night I had spotted a particularly bright drone traveling above the downtown skyline. I took some high-res photos and shared the discovery on my discord. 

Is this about my UFO obsession?

“This is about you stopping, and never starting again.” 

The figure walked up to my side and began to stroke my head with a glossy, reticulated hand. I didn't know it was a prosthetic, or if the pharaoh was entirely robotic.

I was terrified but tried my best to make my thoughts sound consistent and clear. I’ll stop! I'll stop recording any other night-time lights I swear!

“Why did you seek out our pods?”

Why? The question momentarily stumped me. But immediately I gave the only explanation I could. It was curiosity. I just wanted to know more about UFO’s. I’m sorry!

“You wanted to know more?” The skull-voice scraped behind my ears, as if there was a chalkboard inside my head. 

“If you wanted to know more, then I will show you what it's like to know everything.”

Know everything? With a flick of a switch, a jolt of electricity shot through the cable and entered the back of my head. Suddenly, I understood that the bizarre metal instrument above me was both a clock and a calendar. It used a series of notches to indicate exact temporal relation to an exo-planet that this alien pharaoh was from.

I could see a linkage on the calendar-clock that lowered every two and a half seconds. Judging by the lightning-quick math I was now able to do in my head, this meant that the linkage had lowered about 240 times since I woke up, which meant that I had been in this chamber for at least sixteen minutes.

How was I able to do that?

“You can figure out everything now.”

It's like I had been given some kind of drug, only I didn't feel high. I felt more lucid than ever before. I was hyper-sober.  My brain was processing everything, every passing thought, idea and concept at speeds that felt impossible.

It was overwhelming. I tried to focus on just thinking about the facts.

My name is Callum I had been born 34 years ago in Portland, Oregon and ever since seeing “Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind” as a kid I’ve always had an interest in aliens which is what made me get a camera at a young age to photograph the night sky which is what got me into photography and why I went to Art School and still owe $17,510 in student loans—which I will likely never be able to pay off because I spend the majority of my time getting high and playing videogames to stave off the void in my life from having never been in a meaningful relationship—which is a result of my overbearing nature from my ADHD and trust issues I developed when my mother left me with my ill-equipped father when I was four years old—hence why I gravitate toward mindless hobbies like video-recording UFO lights in the night because I feel that they give me some miniscule sense of purpose. 

The psychic surgeon caressed the sides of my head with his plastic fingers. “Tell me about … purpose.” 

As soon as the word flitted into my cerebellum, I knew the result would be bad.

Photography was a very loose sense of ‘purpose’ I had always given myself, but what function does it really serve beyond capturing something that already was? A photograph is a recording of a fragmentary blip in a universe that has been ongoing for 13.8 billion years and is about as meaningful as recording a grain of sand. I’m likely to die in about forty years from Alzheimer's from my dad's side. Why would I record thousands of grains of sand?

The pharaoh went to a console that my cable was connected to. His synthetic hands turned a serrated dial, and suddenly my brain was working so fast I could feel my heartbeat behind my eyes.

I couldn’t help but think about humanity itself.

Based on the underdeveloped nature of human psychology we are always doomed to repeat the same recursive wars we’ve always had throughout history. This trend is unfixable and will result in the stagnation of human intellect and resources, granting an assured extinction in either the next 200 or 2,000 years. The human race will end, having made no impact on the universe besides briefly sullying planet Earth. This pharoah studies ‘impotent’ planets like mine for a glimpse of the perpetuated evolutionary incompetence. I am but one grime stain of bacteria from this festering petri dish.

The glazed white mask stared at me. Behind its two oval eyes I could sense the penetrating stare of the pharaoh. He was exposing me to dark truths I did not want to know. This ultra-intelligence was not a blessing.

Inherently, I understood that the surgeon’s race purposefully kept their IQ’s lower than 300, to avoid self-annihilation. He was ratcheting mine to more than triple that number. 

This was torture.

Suddenly, I could anatomically comprehend the very molecules that made up every cell on each part of my body. I no longer saw myself as a living person, but rather as a series of gases, protein chains and memories stored by electrical impulses. I was a busy piece of dust kicked up by the universe. 

My life is so fucking meaningless.

Then the pharaoh pulled out a thin white scroll from a drawer. He came toward me and unfurled the paper. I wish I was able to look away, but my gaze was fixed.

It was a math equation. The numbers were not centered around our base-ten numeral system, but something far more advanced. And far more true.

In a single glance I realized it was an equation for reality. Indisputable proof that this entire existence was a simulation. Our entire universe is just used as an energy source for an even higher Alpha universe that truly governs all things. My life was an afterthought’s afterthought.

I don’t want to know this. I don’t want to understand this. 

Each moment of comprehension felt like a saw blade ripping into my soul. What few acquaintances and modest achievements I had found in my life were revealed to be humiliating non-things. The cosmic dread became so intense I had an out-of-body experience. 

I don’t want to know this. I don’t want to understand this. 

Floating up and staring down at my naked, skinny pathetic body, I reached out with ghostly arms and tried to choke myself out. I am a non-thing and I shouldn’t exist.

No sentient being should ever be exposed to something so vast and de-stabilizing. The knowledge was endless despair.

Just when a stygian abyss was about to envelop me whole, the pharaoh turned down the dial.

I floated back into my own body, where I felt groggy and disoriented. It's almost as if I had died and come back, or been struck by lightning, but the truth was, neither of those things happened. I was just given too much intelligence.

“Never seek out our pods again,” the pharaoh said.

***

Had to call in sick from work. 

I was bedridden for the next few days, overwhelmed with flashbacks of being shown that equation. It felt as if a monolithic weight was bearing itself down on all parts of me. Only after a week was I finally able to leave the house and look at the dying star we all cheerfully call a ‘sun’.

Ever since that abduction and ‘High IQ torment’ I’ve had perpetual insomnia, lack of motivation, and complete lack of desire for any social interaction. I just can’t bring myself to do or care about anything. It’s like my brain was irrevocably rewired to realize I’m a broken toy in a virtual game without a purpose. 

I’ve seen dozens of therapists, who attribute my mental state to an intense episode of ego loss and depersonalization, it’s what can happen on a really bad acid trip. I'm hopeful that maybe after another year or so of seeing psychiatrists, I can find a breakthrough and feel at least 10% normal again. Or maybe 5%. Hell, I would even take 1% over nothing at this point.

Let my story be a warning.

I know there’s a lot of fun, mysterious ‘drone’ sightings happening right now—a bit of a UFO-mania resurgence. But don’t get sucked in by it. Leave those drones alone

There’s a catchphrase in the ufologist community you have probably heard of: “The truth is out there.”

Well, listen to me. Do not take this lightly.  The truth IS out there. I know for a fact that it is.

But you do not ever want to know it.

Hi, Today I will tell you something that happened to me 3 Years ago aproximatly on December: Once I was a kid and wanted to see inside of an creepy abandoned School.After that, I sayed it to my big brother, and he too wanted to see what's inside. So, we left aproximatly 2 hours later...We've been inside and...It's just ampty, The whole room was empty. So we returned at our house. Three days laters. I said to my friend "Bro, Just beside are an abandoned school, you want to go inside with me ?" And, no surprise, he had accepted. So 2 days ago, he bring back his big brother. We been front of the school and...What ?! There was a padlock that wasn't here before. My friend tried to fond the code by doing random codes. And 2-3 minutes ago, we heard a van coming closer...It had stopped in the yard, right in front us. So me, my friend and friend big brother ran to our bike. We successful. We escaped them. We returned at my friend house. After that, at the same day. We tought it would be a good idea to go to the forest near the anbadoned school. So we have been here to play at the war. We bring back orbeez weapons without ammunition. We played and aproximatly 15 minutes ago, four kids come on us. And nobody of us know who they're. I don't know anymore but I think I just seen one girl in the group. But the older boy of the gang had said "Have you seen three yougn boy trying to open the door of the abandoned shcool ?" The big brother of my friend had said while stuttering :"No..." After a long moment of silence the same boy had said "Okay, Having a nice day" They disappeard in the snow fall. After that, we all returned home. It was my story thank you to ridding it. And if I made any spelling mistakes, I'm sorry and thank you for understanding. I am French and I come from Canada. Bye and my tiktok account is "❤️‍🔥Billoups_ビループス❤️‍🔥"You just have to copy it🙏 good day to you guys🫡