In the history of American serial killers, we have seen some truly bizarre examples of how the human brain can go wrong. Most people may know of the case of Ed Gein, a man who tried to get a sex change operation but was denied. Ed Gein wanted to become a woman. Perhaps he wanted to become his domineering, fanatical mother. But when he couldn’t get a sex change operation, a significantly harder feat in the 1950s, he decided to make a suit of women’s skin that he could wear. He planned to physically transform himself into a female by this method. At first, he only dug up graves to get at the flesh required, but over time, the need grew, until he started murdering women to take their skin.

Another absolutely insane case is that of Richard Chase, the schizophrenic serial killer who became a living vampire. Like most truly bizarre cases, this one came from California. After doing far too many ego-shattering doses of LSD, his psychotic predispositions started to split his mind into a fractured, nightmarish state. He thought he was having constant heart attacks or that his heart would stop beating randomly. He thought his blood had turned into a powder. He thought that the bones in his skull would move around when he watched them in the mirror. Sometimes, he would put oranges up to the sides of his head to try to absorb vitamin C through osmosis.

In the end, he decided he needed blood to keep his heart going. He started by killing animals and drinking their blood. Eventually, he even killed a rabbit and injected its blood into his veins, which caused a severe infection and hospitalization. But his psychotic terrors continued to grow, and he quickly realized that animal blood was not returning his heart to its beating state. He decided he needed human victims, which he found by murdering whole families. He cut open a baby’s chest and put its organs in a blender with Coca-Cola, which he then drank.

Needless to say, these kinds of insane meltdowns don’t only occur in the past. They continue to happen regularly, and no matter how many serial killers we catch, in the end, more always arrive to replace them.

***

My partner, Agent Stone, sat next to me in the black sedan, driving the car at break-neck speeds through the winding roads and rolling hills of northern California toward the crime scene. An occasional vineyard dotted the landscape in the foggy breeze. I took in all of the beauty and splendor of this ancient land, smelling the sweet spring breeze that blew in through the vents.

“You ever notice how many serial killers California puts out?” Agent Stone asked, turning to regard me with his colorless blue eyes. I nodded grimly.

“Some states grow potatoes, and others grow corn, but California grows serial killers and madness, it seems,” I said. Agent Stone barely seemed to hear.

“Ed Kemper, Lawrence Bittaker, Herbert Mullin, Richard Chase, Charles Manson, Richard Ramirez, Joseph DeAngelo, Kenneth Bianchi and so many others,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s fucking nuts. You know what I think?”

“Does it involve lizard people?” I asked with a dead-pan expression. He laughed, a brief, harsh laughter that always cut off abruptly.

“I think it’s because California is a leftist shithole. All the college campuses have extreme students and professors. This is where the Weathermen and all the bombings started, after all. So they teach these impressionable dumbass kids about killing for the greater good. They call their opponents Hitler and then say they can murder them. So these kids, they grow up listening to their teachers and professors preaching these radical philosophies and embracing political violence and murder. 

“Some of the smarter kids eventually realize, if we can use violence in these situations, then why not for our own personal causes? Just like the Communists and radicals, they start to see themselves as the victim, and those they murder are the perpetrators of… well, whatever they want to accuse them of,” Agent Stone said. I blinked rapidly, absorbing the information.

“You sure have thought a lot about this,” I said. “I always figured it was just the sex and drugs in California driving people crazy. You know, my brother still lives out here, though I haven’t talked to him in a few years. He’s a bit whacked out, too, I guess. So I take it you’re not planning on moving here?” Agent Stone just gazed stonily out the front window as he flew down the road.

***

“This is going to be… disturbing,” Agent Stone said. He pulled the car into a dirt road that wound its way through a public nature preserve. A hunter had found the bodies and called it in. The sedan came to a stop and Agent Stone cut the engine. I noticed the sounds of birds singing all around us while the engine pinged and tinked. This place looked mesmerizing with rugged pine trees and dark brush covering the rolling hills. I opened the door and breathed in the fresh air, seeing a hummingbird fly past my head. Two other FBI vehicles lay parked nearby, sitting empty and dark.

“Here,” Agent Stone said as he came by my side, holding out a dark vial labeled “Peppermint Extract”. He rubbed a couple drops under his nose. “This will help with the smell of the dead bodies. They’re pungent as hell by now. They’ve been rotting out here for the last couple weeks.” I tipped the vial onto the tip of my finger, repeating the movements. It had an overwhelmingly minty scent.

“Let’s do this,” I said, staying close by his side as we wound our way down a dirt trail and into the woods. I heard the soft murmuring of voices ahead. Through the dark green pines, I saw a fluorescent yellow tent. It stuck out immediately with its garish day-glo color scheme. Around it, CSI technicians from the FBI gathered evidence. Agent Stone and I always liked to come out and personally look at every crime scene. He claimed it helped him get a sense of the killer’s soul, and in a way, I felt I understood what he meant.

“Four victims,” Agent Stone said. “They’re all just kids, really. The oldest one is eighteen. It looks like they were camping here when the killer came out and shot all of them.” 

His faded blue eyes scanned the crime scene, taking everything in with photographic precision. I breathed in the air, noticing it wasn’t so pure and sweet in this spot. The smell of rotting bodies and feces hung thick in the air. The more subtle odors of blood and panicked sweat followed it. 

I nodded, almost seeing it happen in my mind’s eye. One of the boy’s dessicated corpses still hung halfway out of the open tent door, one hand reaching out in front of him desperately. Another teenager lay dead in the tent, sprawled on top of the sleeping bags. A pool of thick, clotted blood swarming with all sorts of insects surrounded him.

The two other victims lay in front of the tent, one face-down and one face-up. The killer had mutilated the last two victims, slicing open their chests from neck to groin. He had taken out their intestines and thrown them over the nearby branches like Christmas tinsel. The festering, rotting organs hung like limp snakes covered in maggots.

“What are your thoughts?” Agent Stone asked, turning to me. They seemed to connect slowly, puzzle pieces falling randomly into place. The last victim had been a woman in her house, a single mother. The killer had stabbed her repeatedly, slicing her throat from ear to ear. She had a toddler in the next room, but the killer hadn’t harmed the child. After dismembering and mutilating her body, he had simply left, coming and going as quietly as a ghost. None of the neighbors had seen anything, and no cameras nearby had caught any footage of him as far as we knew. On the white wall, in her blood, he had written a single word: “JONAH”.

“Based on the previous victim and these victims, I think we have a mostly disorganized killer. The last time, he used a knife, and this time, he used a gun and a knife. There’s no sign of any sexual sadism, and he doesn’t seem to care about the genders of his victims, though all of them were white. I think we are dealing with a white male, late twenties or early thirties. He has a severe psychotic disorder, possibly schizophrenia or bipolar disorder, and he regularly suffers from command hallucinations. I think, when we catch this guy, if we catch this guy, he will have a totally bizarre motive. Unlike Ted Bundy or Lawrence Bittaker, this guy isn’t doing it for purposes of sexual sadism and torture. He’s doing it for some reason we can’t even possibly begin to comprehend. I’m not even sure if he wants to do it, or if he feels he is forced to kill. But he will kill again, definitely. He will keep killing until he gets caught.”

***

Agent Stone and I stayed at the crime scene for about half an hour, watching the technicians work and discussing the case. The technicians told us that the shots had come from a high-caliber rifle at close range. The victims hadn’t had a chance.

The case got a lot stranger when Agent Stone and I got back to the car. Someone had left a note on the windshield. It fluttered in the light spring breeze as if trying to catch our attention.

“What the hell is this?” I asked, moving closer and plucking it out from under the wiper. In spiky, copperplate handwriting, I read the following message: “If you turn this note into evidence, I will kill a family member of yours. If you don’t, I will torture a little girl to death.”

“What the fuck?” I said, handing the note over to Agent Stone. He frowned, his face forming into a stony grimace. “This can’t be real, can it?”

“Well, shit, we already got our fingerprints on it,” he said, sweating heavily. He carefully opened the door and took out an evidence bag, sliding the note inside. “I don’t know if this is some kind of sick joke or not, but we shouldn’t take any chances. We need to send this note to CSI. Maybe it will have a fingerprint that matches one from the crime scenes, but even if not, having a potential handwriting sample from the killer could help the prosecution. And if it turns out to be bullshit, they can destroy it after the killer gets caught and convicted.”

We also had a camera in the sedan, just like most police cars. But when we got back to headquarters and reviewed the footage, all we saw was a man dressed in all black with a dark ski mask slipping a note under the wiper. He had walked over only a minute after we had started down the trail toward the crime scene, as if he had been waiting there for us to arrive. Thinking of it sent shivers down my spine. And I wondered, at that moment, was I hunting the killer- or was he hunting me?

***

After we got back to our hotel for the night, I tried calling my brother. But the phone number I had for him no longer worked. A robotic female voice came on, saying that the line was no longer in service. For a brief moment, I wondered if he was even still alive. Johnny had always been a heavy drinker, and at some point in his life, that habit had spiraled into full-blown alcoholism. He had owned his own successful business and had a large house, but over time, he lost all of that and had eventually moved into a small cabin in Mendocino County. We had gotten into an argument the last time we spoke, as I told him he needed treatment and to stop asking me for money. He never called me again after that.

I hadn’t really worried too much about the note, but a small nagging voice at the back of my head told me I should go and warn Johnny, just in case. Around 7 PM, I left the dingy, cramped hotel room and headed to my rental car. I put in my brother’s address, seeing he only lived about thirty minutes away. I felt strange going to see him out of the blue like this when we hadn’t talked in nearly four years.

The scenic road took me along the coastline, past rugged rocks and deep-blue ocean. With some Johnny Cash playing in the background, I let myself relax, absorbing the natural beauty of this place. Soon, the road curved back into thick, dark forest. I checked the GPS, seeing my brother lived only a few miles away. As I got closer, I felt anxious and uncertain. What if he didn’t want to see me? 

“You have arrived,” the robotic voice said as I saw a small, dilapidated cabin at the end of a dirt road. Sharp rocks crunched rhythmically under the tires. The wide boughs of evergreens fanned out behind the cabin, with many of the branches leaning on the roof and walls. The grass looked overgrown and riddled with weeds. In the small driveway, the hunk of a rusted-out car stood next to a small moped.

Heaving a deep sigh, I opened the door and started heading down the cracked concrete walkway towards the cabin. I took a flashlight out of my pocket, shining it through the shadowy yard. To my surprise, I saw the front door standing wide open. All of the lights in the house looked dark. Something like an iron band gripped my heart at that moment. I felt something primal screaming within my subconscious, some ancient intuition that shrieked at me, “This is wrong.”

I walked into the front room, wrinkling my nose. A fetid smell like old garbage and rotting food hung thick in the air. Behind these rank odors, though, I noticed something more subtle and yet more revolting. I knew it well from my work with the FBI. It was the smell of death, of blood and dying sweat.

“Johnny?” I yelled into the blackness. “It’s me, Ray. Are you here?” In response, I heard only the echoing of my voice and the rapid thudding of my heart. I pulled my service pistol from its holster, a Glock 19X. Chambered in nine millimeter, it was a sleek, reliable gun with a sheer-black exterior.

With my flashlight in one hand and my pistol in the other, I crossed my arms and started moving forward, clearing the corners and doorways as I went. The creeping shadows dancing across the room made my adrenaline-soaked brain see false silhouettes more than once. White-knuckled with terror, I cleared the living room, seeing an empty bottle of vodka on the old, wooden table. Countless cigarette burns scarred the table’s pockmarked surface.

I made my way into the kitchen, seeing a scene straight from a hoarder documentary. Dozens of garbage bags stood in a pyramid in the corner, their plastic surfaces swollen almost to bursting. The glittering of white rodent eyes shone briefly before disappearing into cracks and holes in the walls. A cockroach skittered across the stained tiled floor, disappearing into the mountain of trash.

The sink held countless dishes with pieces of rotting food still clinging to their surfaces. A jungle of black and yellow molds grew over them, rising up in circular patches with wet, glistening filaments. The entire cabin consisted of only a single floor. Inhaling deeply, I moved into the last area: the bedroom.

I pushed the door slowly, wincing as its joints creaked with a whining of rusted metal. It opened up onto a scene from a nightmare.

I saw my brother, Johnny, laying there on the bed. His arms and legs were tied to the posts, spread out like Jesus on the cross. The killer had cut out both of his eyes. The dark sockets shrieked silently up at nothing like two empty, screaming mouths. In his arms and legs, I saw strange circular patches of melted, purplish flesh. The skin looked eaten away, revealing veins like fat worms and glistening muscle. Black, necrotic burns surrounded the ugly wounds. Johnny’s mouth still lay frozen in a silent scream, the tip of a purple tongue sticking out of his blue lips.

“Oh shit, Johnny,” I whispered sadly, feeling sick and disgusted by the sight. The murderer had carved a symbol into his chest as well. I saw an eye sliced into the spot above his heart. Around it, twelve wavy protrusions emerged like crude tentacles. Drips of dried, darkening blood surrounded the mutilation. But what had killed him? I didn’t know.

I raised my flashlight, clearing the corners of the filthy room. On the nicotine-stained wall, I saw more spatters of blood. Moving closer, I realized they formed words. The killer had left me a message.

“Sometimes, HE gets inside of you and makes you do things you don’t want to do,” it read.

***

I glanced down at my cell phone, trying to call the police. Out here in the middle of nowhere, however, I had no service. I tried 911 three times, but I couldn’t get it to ring once. Cursing, I decided to run back to the car. I knew that I had cell phone service back on the scenic road near the shoreline, because I had used the internet to play Johnny Cash on the drive. I just needed to drive back in that direction until I got closer to a cell phone tower and call for help.

Johnny had no neighbors nearby except trees and animals. In reality, this cabin appeared the perfect scene for a murder. No one would hear the screams of the tortured victim all the way out here. I felt instant regret for not organizing protection around my surviving family members as soon as we found the note. I knew I needed to contact Agent Stone and warn him that the killer might target his family as well.

I made it outside, taking a great lungful of fresh air. It tasted immensely sweet and refreshing after the oppressive odor of death and putrefying garbage. Breathing heavily, I bent over, trying not to retch. The horrors of what I had seen hit me all at once, like a freight train crashing into my mind.

I heard the cracking of twigs nearby and the rustling of leaves. Looking up, I saw a black silhouette creeping around the side of the house, only steps away from me. I instantly recognized the man from the sedan’s video feed, wearing all black clothes and a black ski mask. Before I could react, he ran at me, raising a glittering, blood-stained butcher’s knife above his head.

I stumbled back, thrown off-balance by the abrupt assault. I tried to raise my pistol and aim, but before I could bring it up, the man reached me. I saw the knife coming down in slow motion, aimed at the center of my face. I twisted my body, throwing myself to the side. The knife whizzed past my ear, slicing through the air in a blur. A moment later, I heard a crunching of bone and felt a cold numbness spread through my left shoulder.

I landed hard on the ground, looking over and seeing the knife embedded deeply into my flesh. Bright-red streams of blood instantly spurted from the wound. The black handle still quivered, shivering in its place. I couldn’t feel my left hand anymore. I dropped the flashlight on the ground with a dull thud, raising the pistol and firing in the direction of the madman.

He gave a grunt of pain as a bullet connected with his stomach. He took a few steps back, nearly falling but catching himself at the last moment. I could hear his pained, rapid breathing. Reaching quickly toward his belt, I saw him pull a pistol of his own. I kept firing, my shaking, unsteady hands missing most of the shots. As he started to aim at my head, I used the last round in my magazine. I inhaled deeply, aiming and firing.

The bullet caught him in the right leg, sending him spinning. He fell hard on the ground. The gun went flying from his hand. He gave a surprised shout of pain as blood soaked into his clothes, causing the wet, glistening fabric to stick tightly to his skin.

I heard sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly. Slowly, I sat up, my head spinning from the blood loss and pain. Red and blue lights split the creeping shadows apart. The shrill whining of the siren cut off abruptly. The police car arriving was the last thing I remember before falling forward. A wave of weakness shot through my body as a black wave crept up and dragged me under.

***

From what I found out later, after we had sent the note to the FBI, the supervisor in charge of the case decided to send police protection to the family members of myself and Agent Stone throughout the country. They had sent a couple state troopers to my brother’s house until the Earthquake Killer got captured or killed by police. I couldn’t imagine how surprised they must have been to arrive and find an FBI agent bleeding out next to the killer.

They quickly got ambulances and paramedics there. I went into emergency surgery and would eventually regain full use of my arm after extensive physical therapy. The Earthquake Killer, too, ended up surviving, though they had removed over five feet of intestines and part of his liver in the process.

I woke up in the hospital to see Agent Stone standing grimly over my bed, his tanned skin gleaming with sweat. His pale eyes, which never seemed to show a shred of emotion, sparkled for a moment when he saw me conscious.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said, giving me a crooked half-grin. “You did it, Harper. You got the bastard. He’s in the same hospital as us right now, handcuffed to the bed and guarded by police.”

“I should have shot him in the head,” I whispered, my throat cracked and dry. “He doesn’t deserve to be alive.” Agent Stone nodded, shrugging his massive shoulders.

“Well, we can’t change the past,” he responded blithely. “Turns out the guy’s name is Herbick Mueller. Your profile was right on the money. White male, 28-years-old, long history of institutionalization and paranoid schizophrenia. You won’t believe his rationale for killing all those people.”

“What, he confessed?” I asked, surprised. “Already? I wasn’t even there! Dammit, I wanted to be there.” Agent Stone only shrugged.

“Well, the evidence would have sealed his fate anyways. He left behind a piece of hair at one of the crime scenes, and we got his DNA from it. He said he needed to kill people to prevent earthquakes from happening,” Agent Stone said, his face a stony mask that revealed nothing. I repressed an urge to laugh at the ridiculous statement, remembering how many people had died and how horribly, including my own brother.

“I still want to talk to him myself,” I said. He nodded, patting me on my uninjured shoulder.

“As soon as you get cleared by the doctors, we’ll talk to him together. I think you’ll be surprised at what he has to say.”

***

I spent the next couple days in the hospital recovering from my surgery before being medically cleared to leave. I felt immensely grateful to get away from the tasteless hospital food and the incessant boredom. Watching TV for days straight felt mind-numbing.

Excitedly, I put on my black suit, hanging the left side over my cast. I would need months of physical therapy and treatment before my arm would fully recover. Herbick Mueller was still in the hospital, under constant watch. Agent Stone and I would go and interrogate him alone.

I walked into the room with Agent Stone by my side, seeing a wiry man with dark, wavy hair laying on a hospital bed. His leg sat in a cast, and bandages covered his stomach and chest. I smiled, seeing the extent of his injuries. Agent Stone and I pulled up some chairs and sat down close by his side. He turned to regard us with eyes the color of steel. On one of his arms, I saw a tattoo that said: “EAGLE EYES LSD”.

“How did you find out my brother’s name and address? How did you find out who me and my partner are?” I asked. The Earthquake Killer gave a wide, lunatic grin, his silvery eyes sparkling with suppressed humor. He leaned close to me. I noticed a subtle, cloying odor that followed him around, almost like roses.

“God told me,” Herbick answered simply. I raised an eyebrow at that.

“God told you to kill, or he gave you the information?” I said.

“Both,” he answered. “Sometimes God reaches down and uses us. Sometimes, he gets inside of us and makes us do things we don’t want to do.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very loving God,” I responded. Herbick shrugged. “How did you first contact him?” His eyes went slack, his mouth opened. Herbick looked as if he were staring a million miles away. Abruptly, he came back, focusing on me again.

“Well, people like you can’t really understand, anymore than a blind man could understand the beauty of colors and light. I used to be just a normal guy, working and going to school. But one day, after taking a high dose of acid,  I dissolved my individual soul into the universal soul. It was as if I held up a candle’s flame to the Sun and saw that these were the same, that the light of the smallest and the light of the greatest are both just eternal light. In the beginning, something endless and unmoving stood like a pillar of mind, outside of time and space yet within everything and everyone. When I saw my soul, this smallest flame of blinding light, I knew I also saw the One, the Eternal.

“And then a voice came to me, a voice like rushing water and static. It screamed into my mind, over and over. At that moment, I knew what Moses must have felt like and why he aged so rapidly when he saw God. And do you know what that shrieking voice said?” I just shook my head. He leaned close, his gray eyes cold and dead. “It wanted sacrifices. God said to me, ‘Pick up the victims and throw them over the boat. Kill some so that many may be saved.’

“God showed me what kinds of horrible things would happen if I did not follow his orders. I saw massive earthquakes ripping apart the land and tearing down the mountains, killing hundreds of thousands of people in minutes. I saw cities collapsing, trapping millions under the rubble. In that vision, I had no self, no sense of me, but I saw everything and knew it to be the absolute truth.

“I did what I had to out of love and compassion. I never wanted to hurt anyone, but what kind of man would I be if I let the many die for a few? But now that I’m here, being kept as a prisoner, the sacrifices are not being performed. God will send down an earthquake at any moment to kill us for our countless transgressions. The sins of the Earth are too great for him to turn away.” Agent Stone and I stared hard at this man, wondering if he was truly as insane as he claimed.

“How did you kill my brother?” I asked, a sense of revulsion rising in my chest. “What were those marks on his body, those strange, black-and-purple patches eaten into his skin?” Herbick Mueller grinned at this, showing off filmy, yellowed teeth.

“Well, the thing is, God wants a lot of suffering and pain in exchange for saving the innocent. Sometimes, we have to be like Jesus. Your brother told me telepathically to kill him. All of the victims did.

“Humans have been communicating telepathically for thousands of years. After I saw God, I could tap into that power. And all of the victims pleaded with me to kill them. They said, ‘We’re like Jonah from the Bible. Throw us over the side of the ship so that others may be saved.’

“In a way, I’m like Jesus. I gave up my life as a sacrifice to God, and now I only serve that soul- that soul which is also my soul. I see everything clearly now, things I never saw before. This reality is an illusion, and there’s no such thing as death. We’re all just eternal sparks of the One.

“So your brother, well, I injected acid and bleach into his skin. I just wanted to see what would happen, but he did not react well at all. He kept thrashing and screaming and, after I cut out his eyes, he stopped moving. I think the hydrochloric acid got into his bloodstream and killed him somehow, but who knows? I’m not a doctor, I’m just God.”

At that moment, a team of agents wearing dark sunglasses walked into the room. I saw a dozen of them, and for a brief moment, I thought they were all FBI. I wondered what would have caused the FBI to send so many people for a case we had already solved.

“We’re taking this case over,” one of the men said, the tallest of them standing at the front. I guessed he was the leader of the group. Agent Stone and I looked at each other, confused. The man pulled out a silver badge. I read it, frowning.

“The Department for the Cleansing of Anomalies?” I asked. “What is this, a joke? This is an FBI case, and we’ve already got the suspect in custody with plenty of evidence.”

“We’re taking this suspect with us, right now,” he said. Two nurses came, hurrying around the bed of Herbick Mueller. They started disconnecting his medical equipment with practiced precision. He simply grinned up at us with a strange, sly expression that I couldn’t read.

I looked over at Agent Stone, about to say something, when I felt the first tremblings of an earthquake start shaking the walls and floor.

Standing in front of the underworld’s door, Hadios frowned at the utter chaos ensuing on the other side. Tugging at the hem of his jet black designer suit jacket, Hel couldn’t stop smiling in his direction. Hiding behind her worn black leather jacket, her jeans rubbed together. Mersea latched onto me from behind, her thick braid swinging in front of my face. Her usual navy dress brushed against my skin while my lacy scarlet blouse tickled my neck. A cool breeze had my knee length skirt swaying away, Hadios drawing the symbols to let me in. The door creaked open, the souls waging a war on the dimension. Hadios pushed us all in, a steady stream of curse words burst from Hel’s and my lips. What fresh hell was this? A blue haired god with glowing waves and bright orange eyes cowered behind a rock, my brow cocking at his cowardice. Kicking my dagger from its case, the souls stopped creating utter chaos the moment my blade expanded to its full length. Glancing back at the others, horror rounded my eyes at their limp bodies getting dragged away. Shooting daggers in Hades' direction, he shrugged his shoulders. Wondering where his guard dog was, the decaying carcass made sense. Sucking a deep breath, shadow snakes slithered down my arms. Jet black flames crackled to life on my skin, the snakes hissing at my feet. Spinning my blade over my head, a ball of flames hummed to life at the end of the tip. Slamming the tip into the twisting cobblestone road, a wave of flames crashed over the souls. Shrill shrieks filled the air, the scent of Stormy wafting up my nose. Clearing my throat as I surveyed the sea of gray ash, Hades scurried out with a look of shame. Bloody cuts oozed underneath his shredded designer suit, fresh blood matting his once flawless waves. His glowing blue bident trembled in his palm, my own hand searching for a healing potion. Selecting the one I needed, a flick of my wrist had it flying in his direction. 

“Drink up and gather your strength!” I ordered impatiently, hearing Stormy laugh in his navy brimstone castle had me grumbling under my breath. “We need to save my friends from the psychopath that beat you within an inch of your life. She won’t be a piece of cake either. Actually, how did your dimension fall into all of this?” Motioning towards the piles of rumble, his shaking hand poured the potion down his throat. Crashing onto the nearest pile, his wrists rested on his knees. Shit, did my mood darken my tone again?

“Her realm is next door and that fell a couple of weeks ago.” He explained while attempting to run his hand through his waves, the bloody mats frustrating him. “When she stomped in over here, her strength had me scrambling about like a damn refugee. Fuck you for implying that I am weak.”  A strained what escaped my lips, my brow cocking at his suggestion. No wonder he was doomed to this prison if he was that narrow minded. 

“First off, I didn’t imply that. Second, get your head out of your ass! I snapped back hotly, feeling my cheeks flush at his impudence. “We only need to injure her enough for her to go away to lick her wounds. I will deal with the afterm-” Shaking his head, his bident clashed with my blade. Curious as to why he was fighting me, his navy lips curled into a snarl. 

“Didn’t you wipe out all the high and mighty gods in charge?” He pointed out incredulously, stumbling back. “I have been burned by them so many times and you expect me to believe you will be any different!” Dodging swing after swing, my knee met his gut. Lowering the groaning Hades to the ground gingerly, his hand cupped his stomach. A bit of blood dribbled from the corner of his lips, his shaking hand wiping it away.  Why was he being so fucking difficult?

“Every one of them came after me. Don’t you want your honor back!” I shouted back at him venomously, pressing the tip of my blade into his neck. “You made a mistake and I hope you learned your lesson. God damn it! I need to gather all of the gods that remain to run the damn world! What would you know anyway! Everytime I turn around, another promotion is being shoved in my goddamn face. I watched my best friend die and lost my mentor in an endless bid for the biggest baddest guy. Fuck off with that assumption!” Spinning on my heels to fight on my own, the sting from those losses returned with a vengeance. The silence will always be deafening, my heart breaking all over again. Every moment alone in the car reminded me of her, the leather coat I left at home reminding me of him. 

“Didn’t you pop out two reincarnated souls as of late?” He inquired with a warm smile, my expression softening to one of serene befuddlement. “I don’t blame you for killing them all but you have to understand my fear. People come down here to berate me for some bullshit that I didn’t do. What is your true goal at the end of the day?” Helping him into his feet, hesitation lingered in his eyes. Shit, I didn't actually have an answer.

“I want peace and the ability to snuff out all monster diseases. Not the monsters themselves but the diseases that make them go mad.” I replied with a tired smile, hoping he wouldn’t know that I was pulling shit out of my ass. “Fuck it. I don’t have a plan. Maybe run the universe while performing my other job. That other job is another story. You do run the death aspect of it. People always die, right?” Smiling to himself, he wiped the corner of his lips. Silent tears stained my cheeks, reincarnated souls weren’t quite the same thing. 

“Reincarnated souls aren’t quite the same.” He commented as if he read my mind, his attention focusing on his home. “If you help me get my home back, consider my loyalty yours.” Thanking him with a broken smile, the scraping of my blade hitting the road had him approaching me cautiously. Shock rounded my eyes at his gentle embrace, a new level of grace shimmering on the edge of his aura. Releasing me, a coldness came over me. How could someone so compassionate be thrown away? No wonder he was in charge of death itself. Choosing to say nothing, we began the hike up to his home. Working through the options, we truthfully couldn’t have a proper plan without a bit of recon on our part. Coming up to the east wall, his finger traced a few symbols on the wall. A secret door groaned open, a full dungeon greeting us. His staff perked up at the sight of him, fresh cuts and bruises covering their skin. Placing his finger to his lips, they nodded once. Climbing up the stairs, he pushed open a door with a nervous grin. Poking his head around the corner, a long sigh drew from his lips. Motioning for me to follow him, one thought plagued me. Who was helping who? Our footfalls echoed down the hollow hallways, his hand shoving me into the nearest room. Pushing me into the closest closet with him, an annoyed huff escaped my lips. Closing the door, an impatient Stormy marched in. A jet black corset hugged her torso, a long silky skirt brushing against the floor. Undoing the skirt, the scars from Morte’s attacks were apparent. Plopping down in front of the mirror, horror rounded my eyes at the makeup coming off revealing spots of decaying tissue. Lucky that I wasn’t pregnant, my lunch would have flown up my mouth by this moment. Covering my mouth, her head snapped in the direction of the closet. Moving us into the shadows behind her thickest robe, we slid down the back. Yanking it down, light flooded the small space. Throwing the hangers around, a few bounced off of his body. Slamming the doors shut in a huff, more clothes and items tumbled on top of us. Putting her makeup back on, her boots clicked out of the room. Pushing everything off of us, he helped me out of the closet. Smoothing out my outfit, the flickering lights in the room revealed piles of skin. Covering his mouth at the same time, the sight had us dry heaving into our palms. 

“Not to judge, do you play with all your toys like this?” He inquired under his palm, my free hand waving around. “That is going to be a bitch to clean up. Time to move on.” Sneaking into the hall, a load of commotion had us sprinting towards two heavy metal doors. Rotting souls approached the door with a giant cart of torture devices, the souls were too numb to notice us climbing onto the cart. Pulling the curtains shut, the metal cart rattled away. The motion didn’t help our gurgling stomachs. The wheels groaned to a squeaky halt, chains clinking away gave us the cover to crawl out. Darting into the shadows, a pit of screaming souls cranked open. Shooting Hades a look of disappointment, he mouthed the word what. Mouthing back the words what the hell, his eyes rolled. Our little spat was ended by my friends getting lowered into the pit, sheer panic contorting my features. Sprinting out of the shadows, a push off the ground had me knocking them out of their chains and onto the other side. Mournful moans cried out, my slick palm struggling to hold on to the chain keeping me from slipping into what seemed endless. Hands clawed at my ankles, the constant kicks not helping with the increasing numbers. Catching Stormy by the edge, Hades flipped her into the pit. Grabbing me by the throat, musty air shifted into brimstone. A couple of cracks announced our rough landing, her decaying skin sticking to mine. Gagging for a second, a weak kick from me had her rolling into what was left of a golden basalt castle.  The decaying dimension crumbled ominously with my pop to my feet, a geyser of magma erupting in front of me. Leaping back, a spin of my blade created a wall of shadows. Sensing her over my head, ashes fluttered in the air with our violent clash. Angling herself in a deadly position, a loud shit exploded with the blood fountain leaving my lips. Her kick sent me into the same spot, another fountain of blood bursting from my lips. Using the wall to stand, my burst organs had an inky waterfall pouring from the corner of my lips. Everything doubled, her boots pounding towards me snapped me back to reality. A strange jingle in my boot had me grinning sadistically, a kick sending a new type of bomb into the air. Placing the antidote into my mouth, this shit was going to sting. Tossing the glass ball into the air, inky flames devoured my blade. Hitting the theoretical home run, my fangs shattered the antidote as I jumped behind the biggest rock. Confused by the hiss, an acidic rain stained the sea of basalt. The antidote created a glow on my skin, her own skin melting away. Grimacing to myself, now was my chance. Charging at her, a melting piece of basalt had me falling onto her claws. Sliding with a sick wet noise, a sadistic grin twitched on her lips. Her outside matched her insides, the terrifying sight of her skin melting had me trembling involuntarily.

“If I am going down, you are coming with me!” She growled through gritted teeth, my sharp eyes catching the decaying tendons on her arms. Psyching myself up for the next step, my feet sank into her chest. Pushing off her spine, her arm took me with it. Ripping out her claws, the antidote was beginning to wear off. Holding my stomach, jet blackness cascaded through my fingers. Summoning a random portal to another god’s dimension, the force of another magma geyser threw me into a sea of lush grass and colorful flowers. Rolling onto my back, my blade shrank down to its dagger form. Birds of all kinds tripled, a familiar braid tickling my forehead. Her words faded in and out, a rough darkness stealing me away. 

Stirring awake, a long groan poured from my lips. A migraine throbbed to life, a brimstone wall greeting my blurry vision. Slapping my cheeks to straighten it out, someone must have brought me back to the underworld. Scratching the back of my neck, a long navy dress shirt covered my beat up body. Lifting up my shirt, two ugly bruises covered my stomach. Hooray for new fucking scars. Wincing in pain, a few ribs had been broken. Cursing under my breath, my feet swung out over the edge of the bed. Attempting to stand, a loud fuck burst from my lips at my face hitting the hot floor. Stewing in fresh frustration, my fingers scratched at the brimstone floor. Feeling around for the bed, soft bedding brushed against my palm. Grunting gruffly, my attempt to stand this time was successful. Using the wall to make my way out of the room, a couple of stitches popped. Drops of blood splashed onto the floor, Hadios spotting me first. Running up to me, his arms caught me. 

“Why are you out of bed?” He fretted in an irked tone, his arms tossing me over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, we can’t heal you all the way in the underworld. You have paperwork to sign with my father and we can get you home.” Carrying me to his father’s office, I must have looked like hell. Sitting me down gingerly into a plush chair, his boots clicked with every step back. Fussing with my hair, a silky cleanness met the tip of my fingers. Hades looked dapper in a navy Italian suit and clean waves, his hands sliding over a thick contract. Rolling my eyes, the damn thing could have been a book. Flipping it open, the requests were the usual. The last one gave me pause, the words causing tears to well up in my eyes. 

“What do you mean by offering me your army of the dead?” I spoke in disbelief, a dark stain soaking the silk of his shirt. “Don’t you need it? Hesitation lies with the use of the titans. If you can’t control them, how the fuck am I going to do that?” Pursing his lips into a thin line, his scratched up hand rolled me a carved key. Examining them closer, the symbols matched the ones on my dagger. 

“The titans were meant for you. I doubt you will have to deploy them. From what I heard, Stormy locked herself away into her rejuvenating chamber.” He explained calmly, Hadios collapsing into the seat next to me. “A couple of months have been bought. Do keep in mind that when she wakes up, she will be back to full strength. One more thing, thank you for respecting me.” Lifting up my shirt, shock widened his eyes at me dipping the quill into my open wound. Dropping the shirt down with a wet thud, his eyes flitted between the pressing problem and me signing my name. An inky snake tattoo slithered around his neck, a serene expression coming over him. The other gods were fools to not allow him into the club, a jolt of pain doubling me over. Cupping my stomach, the other stitches popped one by one. Hel’s strong arms tossed me over her shoulders while Hadios summoned the door back home. Drawing the symbols on the door, it creaked open. Morte rushed up to treat me, his thank yous not falling on deaf ears. Carrying me in his arms, his loving gaze was laced with valid concern. Laying me on the bed, an array of healing potions glistened in the early morning light. Had I been gone that long? Mixing the correct amounts together, his stray hands pouring it all over my wounds. Pulling out the gauze from the nightstand, his cold request of asking me to roll over had me scared of his next words. PIcking up on the negative energy, my foot met his stomach. In all this time, he had never been cold to me. Not once! Rolling off the bed, a shadowy scythe cut into the mattress. My eyes quivered, a poison taking over my body. Losing the ability to move, I cried out the word help a couple of times. Shadowy hands ripped my head back, a blade getting pressed into my throat. A bell sat on the edge of my nightstand, a shadowy snake slithering down my arms. Knocking the bell down on the way out, time slowed down as every clang echoed in the air. Fighting back tears, they were going to take me away from my family. Something woke up in me, onyx flames reversing the effects of the poison. Pretending to be paralyzed for a second longer, a wiggle had my dagger rolling into my palms. Closing my eyes, his heartbeat was above my head. Flicking my dagger into the air, his body hit the floor with a dull thud in order to dodge it. Popping to my feet, the smoke of Eris and Wut filled the room. Pushing through the pain while ignoring the waterfall of warm blood splattering onto the floor, the wall kept me on my feet. The clattering of my dagger hitting the floor had the color draining from my face, my body sinking to my knees. Coughing up more blood, the gravid loss was getting to me. Leaning against the wall, my team flooded in to battle the shadow demon. If I was going to die, it wasn’t going to be alone. Getting on my hands and knees, the smiles of everyone flashed in my head. Tears joined the growing pool of blood, each feeble inch forward making me feel pathetic. A throat cleared, Miles offering me his hand.  What a heavenly sight!

“You don’t look so good, Mommy.” He spoke adorably, his sweet smile twisting into a cruel one. “How could I love you if you could throw us away?” Shifting into my twins from my previous life, an agonizing wail burst from my lips. Walking up to me with sick grins, their hands cupped my cheeks. Feeling their other hands slide down to the base of my neck, silver strings glinted in the light. Pretending to fall for it, my fingers curled around the strings, flames shooting up the length. Three wooden puppets clattered onto the floor, the dark energy leaving the property. Curling into the ball, the pool of blood soaked my skin. Sobbing brokenly into my palms, everyone towered over me. The real Morte scooped me up, his arms clutching me close to his chest. Jamming a needle with shimmering potion into my neck, exhaustion hung on my eyelids. 

“You are going to be okay, Corpsy.” Morte assured me in his loving tone, his lips brushing against the top of my head. “I love you with all of my heart.” Bobbing my head up and down, a rough slumber stole me away. 

Sucking in a deep breath, all five of my children were snuggling with me. Weeping tears of joy, an ecstatic Morte rushed to my side. Smothering me in feverish kisses, my nightmare didn’t happen. Wiping away my tears, his lips hovered over mine. 

“I will be going with you from now on.” He spoke firmly, my head nodding. “I don’t want any protest. Make a necklace for all of us. We are all doing the job in the future. There is safety in numbers.” Agreeing with a shaky yes, a couple of reports hung under his arms. Sitting up while moving the slumbering kids around, Morte scooped up the slumbering twins. Flipping through the reports, my jaw dropped at what the autopsies of the puppets revealed. Fear replaced my joy, the puppet master proving to be her right hand man. The flames of hope went out, his sharp eyes picking up on my expression. Murphy’s law was a fucking dick!

I don’t remember much of the house fire that killed both my parents. I lived on the first floor, but the gray smoke had grown so thick that I stumbled blindly for what felt like hours before finding a door. My throat felt like sandpaper and my eyes constantly streamed tears of irritation and pain. Strips of burned and mutilated flesh hung from my poor hands, though I knew it would heal rapidly, within a few hours. A firefighter appeared like a ghostly silhouette before me.

I remember the flashing lights of police and fire trucks and the far-away echo of deep voices. From the direction of the house, I remember the dying screams of my parents as they burned alive. My childish imagination could never have predicted what would come next.

Behind the flurry of ambulances, fire trucks and cop cars, I saw a single black sedan with tinted windows. Compared to the bright colors and strobing lights of the emergency vehicles, it looked like little more than a shadow. The windshield, too, looked dark and opaque, nearly impossible to see through.

I sat in the back of an ambulance. The EMTs had already cleared me, saying I only had a few scrapes and some mild smoke inhalation and eye irritation, but that I didn’t require urgent care or hospitalization. 

Abruptly, the doors of the black sedan flew open. Two men in black suits stepped out, wearing sunglasses even in the middle of the night. I stared, open-mouthed, as they swerved their way through the jumble of emergency responders and vehicles. They came straight at me, unsmiling and grave. Their faces looked extremely pale, almost vampiric in a way. 

“Hey there, Ghosten. Ghost-inn. Quite a unique name,” the one on the right said calmly, stretching my name out as he dropped down on one knee. His sunglasses looked like mirrors, but they reflected the world darkly.

“Hi,” I whispered in a tiny voice. “Who are you?”

“We’re here to bring you to a good home,” he responded in a voice as soothing as balm on a wound. He put a hand on my shoulder, trying to be comforting. But through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, I could feel his skin burning as if with an inner fever. I tried to draw back, but his grip tightened, the fingers digging into the thin bones.

“Where’s mom and dad?” I asked. “Why haven’t they come out?” He just shook his head.

“We’ll explain everything on the way, son,” he said, rising to his feet. He gently patted me on the shoulder a few times for good measure. No one else paid us any attention. With the two strange men beside me, we started off toward their sedan.

***

“My name is Keller,” the leader of the two men said as he slid smoothly into the driver’s seat. He motioned at the silent one next to him. “This is Vlad.”

“Where are we going?” I asked. He turned in his seat, jerking his head to face me. The veins on his forehead and neck seemed to pound in time with his heart.

“You sure do ask a lot of fucking questions, kid,” Keller hissed, his teeth gritted as his lips flew into a snarl. Taken aback, I sat as silent as a statue as he started the car and slowly pulled away from the jumble of emergency vehicles.

We traveled in silence for hours, down winding roads and past dark forests. I remember we eventually came to a small airfield in the middle of scattered corn fields. A man with a black rifle stood at the front gate, looking bored and tired. Keller showed him a silver badge in a black leather case, and the gate started to roll to the side.

Keller pulled into a dark corner of the airfield. Together, the two agents quickly got out, slamming their doors closed. I had tried the handle a couple times along the trip, hoping I could jump out when the car slowed or stopped, but it was locked from the outside somehow. Now I frantically grabbed it again, shaking the door with as much force as my small body could muster. I only saw the grinning, pale face of Vlad outside. A key jiggled outside, and both doors flew open. In Vlad’s hand, I saw a needle filled with clear fluid. They held me down as he injected it in my neck. I felt sick and weak as black waves clouded my vision.

***

I fell into a dreamless sleep. By the time I woke up, things around me had changed drastically.

I was handcuffed and thrown into the back of an SUV. With a pounding migraine, I looked up front, seeing Keller and Vlad still in the front seats. But now, the windows outside showed jagged mountain peaks covered in thick drifts of snow. The night outside looked freezing cold. Endless forests disappeared into the shadows off in the distance. I could feel the car rapidly accelerating uphill as hail peppered the windshield and roof. Vlad glanced in the rearview mirror. His eyes reminded me of those of a Siberian husky, ice-cold and predatory. 

“Ah, you’re awake? That’s good,” Vlad hissed in a thick Eastern European accent. “We’ll be there soon, Ghosten. There are few things you should probably know before we get there.

“Escape is impossible. Anyone who tries gets shot by the snipers. Some who lose hope might take it as the easy way out. Perhaps those are the smart ones.

“When you get there, you and the other newcomers will take a test. Those of you who fail will be euthanized. Do you know what euthanasia is, Ghosten?” I nodded. “Every month, the bottom 10% of the class will be taken out. At the end of nine months, those left alive will be offered jobs with the CIA and the military.

“All the kids there are freaks, just like you. They don’t all heal burnt, blackened skin in a few hours, though” Vlad continued. “That is impressive.” I felt a cold shudder run down my spine as I realized these men knew far more about me than seemed possible. “What else can you do, kid?”

“Nothing,” I muttered. “My hands weren’t that badly hurt. I think you’re exaggerating.” My voice felt weak and small.

“Uh-huh,” Keller said sarcastically. “Oh, look at that. What a sight, huh?” 

I remember that moment like a screenshot to this day. I gazed open-mouthed in horror up the steep mountain slope. Dark patches of evergreens surrounded the small, snow-covered road on both sides. Their boughs reached out toward the SUV, their overgrown needles scraping the sides with a faint screech. I could smell the overwhelming presence of pine coming in through the vents.

Above us loomed something like a massive high school surrounded by rolls of razor-wire and multiple layers of tall, electrified fences. A dozen jet-black sniper towers were placed equidistant around the perimeter of the property. The enormous brick building at the center looked like it had no windows at all. Sheer concrete walls rose to a flat roof a few stories high. Large industrial-sized smokestacks scattered over the top constantly belched black smoke into the crisp Alaskan air. Behind it, dozens of snow-capped mountains stretched off towards the horizon.

***

We pulled up to the gate. Spotlights converged on the SUV from all directions. A guard dressed in all black stood there with a large rifle strapped to his chest. On his face, he wore a silver mask. It had long, slitted eyes and metal lips tightly pressed together in a grimace. My first thought was of the Man in the Iron Mask. Two more guards stood in a nearby guardhouse wearing identical masks, though they varied in height and build. Keller rolled down the window. The guard in charge spoke in an electronically-distorted voice. It sounded inhumanly deep with a subtle hiss of static writhing under his words.

“What is your business?” the guard hissed.

“We’re dropping off another subject for the tests,” Keller said calmly, showing his silver badge. “The Department for the Cleansing of Anomalies.”

“We have another shipment coming in by train from the capital,” the guard said, his mask revealing and distorted voice revealing nothing of what lay hidden under the surface. “The Cleaners are unloading the train now. You can drop the boy off over there. He needs to get an identification number.” I didn’t like the sound of any of this. Most of all, I felt unnerved by the way they talked about me as if I were a sack of meat getting delivered to a butcher shop.

The SUV slowly pulled off from the front gate, following the freshly-plowed road that wound its way around the exterior of the strange, prison-like school. I could hear far-away screams, a combination of many dissonant voices that rose and swelled into a hellish cacophony. I saw a platform of bare, gray concrete swarming with hundreds of kids, most of them looking like they were in the range of nine to thirteen. More armed soldiers wearing the same silver masks screamed orders. Some held black German shepherds on long chains that snarled and snapped at the kids, pulling against their restraints with wolfish ferocity.

“We’re here!” Keller exclaimed excitedly, pulling up next to the concrete platform. They pulled me out, taking off my handcuffs and shoving me into the surging crowd. The men in the silver masks pushed us forward relentlessly towards the building.

***

“Males to the right, females to the left,” one of the guards said in an electronically-amplified voice, repeating it over and over. More guards had black truncheons, which they used to beat kids who they thought moved too slow or, sometimes, for no reason at all. I looked down the line of people, wondering where it led. Hundreds of boys disappeared into a dark hallway, while the line of girls veered off to the other side of the platform where another similarly black threshold waited to swallow them up.

“Keep moving forward,” another guard said, smashing his truncheon down over and over on the backs of boys ahead of me. I heard bones cracking and panicked screams. People tried to run past the sadistic guards of this hellish place, but they timed their shots with practiced ease. I saw quite a few kids get bit by the dogs as well. Drops of fresh blood stained the ground leading forward, mixing with darker, older stains eaten into the pavement. I shivered uncontrollably in the freezing Alaskan winter, wondering if I had somehow ended up in Hell. Maybe I had died in the fire along with my parents, and this was eternity.

I tried to slink into the center of the crowd, letting the boys on both sides of me take the brunt of the blows, though a few glancing strikes still hit me. I felt immensely grateful when we moved into the black hallway, which at least had some heat. Bizarre slogans in gold paint lined both sides of the wall. “Welcome to Stonehall, the School of Eyes,” one read. “A hurricane of souls spirals out of the chimneys, rejuvenating the planet,” read another. It was almost as if a schizophrenic in a psychotic state had written their thoughts down, though they seemed to connect in any eerie way I couldn’t yet understand.

Next to me stood a small boy with jet-black hair and a nose that looked like it had been broken and badly set. Unlike the others, he wasn’t screaming or upset. He looked calm. He glanced over at me, meeting my eyes.

“Hello,” he said over the wailing and cries of the confused, hurt kids. “How are you?” I laughed at that.

“Not very good, to tell you the truth,” I answered. “I think we might die tonight.” The boy shook his head once, the serenity never leaving his eyes.

“No, not you and not me,” he said simply. “Others, yes. But people die here all the time, after all. Like the signs said, a hurricane of souls spirals out.”

“How do you know we won’t die?” I asked, confused. He leaned close to me. There was an odd smell around the boy, almost like ozone with a note of panicked sweat. Yet his expression reflected no perturbation in his mind.

 “I can see the future, sometimes,” he whispered, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “Just in small doses, and it’s not always right. It’s like… imagine if reality was a beehive, filled with millions of cells rising above you. Those are all the possible worlds. But some paths are straighter heading upwards, and these are the more likely realities. Other paths would have to swerve and curve in insane ways, and these realities almost never come true.”

“Well, I sure hope you’re right,” I said, “because today is not a good day to die.”

***

I found out that the boy’s name was Dean. I stayed close by his side as all of the boys were herded, one by one, into a room. After waiting for nearly half an hour, it was my turn. A guard in a silver mask took my arm and put it on top of some sort of machine that reminded me of an X-ray. A metal clamp closed around my wrist and elbow. Two other guards watched, armed with black rifles. Suddenly, red lasers shot out, sizzling into my skin. I screamed, trying to pull away, but seconds later, it was over. I looked down at my arm, seeing a number tattooed there in black copperplate: “A-20101.”

After that, we were led into a large auditorium with hundreds of velvet-lined seats facing a stage. A man in a black robe wearing the same iron mask as all the other guards stood there waiting, not moving in the slightest. For a moment, I thought it might be a mannequin. Dean stood behind me in line.

“Find seats!” the guards screamed in their amplified voices. People scrambled to the nearest open seat. Dean and I found two seats near the front, only a stone’s throw away from the still figure on the stage, looming over the crowd like the angel of death.

On the right arm of each seat, there was a tablet. The screens stayed dark for now, but once the hundreds of boys had taken their seats, all of them in the room turned on at once.

“You know why you’re here in Stonehall,” the black-robed man on the stage said, taking a long step towards the students. “Each of you are different, capable of great things. In this school, we will weed out the weak and feeble. Only the strongest and smartest will survive.

“The first round of elimination will take place by test. Enter your identification number at the top of the screen. The test will begin in ten seconds.”

The questions that came up on the screens seemed bizarre and nonsensical some of the time. The first strange one had to do with Tarot. It read: “In front of you, you see the Fool, the Hanged Man and the Devil. What card comes next?” In a flash, I somehow knew what they wanted me to say. “The Death Card,” I typed on the small touchscreen keyboard.

The questions varied wildly. Some topics focused on astral projection or out-of-body experiences, while others asked about ancient types of torture. Strange wildcards continuously came up, non-sequiturs like the Tarot question. I still remember another bizarre one.

“If the National Socialists had won World War 2, in what year would Adolf Hitler have died?” it asked. I thought about what Dean had said, how he could see different realities above him like the cells of an eternal beehive. I wrote down, “1949”, and the test was over.

***

The screens all went black simultaneously. Spotlights overhead came on, shining down on us from all directions. The white glare blinded me temporarily. On the stage, I could just barely see the silhouette of the robed man. He raised his hand, his pointer finger extended upwards, reminding me of the ISIS salute.

“The tests are being scored now,” he rasped. “Please stay in your seats.” I nervously looked around, seeing the other students sweating heavily. The doors at the back of the auditorium flew open. Dozens of guards with rifles walked in, their masks gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light. In pairs, they walked over to some of the boys, pulling their arms out and checking the tattooed numbers. They passed by me and Dean, but the boy on the other side of me had failed. Sweating heavily, I saw him stumble to his feet as the black-gloved hands of the guards forced him up.

“What’s happening?” he asked, his voice weak and uncertain. “Where are you taking me?”

“Shut the fuck up,” a guard hissed, pushing him forward onto the steps. The boy went sprawling, smashing his face into the hard steps with a sickening thud. A moment later, he raised his swollen head. Streams of blood flowed from his nose. He spit up frothy blood and a piece of a tooth. After a few minutes, they had lined up a few dozen of the boys out of the few hundred people in the class. At gunpoint, they marched them out and into the hall.

“The rest of you will be shown to your rooms,” the black-robed man at the front of the hall said. “Every month, you will have a test, though not all will be based on knowledge. Some tests may be based on your skills and abilities. You will be honed over the months, strengthened and shown amazing sights.”

***

We were led out into the hallway. It split off into four corridors, and off in the distance, I saw it split off again. The halls had been decorated somewhat like a traditional school, with tiled floors and brick walls. Fluorescent lights hung overhead, casting the pale, terrified faces below in a white glare. Stairs going up six or seven levels opened up intermittently.

They sectioned us off in groups of a dozen, sending us into rooms with cold steel bunkbeds covered in thin mattresses. I was thankful to see Dean in my group.

I laid down immediately, feeling bone-tired and weak from all that happened and the long distances I had traveled. I heard Dean weeping in the bunk below me. And then, far below us, the screaming started. At first, it came through muffled. I saw air vents in the room, square grills at the corners. The sound seemed to come from them. The wailing intensified, the notes of agony and terror growing stronger.

“What is that?” I whispered, not wanting to know the answer. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. My heart was racing.

“You can’t see it?” Dean asked. “I can. They get locked in concrete rooms. Then the vents start whirring, and the poison comes through. They see their nails turning blue as they pile up into pyramids of bodies, coughing up blood from screaming so loud and so long. Can’t you see it?”

“No, I can’t,” I said. After about fifteen or twenty minutes, the intense, agonized wailing began quieting down. One by one, the voices died out like stars winking out at the end of the universe. 

***

I fell asleep sometime in the pitch-black night. I dreamed of pyramids of naked corpses with dilated pupils and blue lips. Men in hazmat suits came in, but when they turned to look at me, I realized their suits were fused to their skin, their plastic masks melted to their blood-red, grinning skulls.

I woke up screaming as something like a tornado siren rang out above me. Bright lights turned on overhead, humming with an incessant tinking sound. I thrashed in my bed, falling off the side of the bunk and landing on the floor. The other boys looked at me like I was insane. Dean got out of bed and helped me stand up.

We were marched single-file back down the hallway. Classrooms opened up on both sides of us, filled with a mixture of girls and boys. A silent guard with a silver mask pointed us toward a classroom on the right, where a dozen girls sat at tables, their eyes looking tired and haunted. A man stood at the front of the class with strange, blood-red irises. He had a shaved head and a reddish hue to his skin, as if he were at risk of exploding from hypertension at any moment.

“Sit down!” he yelled. “Sit down! We don’t have much time here.” I quickly found a seat at a table with three other boys. On the chalkboard, the man had written, in large, spiky letters: “PYROKINESIS”.

“My name is Mr. Antimony, and I’m here to teach you little shits about pyrokinesis,” he hissed, walking in circles with a manic energy. “Most of you will fail. The art of harnessing the deathless self within the heart and bringing heat from it is a rare one. It has been practiced by Buddhist monks and practitioners of Advaita Vedanta for millennia, along with the other higher arts like telekinesis, mind-reading and astral projection. A few of you may be worthy enough to realize the source of this power.

“In the drawers in front of each of you, you will find a variety of objects: cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, paper and a book titled ‘The Art of Living Fire’ written by the ancient seer, Hermes Trismegistus.”

In the first class of this bizarre place, we were taught how to heat objects with our hands until they exploded into flames. The two other boys at our table, Kim, a young Asian kid with magnified glasses, and Tommy, a little, malnourished-looking kid, instantly proved to be adept at the lessons. I hadn’t succeeded in lighting even the smallest cottonball when something went horribly wrong in a flash.

Kim had succeeded in igniting a Bible on fire when a ball of flames shot out of his hands, causing the bottle of alcohol to erupt. It melted in an instant, dripping a blue inferno over the table. It soaked into Kim’s shirt and pants, and the red flames that emanated from his hands exploded. He screamed, running in circles as his skin blackened and dripped. I saw his eyes melting out of his head. He fell to the floor, and someone grabbed a jacket and tried to smother the flames, but it simply ignited. The student dropped the jacket, backing away from the screaming, writhing body on the floor.

***

During the next few weeks, we continued to learn at the nightmarish classes of Stonehall. Regular casualties occurred, and deaths frequently happened during accidents. Yet these deaths did not go towards the quota that would be enforced in another week. Another 10% of the class would die, and this time, they said the tests would include practical demonstrations of powers that would be ruled by a team of judges.

“We need to get out of here,” Dean whispered one night. Tommy lay at the next bunk over, his small face looking pinched and mousey in the dark. 

“They’re going to start the executions again soon,” he said. “The path to the concrete rooms down below.”

“The path to the gas chambers,” Dean agreed. “We need to find a way to break out and tell the world about this place.” All of us had grown exponentially in the last few weeks, our latent abilities coming to fruition under the constant watchful eyes of the teachers. 

“Why don’t you use your precognitive abilities to see a way out?” I asked Dean. “There has to be weak spots. Maybe we can kill the guards and take their suits. If we had the masks on…”

“We’re too small,” Tommy said. I shook my head.

“You’re too small,” I said. “Dean and I might be able to pass. Not all the guards are tall, after all.”

“What if the students rebelled?” Tommy asked. “Maybe we could ask around, see if other kids want to fight back and try to escape. If all of us attacked them at once…”

“They have precognitive abilities, too,” Dean said. “They’re going to see the most likely paths just like I can. At least the ones at the top, and a few of the teachers…”

“So it comes down to my plan, I think,” I said. “And we don’t know who we can trust. The three of us could probably kill and overpower a guard. What do you think?”

“They killed my parents and kidnapped me,” Tommy spat with venom. “I would love to see some of these fuckers dead.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I think it might,” Dean said, and then everything went quiet.

***

On the day before the scheduled test, Tommy came running up to me and Dean after the class on assassination techniques had finished. His scarecrow-thin face shone with a wide grin. I had never seen him so excited.

“I think I found a way out,” he said. He looked around furtively, making sure no one else stood close enough to hear. “Do you guys remember the day you came in here?” I nodded. How could I forget?

“I got dropped off by two agents,” I said. “They claimed they were from some non-existent government agency called the Cleaners.”

“I came on the cattle cars,” Tommy said, frowning at the memory. “Well, they drop off more kids out there every day. They need constant fresh meat for the tests, after all. There are guards all over the place, and cars out there.”

“We need to find a weak spot in the guards’ defense,” I said, “where we can overpower a couple of them and kill them and steal their uniforms. After that, you think we could just walk out of here?”

“The medical ward usually isn’t heavily guarded,” Dean said. “We need to do it tonight, though. This is the last chance.” We made it sound so easy, but in reality, I knew it would be an almost impossible task.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Before I knew it, the classes had finished, and we were being led back to the chambers. We waited in the darkness, whispering so the other boys wouldn’t hear our plans. When 3 AM rolled around, Dean indicated it was time to go.

“The hallways outside are empty,” he whispered. “We need to move now, as quickly and quietly as we can.” I saw his pupils constricting and expanding rapidly, as they always did when he tried to tap into the multiverse of possibilities. I wondered what it looked like, staring up into the beehive of realities. Despite his attempts to help me learn some precog abilities, I had failed in every attempt so far.

Whether day or night, the hallways always looked the same- windowless, with every inch of them illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. Dean lead us successfully down turn after turn. I heard the guard’s steps missing us by mere seconds. Afraid to even breathe too loud, we made our way towards the medical ward.

***

“Are you guys ready?” Dean whispered. Using his abilities seemed to take a toll on him. His face looked pale and sweaty, his dilated pupils gleaming manically. “We need to fight. There are two guards up ahead.”

“Fuck,” Tommy whispered back. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“They’re going to murder us if we don’t, maybe,” I said. “We have to kill them first.”

“Hey, stop right there!” a guard exclaimed abruptly, coming around the corner. He had an automatic rifle slung around his shoulder. I froze like a deer in the headlights, staring dumbly at the guard. Luckily, Tommy went into action immediately, running at the guard before he could aim his gun.

Tommy raised his small hands, causing a swirling vortex of flame to erupt from his hands. With lightning-fast reflexes, the guard grabbed his rifle as Tommy’s hands wrapped around his bare throat. There was a flash as the rifle fired. At the same moment, the skin on the guard’s neck started to drip and blacken. There was an echoing of pained screams as my ears rang.

Another guard came around the corner seconds later, aiming his rifle at Dean’s head. Dean shot a flash of blue lightning from the tips of his fingers, using his telekinetic powers to send the rifle flying upwards. The bullet smashed harmlessly into the ceiling, causing dust and debris to rain down on our heads.

Tommy fell on the guard’s body, a torrent of blood pumping from the massive hole in his chest. I ran at the second guard, a flash of blue light sparking from my fingertips and sending him sprawling backwards. He grabbed his rifle, shooting blindly in the direction of me and Dean. I heard bullets whizzing past my head, missing my brain by inches.

“I’m hit!” Dean screamed. I looked back, seeing a ragged hole eaten into his right shoulder. Blood spurted from the wound in time with his heartbeat. Tommy had stopped moving as he lay on the writhing body of the other guard. The flames spread down his body. He kicked and clenched with all of his strength, looking like a poisoned hornet twisting on the floor.

I knew I was alone now. Focusing on the spinning vortex of energy within my heart, I tried to bring out the fire I had never succeeded in creating before. The guard lay stunned for a moment, but I knew he would rapidly recover. I leapt forward, putting my hands around his throat. I felt something freezing cold running through my blood, but when it emerged from my skin, it grew burning hot. An acrid smell like ozone and burning metal surrounded me, pouring off my feverish skin. The guard screamed as his throat melted. His gurgling grew low and distorted. I felt his windpipe collapsing under the heat and assault.

Breathing heavily, I looked around, expecting to see a platoon of guards running in. Someone must have heard all the gunshots and screaming. Dean’s eyes had started to roll up in his head by this point. I crawled over to him, slapping his face.

“Stay with me, man,” I whispered. Rapidly, his lips took on a bluish cast. His paleness grew vampiric, his skin chalk-white. I knew it was useless.

I got up, feeling dissociated and unreal. I looked around, seeing an empty, dark room down the hall. It was one of the rooms for the medical ward, filled with unoccupied beds and equipment.

With a rush of adrenaline, I leaned down, dragging the body of the guard I had killed over to the room. At first, his body seemed too heavy, impossibly heavy, but my telekinetic powers came rushing out. I felt drained from using my powers so much, and I hoped that, soon, I could rest.

I rapidly stripped the guard of his military gear and silver mask. Underneath, I saw a young man, probably in his early twenties. He had a soft, child-like face. He seemed on the border of life and death as his gurgling breaths came slower and shallower. I wondered how such cruelty could hide behind such a mundane exterior.

***

It took me a few minutes to change, breathing heavily in the dark. The gear all felt far too large on me, especially the boots. I saw a nearby medical closet with linen, slip-proof socks and hospital gowns. I put on pair after pair after socks until I could walk in the black boots.

The gear smelt of burnt flesh and blood, with drops of blackened gore still staining the bullet-proof vest and tactical vests. I put on the mask, whispering a few words. The built-in voice distortion system caused them to come out low and predatory, like the hissing of a snake.

“Stay with me, man,” I whispered, feeling the echoes of past atrocities spreading around me. “Stay with me.” I slowly opened the door, looking both ways but seeing no one. Close by, I heard heavy footsteps rushing in our direction.

I came around the corner as a dozen guards ran up with rifles. The one in front froze, holding his gun with practiced ease. I stared into the unreadable silver face, wondering if this was the end.

“I found two boys dead,” I said. “Some guards, too.”

“We heard gunshots,” he responded. I nodded, pointing behind me at the pools of blood and the broken bodies laying strewn about like garbage.

“It looks like a couple kids attacked some guards,” I said. “I was just about to go report it and call for back-up.”

“Go get the Principal,” he hissed. “We’ll secure the area.” Gratefully, I crept past the still, eerie figures of the soldiers, unable to believe my luck.

I made my way outside, hearing panicked screaming and pained sobs. A new round of kids stood next to the cattle cars of the train under a cloudy, black sky. A thin layer of cracked ice covered the ground. Seeing these kids beaten and pushed forward brought back horrifying memories of my first night here. Looking around, it grew worse when I saw the black SUV of Keller and Vlad. It stood empty, the engine running. In the line of kids, I glimpsed their two pale faces dragging two girls toward the hallway.

Blending in with the crowd of guards, I quickly made my way over to the SUV and got inside. Without hesitation, I put it in drive and slowly started pulling away. No one had noticed anything yet in the chaos of the moment. In the parking lot, I saw dozens of other similar SUVs used by Stonehall for trafficking kids. I hoped I could blend in and get out before anyone raised the alarm.

I pulled slowly up to the main gate, my heart twitching like a trapped rabbit. The iron mask of the guard revealed nothing as I rolled down the window. He held his rifle tightly in his hands. Through the eyeholes, I saw two red irises staring out.

“Identification?” the distorted voice said. Even through the distortion, I could hear the boredom in his voice. I checked the pockets of the dead man’s uniform, finding a wallet. I pulled it out, flipping it open and showing the silver badge in the center. The guard nodded, moving back to the guardhouse. The gate slowly started ambling to the side.

“Wait! Stop him!” a voice shrieked from behind me. In utter panic, I glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing Vlad and Keller heading in my direction, sprinting blindly toward the SUV.

“Fuck!” I shouted, slamming the gear shift into drive and accelerating rapidly. The tires spun on the ice for a long, heart-stopping moment. The guard ran out of the guardhouse, raising his rifle at the SUV. Then the car took off in a flash as the tires caught, sending me flying through the open gate.

I accelerated at dangerous speeds down the slick slope of the Alaskan mountains, leaving Stonehall behind. A few minutes later, a voice came over a radio next to the steering wheel. I recognized the voice of Keller.

“Ghosten, stop! This was all a test, and you passed. You escaped from Stonehall,” he said urgently. “You were the only one in the last five years to successfully get out. Your training is done. We’d like to offer you a job.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing cars far behind me. A few black SUVs flew out of the gate, looking as small as fruit flies. Swearing, I accelerated as fast as I could, fearing I would skid right off the road.

After making it to the bottom of the mountain, the road split off into four directions. I saw thick forests to the left and right. Nervously, I pulled right and sped around the corner, nearly sliding into a tree. I looked in the rearview mirror again, but I didn’t see my pursuers.

I pulled over, abandoning the car and fleeing that place of horrors. I walked for days before I found a small town where I managed to blend in. But I still feel hunted to this day.

The velvet curtains part with a whisper, revealing the darkened stage beyond. As I step forward, the floorboards creak beneath my feet - an eerie echo in the empty theater. My heart pounds, each beat reverberating through my chest as if amplified by the cavernous space around me. I pause at center stage, willing my trembling legs to stay steady.

It's been two years since I last stood in this spot. Two years since the night that shattered my world and left me a broken shell of the man I once was. The memories flood back unbidden, as vivid and horrifying as the moment they were seared into my mind.

I close my eyes, fighting back the images, but they come anyway - a tide of terror that threatens to drown me...

The roar of the crowd. The heat of the stage lights beating down. My voice ringing out clear and strong as I delivered my lines. It was opening night of our revival of "The Phantom of the Opera," and everything was going perfectly. The audience was captivated, the cast was in top form. I felt invincible, riding high on the rush of a flawless performance.

Then came the fateful moment - the grand chandelier crash. A pinnacle of theatrical spectacle, it never failed to elicit gasps of awe from the crowd. The massive prop was rigged to plummet from the ceiling in a shower of shattering crystal, stopping just short of the stage in a stunning illusion of destruction.

But on that night, something went terribly wrong.

I heard it first - a deep groan of straining metal, audible even over the swelling orchestra. My eyes darted upward, widening in horror as I saw the chandelier swaying ominously. In that split second, I knew with sickening certainty that this was no illusion.

Time seemed to slow as I watched death descend from above. The chandelier tore free from its moorings in an explosion of splintering wood and snapping cables. It plunged toward the crowd below, a glittering harbinger of doom.

I opened my mouth to scream a warning, but no sound emerged. I was frozen, helpless, as two tons of metal and crystal crashed into the packed theater seats.

The cacophony was deafening - shattering glass, splintering wood, and the agonized screams of the audience all blending into a hellish symphony. Chaos erupted as people scrambled to escape, trampling those who had fallen in their desperation to flee.

I stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes from the nightmarish scene unfolding before me. The front rows had been obliterated, seats crushed to kindling beneath the chandelier's bulk. Those who hadn't been killed instantly writhed in agony, impaled by shards of crystal or pinned beneath twisted metal.

Blood ran in rivulets down the sloped floor, pooling at the foot of the stage. The coppery scent of it filled my nostrils, so strong I could taste it on my tongue. Still I couldn't move, couldn't even blink as I stared in slack-jawed horror.

A child's plaintive wail cut through the din, snapping me from my daze. Without conscious thought, I leapt from the stage and waded into the carnage. I pulled people from the wreckage with strength born of desperation, heedless of the glass that sliced my palms to ribbons.

For hours I worked alongside the rescue crews, digging through the rubble for survivors. But as the night wore on, we found fewer living and more dead. By dawn, the death toll had climbed to 37, with scores more injured.

I emerged from the theater as the first rays of sunlight painted the sky, clothes soaked with blood both my own and others'. My throat was raw from shouting, my body battered and aching. But the physical pain paled in comparison to the anguish that gripped my soul.

In the days that followed, I learned the gruesome details. A faulty weld had given way, sending the chandelier plummeting with lethal force. It was a freak accident, they said. No one was to blame.

But I knew better. I was to blame. I had been the star, the one whose name drew crowds to the theater night after night. If not for me, those people would never have been there. Their blood was on my hands.

The nightmares began almost immediately. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back on that stage, watching helplessly as death rained down. I relived the horror again and again, waking in a cold sweat with the victims' screams echoing in my ears.

Sleep became my enemy. I would go days without rest, fueled by a cocktail of caffeine and desperation. When exhaustion finally claimed me, the dreams were there waiting. Sometimes I was crushed beneath the chandelier myself, feeling my bones splinter as the weight pressed down. Other times I was trapped in the audience, unable to escape as the crystal shards sliced into me.

But the worst dreams were the ones where I saved them. Where I found the voice to shout a warning, or the strength to catch the chandelier before it fell. For in those blissful moments between sleep and waking, I believed it had all been just a bad dream. The crushing return to reality was almost more than I could bear.

I withdrew from the world, sequestering myself in my apartment. The very thought of stepping onto a stage again filled me with paralyzing terror. I ignored the calls from my agent, from casting directors eager to capitalize on the notorious tragedy. The newspapers dubbed me "The Phantom's Survivor," and suddenly I was more famous than ever. The irony was not lost on me.

Reporters camped outside my building, hungry for an exclusive with the reclusive star. I became a prisoner in my own home, afraid to so much as open the curtains lest I catch a glimpse of the outside world. Food deliveries piled up outside my door - I couldn't bear to face even the delivery drivers.

In my isolation, I began to see things. Shadows that moved when they shouldn't. Flickering shapes in my peripheral vision. I told myself it was just fatigue, just my mind playing tricks. But in the dark watches of the night, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone.

It started small at first. Items not where I'd left them. The faint sound of whispers when no one was there. A chill in the air even in the heat of summer. I might have dismissed it as signs of my deteriorating mental state, if not for what came next.

I awoke one night to find my bedroom filled with a soft, ethereal glow. As my eyes adjusted, I saw them - translucent figures scattered about the room. Men, women, children, all bearing the gruesome injuries of that fatal night. They stared at me with hollow eyes, their faces masks of accusation and sorrow.

I scrambled back against the headboard, a scream lodged in my throat. This was a dream, it had to be. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up. But when I opened them again, the spirits remained.

One by one they approached the bed. Spectral hands reached for me, icy fingers brushing my skin. Their touch sent jolts of agony through my body - the pain of crushed limbs, of impalement, of slow suffocation. Every hurt they had suffered, I felt as if it were my own.

I begged for mercy, pleaded for forgiveness. But they were beyond such things now. They had come with a singular purpose - to ensure I never forgot the lives that had been lost. That I never escaped the guilt which was my due.

Night after night they came, tormenting me with visions of their final moments. I saw through their eyes as the chandelier fell, felt their terror and pain as death claimed them. Their memories became my own, a hundred different perspectives of the same horrific event.

I was the mother who shielded her child with her own body, her back shredded by shrapnel. I was the elderly man pinned beneath a seat, slowly crushed as the crowd stampeded above him. I was the young woman who bled out in the aisle, a shard of crystal lodged in her throat.

During the day, I was haunted by phantom pains - legacies of injuries I had never actually sustained. My back ached constantly, bearing the phantom weight of the chandelier. My hands throbbed where glass had sliced them open, though the skin remained unmarked.

I began to long for death, for an end to the relentless torment. But the spirits would not allow it. Twice I tried to end my own life, only to have the pills knocked from my hand or the razor pulled from my grasp by unseen forces. They were not finished with me yet.

Months passed in a haze of misery and guilt. I wasted away, eating barely enough to stay alive. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I hardly recognized the gaunt, wild-eyed creature staring back at me. I looked more like a corpse than the spirits that haunted me.

It was in my darkest hour, hovering on the brink of madness, that an unexpected lifeline appeared. A letter slipped under my door, bearing the logo of the theater where tragedy had struck. I nearly burned it unread, but something stayed my hand.

With trembling fingers, I broke the seal and unfolded the heavy parchment. It was an invitation - the theater was reopening after extensive renovations, and they wanted me to headline the grand revival. My blood ran cold at the very thought.

I crumpled the letter, hurling it across the room. How dare they? How could they expect me to set foot on that stage again, much less perform? It was unthinkable.

But as the days passed, I found my thoughts returning to the invitation. The theater had been my home, the stage my refuge. For all the pain associated with that place now, I couldn't deny the pull it still held on my heart.

And so, against all reason, I found myself considering it. Perhaps, I thought, this was the key to my redemption. A chance to face my demons and lay them to rest at last. Or perhaps it was simply that I had nothing left to lose.

With shaking hands, I penned my reply. I would return to the stage one final time.

The news of my imminent return sent shockwaves through the theater world. Some hailed it as a triumphant comeback, the conquering of tragedy by the human spirit. Others decried it as a tasteless publicity stunt, capitalizing on the deaths of innocents.

I paid little heed to the discourse that raged in the press. My focus was consumed entirely by preparation for the performance - and by the growing dread that threatened to overwhelm me.

The hauntings intensified as the date drew nearer. The spirits were ever-present now, their accusatory gazes following my every move. They whispered incessantly, a constant chorus of laments and recriminations that threatened to drive me mad.

Still, I persevered. I threw myself into rehearsals with a fervor that bordered on obsession. I would make this performance perfect, I vowed. I owed the victims that much at least.

The theater had been entirely rebuilt, every trace of the tragedy erased. But I could still see it as it had been that night - the splintered seats, the bloodstained floors. Every time I set foot in the building, the memories crashed over me anew.

My castmates regarded me with a mixture of pity and unease. They had all heard the rumors of my breakdown, my descent into isolation and madness. I caught them whispering when they thought I couldn't hear, placing bets on whether I would make it to opening night.

I ignored them all, losing myself in the role. I had chosen to perform "Macbeth" - a tale of guilt and madness that felt all too fitting. As I delved deeper into the character, I found the line between actor and role beginning to blur.

Like Macbeth, I was haunted by the ghosts of those I had wronged. Like him, I was driven to the brink of sanity by the weight of my crimes. And like him, I knew that my fate was sealed - there could be no redemption for what I had done.

The night before the performance, I knelt before the spirits that haunted me. I begged them for the strength to make it through one last show. Whether they granted my request or simply decided to reserve their torments, I slept peacefully for the first time in two years.

I awoke on the morning of the performance filled with a strange calm. Whatever happened tonight, it would all be over soon. One way or another, I would find release from my torment.

As I entered the theater, a hush fell over the assembled cast and crew. All eyes were on me, watching for any sign of the fragility they all knew lurked beneath the surface. I met their gazes steadily, allowing none of my inner turmoil to show.

The hours ticked by with agonizing slowness. I paced in my dressing room, running lines under my breath as I had a thousand times before. But try as I might, I couldn't banish the feeling of impending doom that pressed down upon me.

At last, the call came. "Places in five minutes."

I took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at myself in the mirror one last time. The face that stared back was a mask of determination, all trace of fear carefully hidden away. I was ready.

I made my way to the wings, heart pounding in my chest. As I waited for my cue, I became aware of a presence beside me. I turned to see a shimmering figure - one of my ghostly tormentors. But there was no malice in its eyes now, only a deep sadness.

It reached out, spectral fingers brushing my cheek in a gesture almost like benediction. Then it was gone, leaving only a lingering chill against my skin.

The curtain rose. I stepped out onto the stage.

The bright lights blinded me for a moment, and in that instant I was transported back to that fateful night. I could hear the groaning of metal, see the chandelier beginning to fall...

But I forced the memories away, grounding myself in the present. This was not that night. I was here to perform, to honor those who had been lost. I would not let fear defeat me now.

I opened my mouth and began to speak, my voice ringing out clear and strong. The familiar words flowed from me, and I felt myself slipping into the role as I had so many times before.

But as the play progressed, I became aware of a strange energy building in the theater. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an otherworldly presence. My skin prickled with goosebumps, though I was sweating beneath the hot stage lights.

I faltered for a moment, the words catching in my throat. And in that instant of silence, I heard it - a faint whispering, audible even over the ambient noise of the crowd. My blood ran cold as I recognized the voices of the dead.

They were all around me now, filling the stage with their ethereal forms. They moved through the other actors, who seemed oblivious to their presence. But I could see them clearly, could feel their eyes upon me.

My lines became a litany of apology, the anguish in my voice bleeding through the character's words. Tears streamed down my face as I poured out my guilt and remorse to the unhearing audience.

The other actors exchanged worried glances, clearly unsure how to react to my unscripted emotion. But I was beyond caring about their confusion. My entire world had narrowed to this moment, this chance to unburden my soul at last.

As I spoke the final lines of the play, my voice broke. I fell to my knees, overcome by the weight of it all. The theater fell silent, the audience holding its collective breath.

In that moment of hushed anticipation, I felt a shift in the air. The oppressive presence that had haunted me for so long began to lift. One by one, the spirits faded from view. Their whispers grew fainter, until at last I heard only silence.

I raised my head, scarcely daring to hope. The stage was empty now, save for my bewildered castmates. The spirits were gone - but had they truly departed, or were they simply biding their time?

As the curtain fell, I remained on my knees, trembling with exhaustion and relief. I had done it. I had faced my fears and emerged...if not victorious, then at least still standing.

But even as a fragile sense of peace settled over me, a nagging doubt remained. Was this truly the end of my torment? Or merely the eye of the storm, a brief respite before fresh horrors were visited upon me?

I pushed myself to my feet on shaking legs, making my way slowly toward the wings. Whatever came next, I would face it. For I had learned that there are fates far worse than death - and I had already survived them.

As I stepped off the stage, the theater erupted in thunderous applause. But I barely heard it. My mind was already racing ahead, wondering what new trials awaited me in the days to come...​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The roar of applause faded as I stumbled into the wings, my body trembling with a potent mixture of adrenaline and dread. The other actors crowded around me, their faces a blur of concern and confusion. Their words washed over me in an incomprehensible tide, drowned out by the pounding of my own heart.

I pushed past them, desperate for solitude. My dressing room beckoned, a sanctuary from the chaos of the theater. As I fumbled with the doorknob, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the polished brass. The face that stared back was haggard, eyes wild with a combination of triumph and terror.

The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the sounds of the world outside. I slumped into my chair, letting out a shuddering breath. The room felt different somehow - lighter, as if a great weight had been lifted. But the absence of the spirits' oppressive presence only made me more acutely aware of the void they had left behind.

For two years, they had been my constant companions. Their torment had become a twisted form of comfort, a penance for my perceived sins. Now, in their absence, I felt adrift. Lost.

A soft knock at the door jolted me from my reverie. "Five minutes to curtain call, Mr. Holloway," came the stage manager's muffled voice.

Curtain call. The thought of facing the audience again sent a fresh wave of panic through me. How could I go back out there, take a bow as if this were just another performance? As if the stage weren't stained with the blood of the innocent?

My hands shook as I straightened my costume, smoothed back my sweat-dampened hair. I had to do this. I owed it to the victims, to their families. To myself.

The walk back to the stage felt like a death march. Each step was an effort, my legs leaden with exhaustion and fear. As I neared the wings, the applause swelled once more, punctuated by shouts and whistles.

I paused at the edge of the curtain, heart racing. What if this was all an illusion? What if I stepped out onto that stage and saw not an adoring crowd, but the mangled bodies of those who had died that fateful night?

A gentle pressure on my shoulder made me flinch. I turned to find the lead actress - Sarah, I remembered dimly - looking at me with a mixture of concern and admiration.

"That was incredible," she said softly. "I've never seen anything like it. Are you okay?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. How could I explain the torment of the past two years, the spectral visitations, the crushing guilt? How could anyone understand?

Sarah seemed to sense my struggle. She squeezed my shoulder gently, offering a small smile. "You don't have to explain. Just know that you're not alone, okay? We're all here for you."

Her kindness nearly undid me. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I had to look away. With a deep breath, I steeled myself and stepped out onto the stage.

The bright lights blinded me momentarily, and in that instant of darkness, panic clawed at my throat. But as my vision cleared, I saw only a sea of faces - living faces, their expressions a mix of awe and excitement.

The applause was deafening. As I took my bow, I scanned the crowd, half-expecting to see accusatory spectral faces among the living. But there were none. For the first time in two years, I was truly alone in my own mind.

As I straightened, my eyes were drawn to a figure in the front row. An elderly woman, her face lined with grief but her eyes shining with an emotion I couldn't quite place. Recognition hit me like a physical blow - I had seen her before, in the memories forced upon me by the spirits. She was the mother of one of the victims.

Our gazes locked, and in that moment, a wordless understanding passed between us. I saw forgiveness in her eyes, a release from the guilt that had consumed me for so long. A single tear slid down her cheek as she nodded almost imperceptibly.

The weight that lifted from my shoulders in that instant was almost palpable. I felt lighter, freer than I had in years. As I left the stage for the final time, a fragile hope began to bloom in my chest. Perhaps, just perhaps, redemption was possible after all.

But as I returned to my dressing room, doubt began to creep back in. The spirits were gone, yes - but for how long? Was this truly a new beginning, or merely a brief respite before fresh torments began?

I sank onto the small sofa, my mind racing. The performance was over, but I knew the real challenge was just beginning. How would I face the world outside these walls? How could I begin to rebuild a life that had been shattered so completely?

A soft knock at the door interrupted my spiraling thoughts. "Mr. Holloway?" It was the theater manager, his voice tentative. "There are some people here to see you. Family members of... of the victims. They'd like to speak with you, if you're willing."

My breath caught in my throat. Part of me wanted to refuse, to hide away in this room forever. But I knew I couldn't. I owed them this much, at least.

"Send them in," I called, my voice barely above a whisper.

As the door opened, I steeled myself for accusations, for anger and grief. But the faces that greeted me held none of that. Instead, I saw compassion, understanding, and a shared sorrow that cut me to my core.

They filed in silently - a dozen or so people, of all ages. I recognized some from the spirit-memories that had plagued me. Others were strangers, but the pain in their eyes was all too familiar.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then an older man stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "Thank you," he said simply, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for remembering them."

I took his hand, my own trembling. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, the words woefully inadequate. "I never meant-"

He cut me off with a gentle squeeze of my hand. "We know. We don't blame you. None of us do."

One by one, they approached. Some spoke, sharing memories of their lost loved ones. Others simply clasped my hand or embraced me, their touch a balm to my battered soul.

As they spoke, I began to see the victims not as the broken, accusing specters that had haunted me, but as the vibrant individuals they had been in life. Their families painted pictures of dreams unrealized, of loves and passions and quirks that made them uniquely human.

For the first time, I truly mourned them - not from a place of guilt, but from a genuine sense of loss for the lives cut short. I wept openly, my tears mingling with those of the families.

When the last of them had spoken, a profound silence fell over the room. The air felt charged, as if on the cusp of something momentous. I looked around at these people who had every reason to hate me, yet had chosen forgiveness instead.

"I want to do something," I said, my voice hoarse from crying. "To honor them. To ensure they're never forgotten. I don't know what, but... I want to help. If you'll let me."

The responses were immediate and overwhelming. Ideas were shared, plans begun to take shape. A scholarship fund for aspiring actors. A safety initiative for theaters across the country. A memorial to be built in the lobby.

As we talked, I felt something stirring within me - a sense of purpose I had thought lost forever. The road ahead would not be easy, I knew. The guilt and trauma of the past two years would not vanish overnight. But for the first time since that fateful night, I dared to hope for a future.

When the last of the families had gone, I sat alone in my dressing room, emotionally drained but strangely at peace. The mirror caught my eye, and I saw a flicker of movement in its reflection. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought the spirits had returned.

But as I turned, I saw only empty air. The chill that had been my constant companion for two years was gone, replaced by a warmth that seemed to radiate from within.

I gathered my things slowly, savoring the quiet. As I reached for the doorknob, I hesitated. Beyond this room lay a world I had hidden from for so long. A world that now seemed both terrifying and full of possibility.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped out into the unknown. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I would face them. For the sake of those who had been lost, and for my own salvation, I would find a way to go on.

As I walked through the darkened theater, I could almost hear the whisper of phantom applause. But this time, it didn't fill me with dread. Instead, I felt a bittersweet sense of farewell - and of a new beginning.

The stage door loomed before me, a portal between worlds. I pushed it open, letting the cool night air wash over me. The city stretched out beyond, a tapestry of lights and shadows. Somewhere out there lay my future - uncertain, daunting, but alive with potential.

I took my first step into the night, leaving the haunted theater behind. But as I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was not truly an ending. The spirits may have gone, but their memory lingered. And in that memory lay both a burden and a gift - a chance to honor the dead by truly living.

The street was quiet, the late hour keeping most people indoors. But as I walked, I became aware of a presence beside me. Not the oppressive, accusing presence of the spirits, but something gentler. A companion on the journey ahead.

I glanced to my side, half-expecting to see a ghostly figure. But there was only empty air. Yet the feeling persisted - a sense that I was not truly alone. That those who had been lost were with me still, not as tormentors, but as silent guardians.

The realization brought a small smile to my lips. Perhaps this was the true nature of ghosts - not vengeful spirits, but the indelible marks left on our souls by those we've lost. The memories that shape us, haunt us, and ultimately guide us toward redemption.

As I walked on into the night, I felt a sense of peace settling over me. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but I was ready to face it. For in facing my fears, I had found a strength I never knew I possessed.

The city stretched out before me, a world of infinite possibilities. And somewhere in the distance, I could almost hear the faint strains of music - not the ominous chords of that fateful night, but a gentler melody. A song of hope, of healing, of new beginnings.

I quickened my pace, eager to see what the future held. The ghosts of my past walked beside me, no longer accusers but allies in the journey ahead. Together, we stepped into the unknown, ready to write the next act in this strange and haunting play.

The night enveloped me, cool and welcoming. And as I walked on, I felt the weight of the past two years beginning to lift. With each step, I moved further from the man I had been and closer to the man I could become.

The theater faded into the distance behind me, but its lessons remained. I had learned the power of facing one's fears, of confronting the ghosts that haunt us. And I had discovered that even in the darkest of tragedies, there is the potential for redemption.

As I reached the end of the block, I paused at the crossroads. In every direction lay a different path, a different future. The choice was mine to make.

For a moment, I stood frozen, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the decision before me. Then, taking a deep breath, I chose a direction and began to walk. Where this path would lead, I couldn't say. But for the first time in years, I looked forward to finding out.

The city swallowed me up, its rhythm becoming my own. And as I walked on into the night, I felt the first stirrings of something I had thought lost forever - hope.

The ghosts of the past would always be with me, I knew. But now, instead of dragging me down, they lifted me up. Their memory would be my guide, their lost potential my inspiration.

With each step, I moved further from the haunted theater and closer to an uncertain but promising future. The night stretched out before me, full of shadows and light, challenges and opportunities.

And I walked on, ready to face whatever lay ahead...​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As I ventured deeper into the city, the familiar streets began to take on an unsettling quality. The flickering streetlights cast long, distorted shadows that seemed to writhe and twist with a life of their own. A fog rolled in, thick and unnatural, muffling the sounds of the night and obscuring my vision.

I quickened my pace, a sense of unease growing with each step. Something was wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on what. The city I had known all my life suddenly felt alien, as if I had stumbled into some parallel version of reality.

A figure emerged from the mist ahead, their silhouette vaguely familiar. As I drew closer, my breath caught in my throat. It was Sarah, my co-star from the play. But something was off about her appearance. Her skin was too pale, her movements too fluid.

"Sarah?" I called out hesitantly. "What are you doing here?"

She turned to face me, and I recoiled in horror. Her eyes were hollow sockets, dark and empty. When she spoke, her voice was a rasping whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Did you really think it would be that easy, Thomas? That you could simply walk away and leave it all behind?"

I stumbled backward, my heart racing. This couldn't be happening. The spirits were gone, I had been freed. Hadn't I?

More figures emerged from the fog, each one a grotesque parody of someone I knew. My director, his head lolling at an unnatural angle. The theater manager, his chest a gaping wound. And behind them, a growing crowd of faceless specters.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head in denial. "This isn't real. You're gone. I saw you leave!"

A cruel laugh echoed through the air, seeming to come from the fog itself. "Oh, Thomas. So naive. Did you truly believe a single performance could atone for what happened? That you could wash away the blood on your hands so easily?"

I turned to run, but the fog had thickened behind me, forming an impenetrable wall. I was trapped, surrounded by the accusing stares of the dead.

"Please," I begged, falling to my knees. "I've suffered. I've paid for what happened. What more do you want from me?"

The spectral Sarah knelt before me, her eyeless gaze boring into my soul. "We want the truth, Thomas. The truth you've been hiding even from yourself."

"What truth?" I asked, my voice trembling. "I've hidden nothing. I've laid my soul bare, faced my guilt-"

"Not your guilt," she hissed. "Your complicity."

The word hit me like a physical blow. "Complicity? I don't understand. It was an accident, a tragic-"

"Was it?" The voice came from behind me now, and I whirled to find myself face to face with a new apparition. My blood ran cold as I recognized him - the theater's former head of maintenance, who had disappeared shortly after the accident.

"You knew, didn't you, Thomas?" he accused. "You knew the chandelier was faulty. I warned you, begged you to cancel the show until it could be fixed properly. But you couldn't bear to disappoint your adoring fans, could you? To miss out on your moment of glory."

"No," I whispered, but even as I denied it, long-buried memories began to surface. A hurried conversation backstage, brushed aside in the excitement of opening night. A nagging worry, silenced by the siren call of applause.

"I... I didn't think... I never imagined..."

"Of course you didn't," Sarah's specter sneered. "Because you didn't want to. It was easier to ignore the risk, to tell yourself it would be fine. And when it all went wrong, you hid behind your grief and guilt, painting yourself as a victim rather than face the truth of your own culpability."

The truth of her words crashed over me like a tidal wave. I saw it all now, the willful blindness that had led to tragedy. The selfish desire for acclaim that had overridden caution and common sense.

"Oh god," I moaned, doubling over as the full weight of my actions hit me. "What have I done?"

The fog swirled around me, images flickering through its depths. I saw myself dismissing the maintenance head's concerns, assuring him it would hold for one more night. Saw the doubt in his eyes, the resignation as he walked away.

"He tried to stop it, you know," the spectral Sarah said softly. "Climbed up there himself to try and secure the chandelier. He was still up there when it fell."

Fresh horror washed over me as I realized the full extent of the tragedy. Not just an accident, but a preventable disaster. And I had been the one to set it in motion.

"What happens now?" I asked, my voice hollow. "Is this my punishment? To be haunted for eternity by the knowledge of what I've done?"

The spirits exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them. Then Sarah spoke again, her voice softer now, almost pitying.

"That would be the easy way out, wouldn't it? To succumb to madness, to lose yourself in guilt and regret. But that's not why we're here, Thomas."

I looked up, confused. "Then why? Why show me this, why make me remember?"

"Because it's time for you to truly atone," she replied. "Not with grand gestures or public performances, but with the quiet, thankless work of making amends."

The fog began to thin, the spectral figures fading. As they disappeared, I felt a weight settle onto my shoulders - not the crushing burden of before, but a solemn responsibility.

"Find them," Sarah's fading voice whispered. "Find the families of those who died. Not just the ones who came to you, but all of them. Learn their stories, help them heal. And most importantly, make sure this never happens again."

As the last of the fog dissipated, I found myself alone on the street once more. But everything had changed. The city around me was the same, and yet utterly transformed by the weight of this new knowledge.

I stood slowly, my legs shaky but my resolve firm. I knew what I had to do now, the path I had to walk. It would not be easy, and it would likely take the rest of my life. But it was the only way to truly honor those who had been lost.

As I began to walk once more, I felt a subtle shift in the air around me. The oppressive presence of the spirits was gone, replaced by something softer, almost guiding. I realized then that this had been their purpose all along - not to torment me, but to lead me to this moment of truth and revelation.

The next few months were a blur of activity. I threw myself into research, tracking down every family affected by the tragedy. Many slammed doors in my face, others greeted me with anger and accusations. But slowly, painfully, I began to make progress.

I listened to their stories, shouldered their grief and anger. I used my connections in the theater world to find jobs for those struggling financially, set up counseling services for those grappling with trauma. And with each small act, each life touched, I felt a tiny fraction of the weight lift from my soul.

But I knew it wasn't enough. The true test came when I approached the theater owners with a proposal - a complete overhaul of safety regulations, not just for our theater but for every stage in the city. It would be costly, time-consuming, and would likely end my career as an actor. But I knew it was necessary.

To my surprise, they agreed. Perhaps they too had been carrying the weight of unacknowledged guilt. Or perhaps they simply recognized the necessity of change. Whatever the reason, we set to work.

Years passed. I aged, my once-handsome face lined with the marks of stress and hard work. But with each passing day, each small victory, I felt myself growing lighter. The nightmares faded, replaced by dreams of stages made safe, of lives protected.

It wasn't until the tenth anniversary of the tragedy that I set foot on a stage again. Not as an actor, but as a speaker at a memorial service. As I stood before the crowd, I saw faces I recognized - family members of the victims, fellow actors, theater workers. All united in remembrance and in hope for a safer future.

I spoke of loss, of guilt, of the long road to redemption. But more than that, I spoke of change. Of the strides we had made in theater safety, of lives saved by new regulations and procedures. And as I talked, I felt a presence around me - not oppressive or accusatory, but supportive. The spirits of those we had lost, I realized, watching over us all.

As I concluded my speech, a hush fell over the crowd. Then, slowly, a sound began to build. Not applause, but something more profound - a collective exhalation, as if a great burden had been lifted from all of us.

I stepped down from the podium, my heart full. As I made my way through the crowd, I was stopped by a familiar face - the elderly woman from the front row of my last performance, the mother of one of the victims.

"Thank you," she said softly, taking my hands in hers. "Not just for this, but for everything you've done. My daughter... I think she would be proud."

Tears pricked at my eyes, but for the first time in years, they were not tears of guilt or sorrow. As I embraced the woman, I felt a shift in the air around us. The last lingering traces of spectral presence faded away, their purpose finally fulfilled.

That night, as I walked home through the city streets, I felt truly at peace for the first time in a decade. The weight I had carried for so long was not gone - I knew it never would be entirely. But it had transformed, from a crushing burden into a gentle reminder of the responsibility we all share to look out for one another.

As I reached my apartment, I paused at the threshold. The ghost of my former self seemed to linger there - the man I had been before that fateful night, full of ambition and self-importance. I nodded to him, acknowledging the long journey that had brought me to this point.

Then I stepped inside, closing the door on the past and opening myself to whatever the future might hold. The stage of my life had been reset, the tragedy rewritten into a story of redemption and growth. And though I knew there would be more acts to come, more challenges to face, I was ready for them.

For I had learned the most important lesson of all - that our greatest roles are not the ones we play for an audience, but the ones we live every day. And in that ongoing performance, every one of us has the power to change the script, to rewrite tragedy into hope.

As I settled into my chair, a sense of calm washed over me. The haunting was over, but its lessons would stay with me always. And in the quiet of the night, I could almost hear the faint echo of applause - not for the actor I had been, but for the man I had become.

The curtain had fallen on one chapter of my life, but I knew the true performance was just beginning. And this time, I was determined to make it one worthy of a standing ovation.

 I should give a short preface before I narrate the story I once came across scrolling through the internet. It is not a simple task to retell someone else's tale, especially if the plot needs to be narrated from memory. One more challenge was I could no longer find the story on the web, and by the time I took the plunge to share this tale with people, it had vanished from any available sources. One moment, I even thought about mystical coincidences that used to start happening after anybody intended to spread this narrative on social media. Any texts, videos, and audio related to this stuff were removed from platforms or blocked. Any links appearing in a browser after the search request were invalid. I did not dare to extend my search and scroll through the Dark Net, though I repeatedly contemplated it. Eventually, I got the impulse to take a pen and document the story on paper.

Unfortunately, I do not remember all the details precisely, and I may omit something or add something extra. Don't judge me too much!         

…found on the web…

Part one “The hunter”

I

I warn you, my unknown reader, that you won't get any hard evidence, nor do I have the wish to prove anything. Moreover, since I am an outcast who deserves the harshest punishment, I do not care about the threat looming over humankind, as humankind is obviously indifferent to some faceless individual, and even more to a freak like me. You can rightly ask me what the meaning of my confessions is, and I would answer that it could be my way to retaliate against society for my unavoidable death, though no one from society can be blamed for my impending doom. The most unbearable thought is everything, everyone, and even the entities that will eliminate me will remain here in the world, but not me. So, if I do not exist, then what will? The lines I am writing right now, using the Tor Browser, shall leave a thorn in the hearts of those eager for the truth of the reality they will remain to live in. Maybe it will be a rare case when the punishment of a serial killer will not bring any satisfaction to anyone. I shall be no more soon, but as every one of you was vulnerable to me, you will be more vulnerable to that which I have discovered.

Once, I heard the phrase: "There is a hunter for every hunter." I've realized how true the statement is. I believe all of you know that people are prone to indulge in something beyond their daily routine. If you have something special that people usually name as a hobby, it brings diversity into your life or even fills your existence with meaning.

I remember when I was a teen, I injured my leg and was in hospital. There, I shared a ward with several men. One of the ward-mates was a hunter. He liked reading particular magazines related to hunting and always told us how he looked forward to getting on the hunt. The hunter used to narrate how fascinating it was to trace a hare in a winter forest, scrutinizing a trail, and when he used to spot an animal, he shot it to death with a rifle. I felt sorry for a little frightened bunny looking at a targeting muzzle with scared eyes. I felt sorry for all the unhappy creatures that got in the hunter's way. My imagination gave me bright pictures, where animals lived unconcerned in their world till something unfathomable intruded into their peaceful existence, taking their lives and the lives of their cubs, and the more I listened to those kinds of tales, the more I hated human beings.

Nevertheless, hunting had become my hobby, too, but hunting for animals did not attract me. My prey was people. I understood that my inner self was abnormal and tried to resist for a while, but eventually, my very essence became superior to my human mind.

The life I led was interesting and exciting. Having a stable income and a shelter, I could allow myself to live to my liking, but my life would have been dull if my hunting had not papered a bland existence, making every moment of my life thrilling. To take someone's life was not a very important part of hunting, but only one of multiple steps, the final step. The entire hunt required many skills, like being physically trained and healthy, well-educated and hard-working, and also, to be capable of communicating with various people and holding a conversation embracing a broad range of topics. All listed required self-discipline and high concentration, but it was worth having that. I perceived myself as a super agent within a camp of enemies.

Getting up early and looking out my window, I used to know that my victim was there, among a faceless mass somewhere. When I had a victim, my existence got more dynamic. I completely switched to achieving my target, whoever it was.

Even when I did not have a victim to hunt for, my hunting did not stop. Not only was the hunting when I traced someone and made that very final step but also the hunting itself was to select a victim among the crowd of faceless human beings. I cannot clarify how my inner demon used to choose an individual who became doomed for the role of a victim, so it remains a puzzle for me. It always happened suddenly. I used to come across a person and saw that he was a suitable aim. I had no explanation why.

And when I had someone whom I labeled to be a target, my hunt came to a final straight. I thoroughly watched my aim, scheduling my victim's days and nights, noting habits, sketching maps, and trying not to omit any tiny detail. My victim could meet me many times in different places. We could help each other with trifles, like helping to load purchases at a mall or helping with a car that did not want to start. We could meet in a bar and have some drinks. We even could pick up a couple of whores to have fun together, but none of that meant anything since a person was not a human being anymore, but merely prey.

We could meet often or not meet at all during the hunt. Everything depended on what kind of person my victim could be. A person could be a businessman, an ordinary worker, a waiter, a deliverer, or any kind. However, neither celebrities nor wealthy individuals surrounded by bodyguards ever became my prey. I can only assume that my inner being had a way of defining who could be attainable in principle.

There were many ways to end the game with a solemn mark: "You are moving on the next level." Usually, nothing looked like a murder, rather like an accident. My prey died of falling from a window or turning under a train. Sometimes faulty brakes let a victim down or a drug overdose followed by a heart attack or some kind of that. My well-trained skills were applied, and my inner demonic self enjoyed realizing the power to society.

Not always did my hunt go well. Sometimes, when the climax seemed to be near, something started going wrong, and the entire game could get ruined. I could lose my target from my view, or the object could get beyond my reach. At those moments, my mental condition got similar to the state of an unfortunate groom whose bride fled from a wedding ceremony with his best friend. I used to get depressed. The world around me got gray and somehow meaningless, food got bland, and so on. The state was so painful and could last for several months when I was not able to relieve the bitterness of failure. Choosing a new aim did not work, and my inner being would hide inside me, gnawing at me, biting and poking my soul. The only thing I could do to relieve my state was to take it out on homeless people, vagrants, and tramps. That did not require any specific preparations, and moreover, I did not reason rationally, calculating thoroughly every step at those moments. It was enough to buy the cheapest drink, find a group of stank homeless alcoholics, and vent via a piece of iron pipe or a rusted hammer. The police usually chalked everything on a drunken brawl.

II

I missed out on my prey that time. I lost my target irretrievably at the very moment of climax because of silly circumstances, even though everything had been going well. Foreseeing a bad mental and physical condition that happened every time after a failed hunt, I started at once searching for someone to fill the gap that emerged in my unholy soul. It was the end of winter when the weather and environment did not put people in a good mood. The snow had started melting but then froze again and was covered with a dirt crust. A sharp wind blew gusty, swirling the rubbish scattered along the curbs. I cannot say how I got to that place because I had a kind of opacity at such periods. I was wandering along one of the streets, surrounded by the city's hustle and bustle, when I saw him.

It was a male of average height and undefined age, looking like a homeless vagrant. He was dressed in a worn-out long draped coat and formless winter cap. The left foot had a shoe once brown, and the right had a black combat boot. What caught my eye was the size of the feet and the head's size. The head and the feet seemed to be disproportionally big. The forehead was bound with a band-aid, brown from the dirt. The eyes, wide-set, looked like tiny dots. The face, covered with an aged and somehow bluish bristle, had something piggish-like, especially when the mouth opened, showing big yellow fangs among cornflake-like teeth. The man pushed ahead a cart, obviously stolen from a mall. The cart was loaded with trash and rags that hobos usually gather and lug around. When he passed by me, I paid attention one more time to the size of his feet. His gait somehow attracted attention, too. His hip joints, hidden under a long coat, seemed to work as if under the coat was a mechanism carrying a body. There was something unhuman in his movements.

Passing by me, the piggish-faced tramp glared in my direction as if he knew I had been studying him. I quickly turned my face away, and my heart thumped inside my chest. The shot that brightly sparkled in my mind was: "Here it is!"

Unconsciously giving thanks for superior forces, I started rapidly calculating the steps I should take to have a successful hunt. The tramp did not seem to be in a hurry, moving along the pavement. He looked as if he used to go this route for months and years. I briefly assessed the situation, sweeping the environment with eyes, noticing the points where I could urgently buy some alcohol to lure my potential prey. Rushing into the nearest shop, I grabbed the first available bottle of vodka and hurriedly paid with cash, following the rule "no cards, no transactions during the hunt." Looking at the vagrant's receding back through a windowpane, I was assessing how to intercept him. I came out of the shop and followed the direction where my new aim had gone. When I saw him, unexpected circumstances forced me to change my mind about getting my loot at once because on the stage appeared two extra participants.

They appeared suddenly from the arch that my homeless vagrant was passing by, came up to him, and I saw that my prey told them a kind of greeting. 

The first person was a tall, broad-shouldered male approximately thirty-five years old. He wore a warm blue uniform jacket with a logo. The logo belonged to a local heating network. Above the logo on the back, the number 1408 was written with white paint. The whole appearance of the guy seemed to indicate that he had been in a drinking session, but after looking closely, I saw the guy had an absolutely vacant stare. The second person was more interesting. It was a female whose age I could not define at once because, in the beginning, I could not see her entire appearance behind the athletic, powerful body of the uniformed dude. Then he strode a couple of steps back, and I saw what the woman looked like. The head and feet were disproportionally big. A knitted hat seemed strained on the skull, and a long gray coat covered the woman's shape. Large and formless shoes were bandaged with glue tape. When she turned her face in my direction, I saw tiny eyes set wide and a big mouth full of cornflake-like teeth. The face had the same piggish-like expression as my aim had, but her lips were slightly plump, so there was something resembling a fish or a frog. The thought "Siblings?" flashed in my mind.

The objects of my observation discussed something for a while, and then the trio moved along the street and disappeared in the next arch. The appearance of those two triggered my brain to think more rationally. The big guy could be an obstacle in my hunting. I was confident enough about my capacity to fight and likely could cope with a drunk bully, but I did not want to underestimate a rival and overestimate myself. Instead, I made the decision to postpone the climax of my hunt. I could see that my brain worked rationally again. My victim wasn't going anywhere. Obviously, the tramp dwelled in the nearest vicinity. It would not leave a lot of effort to trace my victim. I could thoroughly study every district, building by building, using a particular application installed on my gadgets.

I was on my hunt again, but If only I had known the hunt would be the last...

Part two “The Prey”

I

It took me one week to locate my target. I had no time to waste and had been studying the district that allowed me to identify all the spots where I could intercept the vagrant. In that neighborhood were several old buildings that had been decided to demolish, but the demolition was canceled for some reason. A perfect place for homeless people and riffraff. I was sitting in my car, relaxed but ready to concentrate at once if I saw my prey.

I saw him walking along the sidewalk, pushing a cart. He was approximately fifty meters away from me, but it was definitely him. I followed the tramp. My victim reached the block of old buildings where no one lived and disappeared in a dark archway. I stopped the engine beside the arch. It still gets dark early, at the end of winter, and the abandoned block had no electricity anymore, but I was equipped with a night-vision device (NVD) cautiously taken for my hunt. Passing through the arch, I adjusted the NVD on my head and carefully looked around the corner. The tramp was about seventy meters away, but I saw him well. I zoomed in on him, and he suddenly stopped and turned in my direction. I flinched, but the thing that happened next hit me like the strike of lighting. He raised his hands and put his fingers formed into rings beside the eyes as if he were watching me through binoculars. I stumbled back. The tramp stretched his hand, pointing at me with an index finger, and moved in my direction slowly but speeding up with every step. His gait resembled a t-rex's. Maybe because of the effects of night-vision, it seemed that the tramp's mouth widened and resembled an opened flower of Venus flytrap. Stumbling back, I fell and banged the back of my head. The NVD bounced off my head, and total darkness shrouded me. My ears were ringing. I could see only faint glimpses of street lights through the archway. I quickly rose from the ground and ran to the saving glow of the street, clumsily slipping on icy spots.

I drove, pushing the accelerator and clinging to the steering wheel with shaking hands as if something were chasing me. I was afraid of looking in the rear-view mirror to see a running silhouette dressed in a worn-out coat. Only a few minutes passed, but it seemed to me I had been driving for several hours. "What is wrong?" I thought, "What happened to me, who had always been proud of the capacity to keep it together?"

 It seemed to me now that the whole trail of my life, including its concealed wrong side with all my secrets, was seen by any stranger as if it were a bright ribbon waving behind. Moreover, I had no doubt the mysterious tramp somehow knew and felt all my essence. The thought of putting an end to him did not occur anymore, and the excitement of the hunt vanished. Instead of that, I started feeling a kind of inexplicable terror and a strong desire to flee from the city...

An awkward human figure appeared on the road suddenly, unexpectedly.

I instinctively hit the brakes, and the car skidded. I had hit someone. Having stopped the engine, I stepped out of the car feeling like in a dream. I asked myself if it really was happening to me. There, beside a curb, something was lying. A kind of pile of rags. Looking closely, I saw someone dressed in a gray coat with sprawled legs and hands. I approached the body, not paying attention to the stopping vehicles and drivers leaving their cars. Muffled voices sounding in my ears demanded to call the police and emergency service. Coming up to the ill-fated passerby, I saw that the hit person was wearing formless shoes bound with blue glue tape. A blurred, eluding thought of something familiar appeared in my mind. A gray coat, a knitted cap, and formless shoes...

I crouched beside the body. It was that very female tramp who I had seen the week before. I felt for some reason that the woman was alive.

The creature sharply stretched a hand and gripped my wrist as if with powerful pincers. The woman's eyes opened, and black sockets peered at me. They were looking right into me, inside me... I cried with terror. The woman swiftly rose from the ground as vampires arose from coffins in retro movies, not leaning onto her arms, from horizontal to vertical in one movement, and ran away. It seemed that only a few seconds had passed, but the entity was more than one hundred meters from the spot of the accident. She was running across a lit vacant lot towards a railway hub, and the gray coat was merging with dry gray grass protruding from dirt snow. Her movements somehow resembled the t-rex's, and I remembered the movements of the vagrant who should have been my prey. Having reached the railway station, the woman disappeared between freight cars.

"Post-traumatic shock," a voice beside me said, "Is an ordinary man capable of running so after getting a trauma?" The rambling of passersby and looky-loses were mumbling in my ears muted. Someone put a hand on my shoulder, which made me shudder. It was a policeman. 'Calm down," he said and introduced himself, "Are you OK? Can you answer some questions? I have to draw up a protocol." I responded that I was OK, though I felt the strongest willing to flee. I did not recognize myself anymore. Where was that cold-blooded and calculating hunter? Who was that person, shaking because of every noise? The day before, I had had a secret power to society and enjoyed my outstanding skills, but who was I now? I had an unclear sensation that I got into some closed loop, and the noose around my neck was getting narrower, although there was no concrete threat seen. I had no doubt the police knew nothing about my second life. The only reason for which the police could pay attention to me was the accident, but the stricken had run away. After giving some data for the protocol, I was told to anticipate an interrogator on duty to finish the case.

An interrogator on duty arrived, and I switched to a long and dull bureaucratic procedure. Afterward, the interrogator asked me and the witnesses of the accident to proceed to a police station to end the procedure at last.

I was waiting for my turn to be requested, sitting on the bench at the police station. I almost fell asleep to the monotonous mumbling surrounding me, typical for such places, when some bustle beside a duty part attracted my attention.

There was a young woman. She was arguing with a duty police officer, demanding to start searching for her husband. According to her statements, her spouse had been absent for about a week, and his workmates from a heating network called her, warning that he was at risk of being fired. At last, the officer agreed to write down some data to launch the case. She listed something about her husband's appearance and clothes, and I could hear her voice: "Yeah... A blue uniform jacket with a logo and the number 1408..."

I felt my heart skipped a bit. I had memorized that guy with vacant eyes escorted by the Homeless. Or by the entities skillfully disguised as homeless? I remembered that when I had crouched beside the homeless woman, there had not been any scent typical for hobos. The circle was narrowing.

The woman, whose name was Maria, provided the officer some information, and as I was intently overhearing them, I was able to pick up something.

Her disappeared husband, Roman, had been working for a local heating network. He liked to drink as every man but had never skipped work. He had had a combat experience while serving in the army and had been obsessed with war. Roman had already been absent for one week.

It seemed to me, for some reason, that Roman had been no more.                                                                           

II

I left the police station with a suspended driver's license. On the way home, a heftier icicle fell beside me, almost killing me. I did not believe in coincidences. An unsettling sensation in my chest was growing up, and I had to employ sleeping pills to have at least a little nap. I hardly slept that night. Getting up to drink some water, I looked out my window. I saw someone standing across the street in a shadow. Although I did not clearly see who it was, or if there was anybody at all, my imagination, encouraged by a fatigued brain, drew the image of a disgusting tramp.

I fell into uneasy sleep closer to the morning and saw a dream. In the dream was some endless passage with doors on the right and left. I was walking along the passage when I heard the sound of an opening door ahead.

I saw a nurse drawing a gurney in the hallway A body bag with the number 1408 was lying on the gurney. A medical mask covered the nurse's facial features, but for some reason, I was sure it was the woman I had hit. "Yours is behind the next door," the woman's hoarse voice said when we caught up. I came up to the door and pushed it. There was a bed, and someone was lying under a white sheet on the bed, trembling. I was approaching the bed slowly. On the right of me was a wash basin. A dirt mirror hung above the sink. When I was passing by the mirror, I noticed with peripheral vision that the reflection in the mirror was not mine. There in the mirror was a piggish-like face. I woke up.

The following day, I had to tackle some urgencies, and I left my shelter, though I did not feel safe anymore. I was at a crossroads, anticipating a green traffic light, and someone pushed me on a roadway. The last thing I memorized lying on an icy road after a bus hit me was feet dressed in different shoes, a brown shoe and a black combat one. I lost consciousness.

III

I had never thought of my mortality. Taking for granted my health and strength, I merely went with the flow of life, unconsciously leaning onto the stance I was beyond life and death, although I knew that sooner or later, I would have to face the end. I had never mulled over what I would do when I got old and weak, who could take care of me.

I woke up in the hospital. My aching body protested against any movement, constantly reminding me how badly crippled I was. I got both my legs broken. I got my left wrist dislocated and my back seriously injured.

The hospital is pretty good. Experienced doctors and attentive and skillful nursing staff try hard to heal unfortunate ones who were so ill-fated to find themselves in a traumatology unit's bed.

However, the predictions regarded to me did not promise anything hopeful. I got off the game at least for half a year.

There are five of us in the ward. Everyone has some trauma.

The oldest patient with a broken femoral neck is a strange type. The aged man is across the bed from me. He does not speak to anyone and seems to live in his own world. He often mumbles something, but no one listens to his rambling. A fellow in the next bed, a young man, shared with me that he was afraid of the old fellow. He believes that the aged man can read minds. According to the young man, if he thought about his girlfriend, the old gentleman watched him and smiled. The more delicate the fellow's daydreaming became, the more the old geezer's smile got lascivious.

By the way, when the old gentleman looks at me, his facial expression seems disgusted.

I tried to recognize what the elderly man rambled about and identified a couple of phrases through the hissing giggling: " ...mobile objects are getting smarter… bodies are merely multiple particles like protons and electrons or bytes and kilobytes... non-player characters endowed with consciousness and personalities... glitch again... the gates are opening... soul catchers shall be taken first, the rest will follow... the seekers are on the way... have started extracting... identity dissolves in the bare idea..."

What does it mean? Coincedence?

IV

I am using my ward mate's laptop right now, hoping I'll be able to finish my account in time. I do not think I should clarify something else. If someone reads it, let him look around closely...

Yesterday, something happened. One of my ward mates told me that a disgusting homeless man allegedly having frostbite had been sheltered in the hallway. According to the order of the city's authorities, hospitals must accept homeless people in wintertime and house them in hallways.

I heard a kind of bustle and outraged voices from an adjoining ward. "Get out of here!" someone cried. My ward mates informed me that the vagrant, housed in the hallway, was walking along the unit looking into wards. I saw his shape through the semi-transparent doors and recognized his disproportionally big head and t-rex-like movements. Once, he looked into my ward. I hid under a blanket, trembling. I felt he was peering at my bed.

"Here it is!" said the old fellow's voice.

I am absolutely disabled and vulnerable and even cannot use the loo by myself. A seeker needs only to wait a bit to take his prey. It does not make sense to cry loud about this. Likely, doctors will label me as insane.

Wait, wait! I find the only way to avoid my meeting with the seeking. If I try, I will reach for a pack of razors lying on the bedside table beside the next bed. I am going to cut my veins and hope it will be noticed before I bleed to death. People who tend to commit suicide are usually sent to an asylum, so maybe I can last for a while…                                                        

The End 

“I asked my love. To take a walk. To take a walk, just a little walk. Down beside, where the waters flow. Down by the banks, of the Ohio”. He sang it so softly the melody barely seemed to leave his lips. His voice was beautiful. Hauntingly so. He held her hand as they lay next to the stream and he sang for her. “And only say, that you’ll be mine. In no other’s arms entwine.”

So soft his voice was. Almost as though he was whispering. Well he needn’t anyone else hear him sing. The song, was after all her, for her. So he didn’t need to belt out the tune. He turned and looked at her. He was overcome with the rush of warmth people call love. With his free hand, he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. She had a faint smile on her face. It was almost a neutral look. And yet he continued to sing – “Down beside, where the waters flow. Down by the banks, of the Ohio”.

He got up, leaving her to lie and listen to the melodic rush of the stream. The bright, hot sun gleaming down on God’s good earth. The green grass beneath their picnic blanket rustling gently in the breeze. It was scenic. So much so it seemed straight out of a movie. He walked further from her. Looking. Searching. He bent down and found what he was looking for. A simple, delicate daisy. Just one. He had no need for a bunch. He walked with it gently. He had always been a gentle person. It reflected in his singing with the way it was so quiet. If you asked anyone about him they’d tell you “he’d never hurt a fly”.

They say love is like a flower. You must nurture it and let it grow. She was his flower. His love. His delicate little daisy. They also say you should not pick the flower and put it in a vase for display as it will soon wither and die. Rather let the flower be, and let it be beautiful in the wilderness. That is what he intended for her. He would never pluck her and let the world see her beauty. She was his flower and he wanted to grow and nurture her. He arrived back at the stream. A bird far off in the distance let out a shriek. Something must have frightened it.

He hadn’t wondered far from the stream and once back next to her, he lay down. Daisy in hand. Head on the grass. Breathing in her scent deeply as he lay next to her. Just as the flower in his hand had a beautiful smell, so did she. He placed the flower in her hair, further beautifying her. A flower for his flower. He looked towards the bright sun and squinted. Such a lovely day.

The stream continued to flow steadily. He gazed at her with nothing but love. Unfortunately the love he had for her was unrequited. Well it didn’t matter. He loved her enough for the both of them. He threw the knife into the river as he got up and walked away. Leaving her there in her beauty. Flower in hair. Young and beautiful. Pale skin due to loss of blood flow, but still beautiful. He sang the last bit of the song as he walked away.

“I held a knife against her breast,

As into my arms she pressed.

She cried “Good God, don’t you murder me,

I’m not prepared for eternity.

I wandered home ‘tween twelve and one

I cried, “My God, what have I done?”

I’ve killed the only girl I love

For she would not want to be my bride

And only say that you’ll be mine

In no others’ arms entwine

Down beside where the waters flow

Down by the banks of the Ohio.”

If he couldn’t have her in life, he’ll have her in death. It was a secluded bit of the river. He could come visit her any time he liked. He’d never have to fear losing her to anyone. She was his forever.

I've bee try to get into the discord to ask this but that hasn't been working so I remember one of Somnium's stories a few years ago that had people who could see things no else could and the story if from the perspective of a guy who connected over the internet with a few of the others who could see them (it was also kinda important that they didn't like going out in public be there were more outside) but if I'm remembering right some of the people the MC connected with started going missing the things were talking them or killing them maybe and the MC and a woman (one of the other people who could see) like go on the run or something I remember them getting hotels and driving across the country. That's all I can remember but I've spent like 2 weeks turning to find this story so if you know them name please let me know

Sorry if this I'm not what the Reddit is for but I'm desperate 🥺🙏🏾

Part 1

Part 2

The big man stood in front of me. He was such a sharp contrast to Jen. Jen was always so still and withdrawn I wondered if she was alive. This man’s chest bounced up and down in a frighteningly fast rhythm, a war drum. He shook ferociously and his breath came out so thick I could almost see it. The heat of the room soon had sweat sliding down my back. I was scared but wrath trampled my fear. I’d traveled the world with Jen; she was my friend. So, for the second time in my life, I threw a punch.

My fist struck his jaw. My knuckle grazed his thick, wet lip.  I waited for his head to rise, for eye contact, I wanted this fight to be fair. I struck him again. His cheek felt like jelly, no more like pudding. Dark red blood shot from his lips.  I wasn’t done.

“Jen, are you watching!” I cried out. I kneed his gut.

He howled. I smiled. “If you want a reason to live I’ll give it to you. I understand what he did to you was wrong. But this is how you solve it.  You face your fears!” I yelled and raised my hands in a hammer fist to slam on the back of his neck and paralyze him forever. “You face your fear and crush it like a bug.”

The big man’s hand flew into my jaw. It knocked me backward. I crashed hard. The big man leaped on me. He let me struggle. Blood dripped from his awful thin smile, and his shoulders bounced in a quiet laugh. I knew there was nothing I could do to get him off me.

His fist flew into my face. I saw black first then I saw red. So much blood. So much more than what came out of him. He toyed with me. It was over. He poked, prodded, and explored me with his fingers as I were a thing and not a person. I whimpered. He enjoyed that, of course. He snickered and his blood and sweat drizzled on my face. I could never beat him. I cried. There’s no point in holding any emotion back.

He adjusted his gargantuan frame on me and I wheezed at this form of punishment. He wanted to take his time -it was so unfair- I had to let him. And I got another unnerving feeling that traveled up my spine. I didn’t know what he wanted to do to me. Eat me, torture me, or something worse. He shifted his weight again and crushed my chest. The gasp for breath interrupted my streams of tears.

Why did I think I could beat him?  I’m not that guy. He placed one meaty hand on my neck and squeezed.

“Do you know why she sent me to you?” the big man asked.

His grip was so strong I choked on my thoughts. So I gave him no reply.

“Because that’s what she is. That’s her nature. We hurt her. She brings you to me and I hurt you. Because I’m the worst of us. I’m the one who got to do whatever I wanted. We traveled the stars and worlds beyond ours and no pleasure was denied me. And this is what you get when that happens.

“She didn’t tell you her part in all of this, did she? She didn’t tell you what she does to us. She makes us into this. All I am is the result of getting whatever you want for 200 years. Pure hunger.”

And I understood. I understood what she was and I hated her for it. But I hated him more because I found him so pathetic. That was it? He was offered whatever he wanted and he gorged himself like a suicidal pig. The world was in his palms and he chose to put it on a plate for his fat mouth instead of feeding the hungry. He held the world and instead of helping it he fucked it. He only cared about his mouth and his balls and then demanded to be pitied. His mouth was too high to touch but his balls were on my chest and with new resolve I slammed my fist into them.

He reeled and reached for them.  His malformed body rolled away and off me. And I saw my mistake. I tried to fight this thing like a man. This thing that saw the evil of the world and only thought of his next meal. I lept up and slammed my foot into his mouth. His teeth cracking was satisfying but I was not content. I pummeled him, alternating between strikes on any part of his body he left exposed. His precious body, the only thing that mattered to him.

Some lose the right of the fair fight, of honor. Some have thrown away their humanity and should be treated as that new subhuman thing they become.

I stopped beating him when he no longer could raise his hands to defend himself, when his chest was still, and the blood pouring from his body coated us both.

“Are you happy, Jen?” I asked the empty room. “The danger is defeated. You are free to live!”

“What did you do Nathan?” I heard her voice behind me and spun around to see her. She didn’t address the body. She stared at me with the same disinterested, glazed-over eyes, she always regarded me with.

“Jen, I saved you. Do you want to live now?”

“No, Nathan. What did you do when you first learned we could do whatever we wanted.”

“I don’t remember, Jen. It’s been a while,” I pointed to the body. I smiled from ear to ear. I was genuinely happy with my victory but I exaggerated it hoping that Jen would feel my joy. She could relax; the danger was over. “I don’t know Jen, probably traveled somewhere.”

“Why didn’t you change the world, Nathan, like you asked him to?” Now Jen regards the body with a simple nod.

“Um I… I…”

“Because there is a little of him in all of you. You are more empathetic than him… for now. But we’re bound together now Nathan. I have to obey you. You will be him.”

“No, I won’t, that’s ridiculous.”

“Do you think you are the first good man, Nathan?”

She snickered. My smile vanished. My throat was sticky.

“Good man,” she laughed at the concept. “Good woman. It’s easy to be good when you don’t have power. But you have me now. You can have whatever you want. In a way you’re blessed. Not everyone gets to see how they die. Take a look, Nathan, because in a century or two that will be you.

I did look at his revulsion, at his filth, at his loss of humanity and I knew it was lost but not so far away. I saw his body for what it was. Was it really so large? Inhumanly large? No, I could be like that if all I knew was lust and gluttony for a century. Yes, that could be me.

My body shook in fear of my fate. His warm blood dripped down my hands. How long until I was like that and I was squished by a self-righteous child?

“This always happens?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered. Bored again. “It is human.”

“Then I need to be better than human.”

“You are what you are.”

“No, if that is what it means to be human then I demand to connect to something greater.”

She was silent which was fine. An idea was forming. I had power over her. I would use it.

“Jen, what are you?”

“Something like a- -”

“No, specifically. What are you?”

“Genjenmuey is my species name.”

“Then Jen I command you make me into a Genjenmuey and make yourself my master.”

Jen was petrified; it was all over her face. Her eyes bulged, her face lost color, and she was screaming. “No, no, take it back!” However, her hand moved of its own accord it rose in front of her face, her elbow extended, and she snapped.

I felt the change. I felt the power. I felt the chain. A weighty invisible link wrapped around my neck and tied me to Jen’s wrist. Jen’s eyes were neither bored nor dead now. They were alive and in awe.

“We’re bound together now,” I said.”Mutually assured destruction. If I ever harm you. You now have the power to harm me.”

“Why, Nathan?” she asked.

“I wanted to be better than him.” I pointed to the body. The puddle of blood was still.

“Are we to stay together forever?”

“No, do you still want to die?” I asked.

“No, well, maybe, this is unprecedented. I am confused. There are horrors even worse than him… I don’t know if this life is worth it. You… you think it is worth it?”

“Yes, I think a lot of good could happen in between the horrors. May I make a request of you?”

“Yes, but I might make the same as you,” she said.

“Go and do what you think is best every day for a year. Even if you think it’s scary or strange do what you think is good. No one controls you now. This is about how you want to leave your mark on the world. Abandon your beliefs about life. They aren’t working for you if you’re ready to end your life anyway. For a year pretend you know nothing. Go attack life with a blank slate. If by the end of the year, you still want to die. Then merely let me know where your grave will be and I’ll put flowers there every year.”

“Frogs.”

“A frog?”

“No frogs. I want frogs there instead of flowers. Like a little habitat. They can come and go as they please but I want my grave to be a home for them. I have always liked frogs.”

“Deal.”

(Mr Brown Stick Legs) From "My sleep paralysis demon is actually a pretty chill guy" This is a really amazing story. I love the music The dark somnium used in this one. I can't recommend it enough! Thank you for narrating this, and listening to my rant and have a great night.

Corpsia:

Standing on the golden sands of a tropical beach, my next target was deep in the turquoise waves washing over my worn boots. Rubbing my bump, my due date was any day now. Many protests met me but this was a solo job, the goddess begging for me alone. Knowing that it was a trap, I had to be prepared for anything. Staring up at the clear blue sky, seagulls cried away as their shadows blocked out the sun for a split second. Fussing with my light onyx summer dress, a pathway into the bottom of the ocean opened up. Bouncing down the sandy stairs, the colorful coral castle twisted into the shimmering light from the surface. Pausing at the door, my fist hovered over the seashell door. The door groaned open before I could knock, a slender hand yanking me in. A thick braid of tight golden curls swung in front of my eyes, the door slamming shut as the waves crashed back into place. Too tired to move, this last part of my pregnancy was taking its toll. Taking in the pearls covering the wall, a bright smile and toe glistening ocean blue eyes came into my view. Fantastic, I had another goofball in my charge. Cocking my brow, I did my best to muster a proper smile. Why couldn’t gods be my damn height! Plucking her photo from my pocket, the name Mersea caught my eyes. The goddess hanging me matched the one grinning up at me widely, a flash of scales in the window had her shrinking back. Scrambling behind the nearest chair, an irked groan tumbled from my lips. 

“Mermaid problems, Mersea?” I spat impatiently, all of hope of a peaceful day being over. Whistling sharply, several snakes slithered up my arms to make an undersea helmet of sorts. Marching to the door, a contraction mixed with a splash. A steady stream of curse words exploded from my lips. All the months of paperwork and minor monster hunts led to this fucking moment, my children choosing now to come. They would have to wait, my helmet glitching out. Swimming was out, my hand cupping my bump as a layer of sweat glistened to life on my skin. Groaning through the next one, these kids had to come first. 

“What do you know about first aid or any medical shit!” I screamed through another contraction, her head shaking. “Great, you are fucking useless.” Sinking to my knees, the pain had become too much. Fishing around my boot, a couple of impact bombs brushed against the top of my fingers. Plucking them out of my boots, the flurry of fish eyes had me fighting the urge to throw up my breakfast. Cutting my palm on the nearby door, a roll in my palm had them glowing brighter. Opening the trapdoor, I rolled the bombs into eager silver webbed hands. Slamming the door shut, a vibration rattled her castle. Blood and guts splattered across her windows, another contraction shaking me to my core. Gritting my teeth, Mersea apologized profusely. Keeping my composure, she crawled out from behind the couch. Her cobalt blue empire gown spread out across the floor, my hand waving her over. 

“Get me some towels and water. I am going to need you to help me out as my nurse.” I snapped hotly, hating my tone. “Please, go get what I need.” Leaning against the wall, I needed to move this show along or we were going to get taken over by the mermaids. Why did the goddess of fertility have to betray me? Fertility existed to this day, her child proving to be alive somewhere in this world. Controlling my breathing, it was up to me. Rushing back in with a pile of towels and a bucket of water, her head nodding while completing my orders without protest. Mouthing a numbing spell, relief washed over me at the pain shifting into a dull throbbing. Forgetting about the side effect, a rough slumber whisked me away. 

Stirring awake to a couple of wails, an ivory haired boy and ivory haired girl with matching ruby eyes laid on either side of me. Squinting around the room, a slumbering Mersea was curled in a chair next to the bed. Kissing the top of their heads, the mermaids were staring into the window. Swinging my feet over the edge of the large shell bed, my eyes scanned for a place to rest my twins. Noting a couple of empty baskets by the shell covered fireplace, joy mixing with sorrow at my kids in my arms. Carrying them over to the baskets, adorable smiles danced across their inky lips. Tucking them in, a quick lullaby had them snoring along with my new friend. Hiding them in a nearby closet, the problem at hand had sickening fish eyes. Shaking off any amount of agony, my steadying fingers curled around my dagger. Glass slid across the floor, Hel coming out of the shadows. Burying me in a bear hug, her tears soaked the top of my head. 

“You need rest.” She chastised me, my fingers pointing to the cracking windows. “Oh, shit. Where are the kids?” The words struggled to get off my tongue, a jolt of pain causing me to leap into her arms. Jumping out of her arms with an apologetic smile, my dagger expanded to its full form. Mersea stirred awake, her tired grin pissing off Hel. Seconds from charging at her, my palm on her chest had her huffing a quick fine. 

“I am going to swim far away from here and you will use your waves to kill them.” I barked vehemently, grimacing through another shock of pain. Fear rounded Mersea’s eyes, Hel’s slap across her face stunning us both. Cupping her face, heated words passed between the two of them. Too tuckered out to hear any of it, Hel shoved an ornate cobalt blue trident into her chest. Brushing past them, protests fell on deaf ears as I ripped open the trapdoor. Cool water lashed at my cheeks, my shadow snakes swimming along my sides. Swimming with all that I had, my lungs were begging for hair. Holding on for as long as I could, Hel’s arms curled around my waist. Summoning her giant golden snake, the ocean floor cracked open to reveal a golden snake. Swimming to the surface, both of us sucked in deep breaths of air. Wet hair clung to my cheeks, water dripping off of her leather jacket. Remembering my children, she stopped me from diving back in. Popping to her feet, her palm grazed my cheek. 

“Take her back to shore.” She commanded boldly, a small wave soaking me the moment she dove back in. Swimming to the shore, the snake dumped me onto the sand. Slithering back into the ocean, every muscle shook violently. Choosing to stand up straight, sand crunching had me hiding behind a giant rock. Stormy stomped into view, dread bubbling in my gut. Fishing around my boot, a healing potion met the tip of my finger. Plucking it from my boot, the shimmering liquid was going to cause a shit ton of damage. Popping off the top with my teeth, I gulped it down. Feeling the soreness die down, any injuries were going to feel a hell of lot worse after the fight was over. Leaping over the top of the rock, my blade clashed with hers violently. Ash fluttered in the air, a kick to my stomach had me flipping through the air. Noticing the patches of new skin mixing with old, it appeared Morte’s new attack did a fair amount of damage. Catching a branch, a thick river of blood poured from the corner of my lips. Get her away from my family, I yelled at myself. Dropping myself to the sand, a cave system caught my eyes. Making it obvious where I was going, the ribbons of blood dripping down my leg ought to help out with the scent. 

“Come and get me, you puff of smoke!” I taunted her with a determined grin, feeling less than my best. Stormy cocked her brow, Hel coming out of the ocean with my twins behind her. Spinning on her heels, she flicked her blade in their direction. Sprinting towards her, the distraction allowed her fist to smash into my stomach. A fountain of blood painted her face, Hel struggling with what to do as Stormy kicked me in the same spot. Flipping through the air, something had to be done to save them. Swinging my blade in their direction, a wave of flames had me crying out. A wave crashed over them, the sheer force of the water diverting the blade’s aim. Whistling into the nearest rock, Hel didn’t need to be told to run twice. Mouthing an apology, Stormy’s roar shook the beach. A storm rumbled to life, lightning dancing across the darkening clouds. A shadow came over the land, a wave catching me. Sliding down it, the water parted to reveal a fuming Mersea. Her trident spun in her palm, the waves raging away behind her.  

“No one hurts my friend!” She bellowed over the waves, her braid tumbling out in a gust of wind. “Get out of here!” Refusing to, I had another plan to aid her. Drawing in the sand, raindrops sprinkling the sand did little to distract me. Cupping my stomach, the internal bleeding was worsening by the second. Wiping the blood off of my cheeks, Stormy caught the spell I was doing. Pleading for me to stop, the distraction gave Mersea the time she needed. Slamming my palms onto the center of the circle, the symbols glowed to life. A black cage of fire crackled to life around Stormy, the water swirling into thousands of arrows.  Bringing her trident into the air, a bell rang the moment the end of it sank into the sand. Thousands of arrows whistled through the air, steam curling into the air the moment her arrows pierced her body. Shrieking shrilly, the water seemed to be searing her skin. Feeling a warmth come from my eyes and nose, my limit was getting close. A coughing fit painted the sand, the cage glitching out. Scurrying behind the nearest rock, bloody vomit flew up my throat. Stormy tugged at the arrows, one more spell remaining in me. Shrinking my blade down to its dagger form, I raised it over my head. Morte’s hand stopped me, his head shaking. Sending out a wave of decay, another bout of vomit had me doubling over. Holding my hair for me, we watched her flames steal her away. Rubbing my back, the combination of giving birth and power poisoning had a puddle of blood meeting my boots. Flipping a needle in between his fingers, he jammed it into my neck. Everything doubled, a rough slumber stealing me away. 

Snapping awake, the walls of our bedroom greeted me. Quiet wails mixed with hiccups, a beaming Morte rocking our twins back and forth. Miles and the girls were gushing over them with big grins, Hel and the others waiting patiently by the door with gifts and breakfast. Rosy bounced in, her palms swallowing my hand. Her voice faded in and out, the words becoming a bit crisper. 

“Good job, dear. They are perfect. What fortune do they have to such lovely siblings!” She gushed with a proud smile, uncontrollable sobs wracking my body. Her smile fell, the wave of emotions hitting me. Another knock had us turning, Mersea coming in with a spin of her trident. Rosy bowed in her direction, my mark poking out of the top of her dress. 

“Did we come up with names yet?” Mersea asked politely, the bed sinking as she plopped down next to me. “I can’t believe I had the honor of delivering the lead goddess’ children. You have a healthy boy and baby girl. Congratulations.” Keeping her tone calm, all eyes flitted over to me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, the names had been decided from the start. 

“The girl is named Croak Mersea and the boy is named Bones Hel.” I announced with my genuine smile, silent tears splashing onto the floor. Rosy buried me in a bear hug, her emotions soaking my shoulder. Whispering thank you into my ear with a new level of warmth, a depression came over me. My two twin girls from my past life waved at me before fading away, my fingers digging into her back. Every breath grew shorter, her arms holding me tighter.  Hearing my heart pound in my ears, a dull ache throbbed in my chest.

“You don’t have to worry.” She comforted me, the twins returning with slit throats. Horror rounded my eyes, my claws digging into her back. Pushing her off, my bare feet pounded out of the room. No matter where I went, they were ten feet in front of me. The color drained from my cheeks, clammy sweat dripping off of my brow. Sinking to my knees, cruel eyes met my broken expression. Raising their fingers, my claws dug into the worn wooden floor at them remaining in their spot. Screaming out desperately, the sight of them was tearing me apart.

“You killed us and forgot us! You killed us and forgot us!” They chanted together in their bloodied nightgowns, the trauma of my past paralyzing me. Pressing my forehead onto the floor, Morte’s voice made them go away. Sitting down next to me, he clutched me close to his chest. Promising me that everything was going to be okay, the others could be heard fawning over Croak and Bones in the other room. Kissing my lips passionately, any stress melted away in seconds. Releasing me from his spell, his hands held my face lovingly. 

“If I know you, we will survive this together.” He comforted me with a tender peck on my lips, my ears pinning back. “We aren’t alone anymore. Your family is in the other room.” Shaking my head, the twins hovered in the corner. Go away! My heart could never forget you, damn it!

“You didn’t see your throat get slit along with the girls.” I wept with a fresh wave of tears, his thumb wiping them away. “You didn’t see the blood staining their nightgowns! What was the point of that senseless violence! We did nothing but live in the woods. Screw them!” Every breath began to grow shorter once more, Morte’s hands cupping my face. Forcing me to look at him, his lips quivered as much as mine. 

“I am thankful that I didn’t see you die. I would have murdered them all. The girls will always be in our hearts.” He spoke shakily, his own sobs breaking him down as his hands thudded onto his lap. “I miss them two but they are dead. We have five kids in there to take care of. They need you. No, they need us. Let’s take our second chance by the reins. What do you say?” Wiping his tears away, our past was haunting us both. Helping me to my feet with him, the others cheered as we walked in. The ladies fretted over me, a numbness coming over my features. Closing my eyes to tune out the chaos, the sight of my girls running through the woods in front of our intact home had silent tears staining my cheeks. The word love played on repeat in my head, Croak popping up in front of me. Chatting my ears off, the stress wore away. Hearing another familiar voice, Bones buried me in one of his fatherly hugs. Not wanting it to end, two wails brought me back to reality. Tears danced off of my bare feet, looks of concern threatening to drown me. Apologizing while wiping my tears, Hel called for everyone to go prepare breakfast or something. Boots shuffled out, Morte taking the children with him. Hel sat me down on the bed, her arm pulling me onto her shoulder. 

“You don’t have to talk about but what you are feeling is tearing me apart. Remember that we are connected mentally.” She commented simply, fighting her own sadness. “Those souls have been reborn under your care. Goodbye isn’t always forever. I can’t help but to cry about your girls in your past life though.” Yanking me into a desperate embrace, guilt ate at me for pushing Hel to this point. Apologizing into her shoulder repeatedly, her wet eyes met mine. 

“Stop apologizing for feeling. How long has it been since you dealt with all of that?” She queried honestly while wiping my tears away with her thumb. “Can I tell you something?” Waiting for my busted yes, a small chuckle tumbled from her lips. Laying back, she took me with her. Holding her hand in the air, her fist clenched several times. 

“I felt your agony when I died and it wouldn’t leave my soul in Heaven. Heaven was in my grasp and I said fuck it.” She continued with her real smile, the bed groaning as she rolled over to face me. “You treated me like I was family. Most people ran from my face but you didn’t. That is why I have to stay by your side. Besides, Heaven sucked without you.” Blubbering like an idiot, both of us broke out into another round of sobs. A small meow had us sitting up, my father hopping onto my lap. Rubbing his head against my flat stomach, his paw held my hand. A dark energy took over the woods outside the mansion, both of their protests falling on deaf ears. Jumping out the nearest window, a shadowy form paced on the other side of the protective wall. The shadows gave way to a young god with pale blue waves and orange eyes, the silver silk of his suit glistening in the light of his navy sword made of flames. 

“I am Hadios, Hades’ son. I was wondering if I could join your council of gods.” He asked politely, his hand running through his long silky waves. “We have been snubbed for so long and now is our chance to have the honor we deserve. Hell, I can even be one of your body guards.” Staring up at him, he towered over me by a couple of feet. Again, why did gods have to be so goddamn tall! Summoning a service contract, the simpler process helped me out as of late with all the new gods joining my rule. 

“No funny business and I command full respect. There is a clause in there that prevents you from betraying me.” I informed him in a lukewarm tone, befuddled by my words. “Let me clarify. You turn to dust the moment you pull that shit. Before you protest, I don’t give a flying fuck. I am sick of hunting your asses down. The last thing I want to do is hunt one of you down.” Summoning a quill, he pricked his finger. Soaking the tip in his blood, the tip danced across the line. An inky snake tattoo appeared around his neck, his dress boot crossing into the other side. Hel rushed up to me, navy flames swirled with her snakes. Hiding behind him, their bond was strong. Spinning her out in front of me, every attempt to hide was blocked by my arm. 

“Give this a shot. Your soulmate is in front of you. Enjoy the fruits of your life.” I whispered with a sly grin, her hand gripping mine. “Hadios, I expect you to get up bright and early. I have to visit your father and you can get me in. I will be bringing Mersea and Hel of course. Sounds good?” Shooting me a shaking thumbs up, scarlet painted his cheeks as I spun on my heels to leave. The conversation was weak at first but it broke into an easier flow as I entered the mansion. Smiling softly to myself, Hel deserved happiness. Morte and the kids bounced up to me, my arms scooping up the bundled twins. Kissing the tops of their heads, life couldn’t be any brighter. The flames of hope burned strong, our chances of winning getting just that much higher.

We drove along the bright Nevada highway, the dry heat blowing in through the open windows like a furnace. In my little sedan, I had my wife of ten years, Melissa, and our two children, Emily and Nate. Though they were twins, in personality, they couldn’t have seemed more different. Emily had always been outgoing and talkative, while Nate was highly introverted, a devoted reader at heart who could care less about friends. With their wide, blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, they resembled Melissa much more than me.

“Are you guys excited or what?” I asked in a loud voice, yelling over the roaring wind. The air conditioner in my car hadn’t been working well for a few months. Now, I regretted not fixing it.

“I am! I love caves!” Emily said excitedly. Nate only grunted, staring fixedly down at one of Nietzsche’s works, “Beyond Good and Evil”. For a nine-year-old, Nate seemed eerily smart. He had a mind like a camera and always read far above his age level.

“I hope there’s no spiders in it, like last time,” Melissa moaned in the passenger seat, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “Those things were bigger than my face.” I shuddered slightly at the recollection of the brown recluses we had encountered in the last cave. I never much liked snakes or spiders, especially when they hid in dark spaces waiting for a human to walk right into them. Brown recluses especially looked like something from a nightmare to me, some hellish evolutionary schism that produced monsters.

“Better those than rattlesnakes,” I said, seeing the sign up ahead reading, “One mile to Sandstone Nature Preserve”. To get to the cave, we would have to hike twenty minutes through the flat, packed earth of Nevada.

“I don’t really know about that,” Melissa said. “A nest of brown recluses or black widows or a nest of rattlesnakes will both kill you. God, what a shitty way to go.”

Melissa had heard about this cave from a friend at work. He had called it Sandstone Cave. He promised it stood far off the beaten path, and that almost nobody knew about it. He had given her a hand-drawn map, though it seemed like a fairly straight shot to the cliffs. As we parked in the dirt lot, sharp stones crunching under the car’s tires, Melissa pulled the map out.

“Jesus, Carlos’ writing is so goddamn bad,” she said, squinting as she put the map up to her face. I laughed, seeing her high-cheekboned, pale face squeezed into a ludicrous expression. She gave me a dirty look.

“I think you just need glasses,” I said, putting an arm around her. Emily laughed in the back, a high-pitched energetic sound that matched her bubbly personality.

“My teacher says that when you get old, your eyes and ears stop working,” she said. “Maybe Mom’s just too old. Her eyes are falling apart like an old car.”

“See what you’ve started?” Melissa said, giving me a crooked half-smile. Together, we got out of the car, grabbing supplies from the trunk: headlamps, extra batteries, food, water and a first aid kit. Nate and Emily each took a small pack of their own. If somehow, God forbid, someone got separated, I didn’t want them stumbling through the pitch black cave, clawing and screaming at the darkness like panicked animals. Just the thought sent waves of dread dripping down my spine.

***

We walked quickly and determinedly along the bare dirt trail. It wound its way through the hard-packed earth, serpentine and twisting. Large rocks that looked like they were dropped by giants started appearing along the sides, followed by steeper and steeper cliffs of red sandstone.

“This is amazing!” Melissa said excitedly. “I can’t believe how empty this place is. We have this whole park to ourselves. It’s so beautiful here.”

“It’s pretty far off the beaten trail,” I answered. “I doubt these trails are even…”

“Oh, shit!” Melissa screamed, jumping back suddenly. I jerked, twisting my head in confusion. Stunted, leafless bushes grew along the dark, cool patches under the cliffs that loomed overhead on both sides. And then I saw it- a dark brown silhouette, curled up into a spiral. It  blended in with the sand and shadows. The snake hissed, its forked tongue flicking in and out as it stared between me and Melissa with its slitted reptilian eyes.

“A rattlesnake!” I said, putting my arms out and pushing the two kids back without thinking. I saw the rattlesnake looked young and small, certainly not a full-grown adult. Like many juvenile rattlesnakes, its rattler probably hadn’t fully developed yet, which made them far more dangerous in their deathly silence. If Melissa hadn’t seen it, I might have stepped on the thing’s tail. Its slitted eyes glittered with daring and fearlessness. I felt speechless, and Melissa had turned and started jogging back in the other direction.

Abruptly, I felt a small body push past me. To my horror, I saw Nate approaching the rattlesnake, carrying a long, thick branch with a fork at the end.

“Nate!” I yelled in panic. “Get back here!” He calmly continued staring at the snake as it shook its tail furiously, its fangs swiveling out like switchblades. Drops of venom fell from them. The snake opened its mouth wide, showing its cottony white gums. Keeping a safe distance, Nate pushed it back by the neck. The snake writhed and hissed, twisting its body in rapid figure-eights. It bit at the stick over and over, its thin, flat head jerking out in multiple rapid strikes. Nate threw the stick in the opposite direction. The snake flew through the air, landing ten feet away. It slithered away into the brush, disappearing from view within moments.

***

Rattled by the experience, I stood shaking and hyperventilating in the same spot for a long time. Emily had fallen far back with Melissa, their eyes wide and filled with fear. Both of them feared snakes even more than I did. Only Nate seemed totally calm as he surveyed me.

“It’s gone,” he said. “We can go now. I think I can see the opening of the cave from here.” Looking up, I realized he was right. A few hundred paces away stood a massive, jagged hole in the shape of a screaming mouth. It reminded me of the cavernous mouth of some toothless old man, magnified to monstrous proportions, black and empty and formed into a silent scream.

We walked together in silence. The entrance grew larger with every step. As we drew nearer, I saw it stood nearly five times the height of a man. Nate’s eyes gleamed excitedly.

“When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares into you,” he said as he stared intently into the screaming mouth of the cave. I glanced at him.

“What does that even mean?” I asked, feeling out of my element.

“When you stare into the dark recesses of your mind, the meaninglessness and pain and insanity that follows every person like a shadow, then it stares back. The dark places of the mind have eyes of their own- lots of them. And when you stare into them, they stare just as deeply back at you,” he said, reciting his knowledge of Nietzschean philosophy with a simple ease.

“Well, that’s… morbid,” Melissa said, rolling her eyes. Nate and I led the way into Soapstone Cavern. The air felt cool and damp. Currents blew out from passageways deep under the earth, smelling slightly of sulfur and algae.

“This cave smells funny,” Emily whispered, wrinkling her small nose. 

“It’s probably just subterranean rivers or lakes,” I said. I noticed how our voices echoed down the cavern, eerily bouncing off the rocks until the words became nothing more than shadows of whispers. We pulled on our LED headlamps as the last of the sunlight died at the threshold. The path curved sharply to the right up ahead, covered in stalagmites and stalactites that jutted out like fangs from the wet, gleaming rock.

We walked for about fifteen minutes. Melissa ended up getting bored and walking slightly ahead of us, as she was by far in the best shape and never got winded. So she was the first to notice the extremely disturbing sights we would find in this cave.

“What the fuck?!” she yelled loudly. “What is that?!” I jogged forward, turning a sharp corner to see her staring open-mouthed at a mountain of children’s shoes piled up on the right side of the tunnel. Some looked almost brand-new, while others looked used and worn. The styles ranged over decades, and the sizes varied from those of a toddler to those of a teenager. In many of the shoes, I saw yellowed leg bones jutting out. The pile loomed five feet in the air, containing probably thousands of shoes.

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered, horrified. “Who put this here? Is this some sort of weird memorial or something?”

“There’s legs in some of the shoes, Daddy,” Emily said nervously. “Whose legs are those, Daddy?”

“No, honey, those must be animal bones,” Melissa exclaimed, putting a thin hand around Emily’s shoulder and pulling her close. “Just animal bones.” I took a step closer to the pile, inspecting the bones. I couldn’t tell at a single glance if the bones were animal or human. They all looked small, child-sized perhaps, but maybe they could have come from a young deer or a coyote.

“I’m… not sure if those are animal bones,” I said. “I think we should turn around. This is creepy as hell. For all we know, this could be the trophy site of some sick fuck who kills kids and steals their shoes. We should have the police come in and see if they think the bones are human or not. What if a serial killer put this here? What if this is his shrine to death?”

“Dad,” Nate said with a note of fear in his voice I had rarely heard there, “there’s someone else here.” I spun around, my heart frantically beating in my chest as the gravity of his words sunk in. Beyond the silhouettes of my family, I saw the dim beam of a flashlight bouncing up and down the cavern walls. A rising sense of panic gripped me. With my nerves sputtering, I grabbed Melissa’s arm.

“We need to go,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “We don’t know who the fuck that is. That might be the sicko putting the shoes here.” Stumbling alongside Nate and Emily, we took off, heading deeper into the winding tunnels of Soapstone Cavern where further evidence of atrocities waited like a guillotine blade ready to fall.

***

“Run as fast as you can!” I told the kids, pushing them forward. Our headlamps bounced off the jagged rocks forming the sharp walls off the cavern. They started closing in on us. The tunnel rapidly narrowed from a wide path ten feet across into something the width and height of a coffin. We had to slow down and go single-file. I glanced back, seeing the glare of the flashlight emerging from around the corner.

“He’s almost here,” I whispered, urging them on. The kids squeezed through with no problem, but Melissa and I kept getting caught on the sharp rocks that sliced at our clothes and flesh. The tunnel seemed to only get narrower as it turned ninety-degrees.

“Hey!” a low, hoarse voice yelled from behind us. “Don’t go in there! Wait!” The flashlight landed directly on me. I pushed myself forward with Melissa only inches in front of me, stumbling into her back. As we navigated the turn, the flashlight beam fell further behind us, but it would only be a matter of a minute until the unknown figure caught up with us. 

In front of us, Emily gave a panicked shriek. Nate and Emily stood, shell-shocked and still, their mouths open in identical expressions of horror. I followed their gaze, seeing a sight from Hell.

An infant with bone-white skin and a cavernous, toothless mouth like that of an obscene old man slunk across the wall. It scurried forward like a salamander, clinging to the irregular granite surface with no apparent effort. Its naked hands and feet were formed into sharp, claw-like points. It gave a scream like a witch being burned alive, gurgling with deep, resonant notes of agony. Its naked body seemed twisted and deformed, and patches of what looked black mold ate away at its arms and legs.

“Go back, go back!” Melissa wailed, slamming into me in her frantic attempt to move away from the abomination. “Oh God, go back! What the hell is that thing?!” It never stopped screaming, never paused to inhale, as if it didn’t need to breathe at all. I didn’t need any motivation. I shoved my body through the tight tunnel, forming my way back around the steep corner. The shrieking infant was only a stone’s throw away from Nate and Emily, who pushed forward at Melissa’s heels. I felt new scrapes and gashes tear across my body from the sharp rocks of the cave, but with the rush of adrenaline, I wouldn’t notice the pain until later.

As soon as we made it around the corner, the shrieking cut off as suddenly as if a record had been stopped. A man in front of us, blocking the way. He had a rounded moon face and close-cropped black hair. His dark eyes twinkled merrily as he shone the flashlight into our faces.

“Carlos?” Melissa asked, aghast. She constantly checked her back. The panic I still felt was reflected in her pale face and wide, shell-shocked eyes. “Carlos, thank God you’re here! Something is wrong with this place!” Carlos only gave a faint smile at this, but it didn’t reach his black eyes.

“I see you brought your children,” he said in a strange, disjointed cadence. “More children in the shadows.” His voice came out low and husky. He stared constantly down at Nate and Emily, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Melissa said. “We need to get the hell out of here!” Carlos’ gaze never faltered from the kids. With his thin lips pressed into a tight grimace, he took a predatory step forward, keeping his right hand in his black jeans pocket. 

“Stay back,” I hissed. My intuition screamed at me that something was wrong. I pushed the kids back, not sure if the greater threat came from behind us or in front of us. “If you take one more step…” I saw a silver flash in the white glare of the headlamp. Carlos pulled out a knife, slashing up at my throat. I fell back, hearing the blade whiz past my skin. I slammed hard into the wet granite floor, feeling the wind get knocked out of me. Melissa continued pushing the kids back. I could hear her panicked breathing, see the drops of sweat falling off her nose. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

Carlos struck out with the knife, slicing it right to left and left to right in a manic frenzy. I heard a wet thud above me followed by a bubbling grunt. Melissa fell down next to me, her throat cut from ear to ear. Blood spurted from the open gash as she choked, coughing and gurgling with the last of her dying energy. Within seconds, she had gone still. Her pupils started dilating, her lips fading to a suffocating bluish cast.

I crawled frantically away, pushing myself up in a blind panic. The kids had disappeared around the corner, back in the direction of the wailing, bone-white infant. In the chaos of the moment, I had lost sight of them. Now a pure sense of panic gripped my heart. If I lost Melissa and the kids in one day, I might as well just go home and hang myself. I would have nothing left to live for, after all.

***

Carlos was a heavyset man, and he had a difficult time navigating through the tight corners of the passage. Breathing heavily, still in shock over the death of my wife, I ripped my way through, seeing the silhouettes of Emily and Nate far ahead of me. I saw no sign of the strange demonic infant that had crawled the wall like a centipede, thank God.

The passageway rapidly opened up into a massive chamber that echoed with every footfall. I glanced back, seeing Carlos’ flashlight bobbing not far behind me. Nate and Emily screamed ahead of me. I sprinted forward, trying to get to them.

“Dad, look!” Emily cried, pointing at what lay at the end of the chamber. Dozens of human skeletons lay endlessly dreaming. Their corpses were tossed haphazardly into a pile, their limbs intertwined like rats in a rat king. All of the bodies looked small, like those of children.

The bones began to shake and rattle. The yellowed cracks widened as they danced, jumping up and down as if they were possessed. From the pitch blackness at the end of the chamber, more corpse-white figures of children stepped out, their pale, cataract eyes haunted and dead.

Carlos came around the corner, screaming with insanity and bloodlust. He had the gore-stained knife raised high. He saw me, his eyes looking dark and hooded as he sprinted forward. 

The bodies of the children slunk forwards, some of them creeping along the walls and ceiling, others dragging broken legs behind them. I thought they would come for me and Nate and Emily, surround us and murder us, but they streamed past us like a river rushing past a boulder. I saw the scurrying infant slinking along the wall, its cavernous mouth opened wide in a silent scream.

It hit Carlos in a blur, shattering his leg with a sickening crack. His knee exploded in a shower of gore and bone splinters. He fell on his side, his sick, confused wailing intensifying as more of the undead children surrounded him. They stood over him like grim reapers, staring down at him with their pale, blind eyes.

“You killed us,” the tallest of them said. It looked like a teenager, a boy with rotted strips of blue jeans and a T-shirt still hanging to his mummified flesh. His lipless mouth chattered with every word. His voice sounded like an autumn wind blowing through dry leaves. “But in this place, nothing ever really dies. We live in the shadows here, and it feeds us, and we feed it. And you, too, will feed it.”

“No,” Carlos whimpered, trying to crawl away. “Get away from me! You’re dead! I killed you!” The teenage corpse gave a grim lipless smile as the wailing infant slithered forward towards Carlos’ face. It stopped mere inches from it, its white eyes staring blindly into his black ones.

Without warning, it started crawling under his body, ripping at his chest with its sharp claws. With a gurgling banshee wail, it widened the hole, snapping the bones like twigs as it shoved its widening abyss of a mouth deep inside. Carlos gave a scream of abject agony and terror as the infant burrowed into his body like a squirming tick. I saw its thin, emaciated legs slipping off the wet cavern floor before they disappeared from view moments later. Carlos coughed up blood, clawing at the spurting wound in his belly and torso. But his movements rapidly lost energy. He stared up sightlessly at the jagged ceiling as his breaths came slower and slower. With a last chattering of teeth and a clenching of fists, he emitted a choking death gasp and lay still.

I put my arms around Nate and Emily, pulling us close together. I could feel their small bodies trembling with fear. Their skin felt cold and clammy under my palms. They looked up at me with dilated pupils, looking more like frightened animals than children at that moment.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” Emily whispered in a quavering voice. “I want to go home.”

“We’ll go home, I promise,” I said, though, in reality, I could do no such thing. For all I knew, we would all die within the next few moments. I was afraid to look up from the faces of my children, afraid to look at the semi-circle of undead abominations staring at us with their milk-white skin and filmy ghost eyes.

“Is this staring into the abyss?” Nate asked. “Am I going to come out on the other side?” I opened my mouth to respond when an icy hand grabbed my shoulder. Its claw-like fingers dug into my flesh, turning me around. Standing in front of me stood the apparent leader of the undead children, the teenage boy with the rotted clothes.

“A price must be paid,” the chalk-white corpse of the teenager said. “A life for a life. We have saved you from the killer of children, the hunter of men. We want one of yours to stay with us forever. We grow lonely here in the endless darkness, surrounded only by bones and stone tombs.” Emily and Nate stood hugging each other, looking small and helpless. I felt like I would throw up.

“You will have to kill me before you take one of my children,” I hissed. “That monster already killed my wife.”

“He murdered all of us, too,” the boy gurgled in his low, eerie voice. “Slowly, methodically, tearing off limbs and cutting out eyes with fanatical obsession. He learned how to make it last. Decades of work, hunting and tearing apart the most defenseless and innocent. But this changes nothing. We will not let you leave until the choice is made.”

“I’ll do it,” Nate said calmly, stepping forward. I grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“Like Hell you will!” I yelled. “We are all leaving right now! And if any of you try to stop me, I’ll kill you.”

“You cannot kill what is already dead,” the boy said as dozens more corpses skittered forwards behind him. Some were the naked bodies of toddlers and infants, murdered in their innocence. Many had deep slices on their throats and Glasgow smiles carved into their cheeks. They all showed growths of black mold that covered their bodies like hellish tattoos. Their pale, white eyes looked filmy and lifeless, covered in cataracts and decayed to blindness.

“It’s OK, Dad,” Nate said, looking up at me with love in his eyes. “I’m not afraid of the darkness. I know it has eyes and it stares back at me, but I’m not afraid. It’s part of us, too.”

***

Pale, freezing hands grabbed me from all sides. They held me back as Nate meekly followed the boy into the darkness, looking like a lamb being led to slaughter. Nate turned off his headlamp, looking back at me one last time as he threw it down on the ground. They disappeared from view into the shadows at the end of the chamber. 

As soon as the blackness swallowed them up like a hungry mouth, I felt the hands release. I looked back, seeing the walking corpses of the children had all disappeared. Now only Emily stood there, small and trembling. I ran to her, throwing my arms around her and hugging her tightly.

“We need to go find Nate,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “We need to go deeper into the tunnel and get Nate back. We can’t let them take him.”

“Daddy, he’s already gone,” she said, crying and shaking. I could feel her heart racing in her small, fragile chest.

“No! He’s not!” I screamed, pulling her forward by her arm. “We need to catch up with him!” We sprinted through the massive chamber, seeing the passageway abruptly narrow. Ahead of us, the cave suddenly ended in a hole that went straight down into the earth. I shone my light down, trying to see the bottom, but it appeared to go thousands of feet deep.

From far below us, I thought I caught glimpses of pale, cadaverous faces staring up at us with dead, white eyes.

***

Emily and I ran out of that cave of horrors, past the pale corpse of Melissa and the spreading pool of blood underneath her slashed throat. The cave floor sucked it up hungrily, drinking every drop until it turned into a clotted sandstone halo wreathing her body.

We got the police there as fast as we could, telling them that Nate was lost in the cave and about the murder of my wife. They sent rescue units down into the black pit at the end of the chamber. I heard later that, out of over a dozen people sent down, only one of them returned alive. His hair had gone white with shock. Totally insane, he was unable to tell anyone what he had seen down there or what had happened to the rest of his unit. As far as I know, he is still in an asylum to this day.

The police found evidence of hundreds of murders in the cave, committed over a period of at least thirty years. Carlos’ body had also mysteriously disappeared, leaving only drops of blood and pieces of torn red intestines behind.

To this day, I still have constant nightmares about that place. I see Melissa’s dilated pupils and slashed throat, her fingernails and lips turning blue. I see Nate as a bone-white, staggering thing with filmy eyes.

And in my nightmares, those blind, cataract eyes are always staring back at me.

Hi, asking for y'all's help.

I have been listening to Dark Somnium's narrations for over a year now, and while the stories themselves are already enticing, his way of narration and integration of sound effects, not to mention adding voice actors, really kicks them up a notch.

That being said, I don't know if this story was narrated by him, but I gotta ask either way. I remember a story about the lead working for a space agency (it could be NASA), and the lead I think ran to a guy who works under castin signals to the outer space to stop him, but it was too late, and the alien spacecraft pickedbup the signal and went here to wipe us all out. There may be a scene where the lead and colleagues all went outside of their office to look up on the sky to see the spacecraft either landing roughly causing destruction or attacking the people, vaporzing whomever they hit.

Hoping these vague descriptions help. Thank you!

When I saw Mr. Eckler heading towards the back of the classroom, I thought nothing of it. In the back corner stood a tiny bathroom for faculty members only. No other classrooms had bathrooms that I knew of, but I never really thought about it or cared.

Mr. Eckler led the honors history classes. I looked down at the essay that would count as 10% of our final grade. On the top, in two typewritten lines, stood the prompt: “Explain in detail the benefits and drawbacks of using LSD for torture.” I had argued that the risk of causing mystical and spiritual experiences during torture using psychedelics seemed too high, as a mystical experience would likely strengthen the subject to interrogation. I had just finished the last paragraph, contrasting the effects of the CIA’s MKULTRA with the Soviet Union’s use of DMT in interrogations. Sighing, I picked up the essay, looking around for Mr. Eckler and yet seeing no sign of him.

Most of my classmates did not yet notice, as only a few others besides myself had already finished. I saw looks of consternation and utter concentration as they stared down intently at the paper. One Asian kid had his nose practically touching the sheet as he wrote. I had to repress an urge to laugh at that. Each of the people in this school, called the Watchtower, had their own special ability. Yet to a random observer, the Watchtower would not have seemed very different- except for the fact that there were no streets, no towns and no houses in a two-hundred mile radius.

I sat back in my chair, staring at the clock. The second hand circled around, infuriatingly slow and indifferent. The class would end in five minutes. Mr. Eckler had gone into the bathroom over half an hour earlier. At this point, I started to wonder if something had gone wrong. Perhaps he had fallen and hit his head. 

Outside the windows, heavy sheets of wet snow fell over the jagged mountain peaks surrounding the Watchtower. They kept us isolated. There were no roads in or out of the area, only a single rail-line guarded by armed men in black military gear. Stationed in the Arctic Circle, few people besides Eskimos would even want to live here.

Our valedictorian, a fairly attractive girl with a natural tan and flowing auburn hair named Stephanie, finally rose from her seat. She was annoyingly competent at everything she did, and had gotten into classes that Ean and I had not been able to master, like telekinesis and assassination techniques. I tore my gaze away from the window, watching her intently. Pensively, Stephanie walked to the bathroom door, sending nervous glances in every direction. Nearly the entire class had finished the essay by this point, and we all watched her with open interest. I figured I’d let this annoyingly competent teacher’s pet take charge.

“Mr. Eckler?” Stephanie murmured, knocking lightly on the dull, ancient-looking wooden door a few times. Though she tried to cover it, I noticed her face quickly falling into different expressions, each only lasting a fraction of a second: uncertainty, consternation and, finally, disgust and revulsion. 

I wondered why the latter expressions had arisen for a few moments, until a smell passed by my spot in the middle of the classroom. I wrinkled my nose, uncertain of what had happened for a long time. My first absurd reaction was that it was some horrible cloud of constipated gas released by one of the other nearby students. Like a fine wine, I noticed different notes emerging in the fetid odor: feces, rotting meat, blood and infection. My friend, Ean, sitting at the next desk over, immediately rose to his feet, yelling. He had always been somewhat of a class clown, though now his voice had a serious quality I had rarely heard there before.

“What the fuck?!” he said in his high-pitched, often hilarious voice. “Is that a dead body?!” This caused the other students to start looking around nervously at each other. Stephanie continued knocking on the bathroom door, each series of knocks becoming faster and more insistent.

“Mr. Eckler?! Mr. Eckler?!” she yelled, putting her face right up to the door. Her inky eyes glimmered with uncertainty. “Are you OK in there?” I felt a hand grab my shoulder. I looked up to see Ean. Ean had always had a powerful sense of intuition. At times, I felt certain he actually saw the future, as if it were a movie he could fast-forward and rewind. He stared at me with eyes the color of ice floating over muddy water. His dilated pupils looked unfocused and unsure on his thin, high-cheekboned face.

“Bro, we need to get the hell out of here,” Ean whispered into my ear. “Something’s not…” But he never got to finish his sentence. At that moment, I heard a click. The bathroom door flew open. It smashed into Stephanie’s body and sent her flying back, her arms and legs splayed out and grasping frantically at empty air. 

The door slammed into the wall with a sound like a car crash, causing the wood to crack and throw splinters in every direction. Inside the threshold, I saw a cyclone of purple light spiraling in a thick veil of fog. Mr. Eckler’s voice echoed out, filled with panic. It sounded far away. As he spoke, it grew fainter, as if he were being dragged away at an incredible speed.

“Where am I?! Who are you?” he cried. “Let go of…” And then we heard him no more. I looked up nervously at Ean, who still stood over me, pulling at my arm. But his face had gone chalk-white as he stared open-mouthed at the purple vortex.

“I think you’re right,” I whispered, rising unsteadily to my feet. Side by side, we started towards the open classroom door. The hallways outside sounded as silent as death, and the lights appeared to have gone out except in our classroom. My sense of uneasiness rose with every step. But before we got to the threshold, screaming erupted, much closer than Mr. Eckler’s fading cries. I glanced back to the back of the classroom, seeing strange and monstrous creatures erupting from the spiraling vortex of fog.

***

Scorpions with human faces and long, translucent wings like those of a dragonfly flew out in a blur, rising and falling with each beat of their powerful wings. Each looked about the size of a large dog. Their hairless, child-like faces constantly morphed into bizarre expressions of hunger, shock, anger and sadness, rapidly flicking through each like a slideshow. Their many-jointed tails curled in anticipation of fresh meat. At the end, stingers as long as syringes dripped with clear, thick venom.

The teens in the back of the classroom scattered like cockroaches, forming a wave of running, stumbling bodies. Three flying scorpions crashed into them, sending people flying over the desks and through the air in graceful arcs. I saw it happening as if in slow motion. The stinger of one speared through the heart of a girl, slamming her into an upside-down desk with a snapping of ribs and a splash of gore.

Before a second victim had even hit the floor, another scorpion had darted forward. Its wings buzzed frenziedly as it grabbed the Asian boy out of the air. Its tail wrapped around him lovingly, almost caressingly, before the dripping stinger sunk into his flesh with a wet thud. The other two scorpions reached out their long, skittering legs, picking up more of my classmates as they pleaded for mercy or screamed in terror and agony. They tried to crawl away on the floors, past the pile of jumble of arms and legs and turned-over desks, but the scorpions did not let them get far.

“Holy shit!” Ean said next to me, putting out a hand to stop me. I had been stumbling forwards without even looking where I was going, so horrified and transfixed by the scenes behind me that I couldn’t bear to look away. Now I turned to look through the open threshold, seeing what Ean had already spotted.

Something like a hairless dog crouched in the middle of the shadowy hallway. It had two red eyes that smoldered like cigarette burns and a mouthful of serrated, jagged teeth. Its skin looked wrinkled and thick, the color of sand.  Contained within its powerful jaws, I saw a human arm, the elbow bent and the fingers extended, as if reaching out for help. A sharp piece of broken bone protruded from the mutilated patches of gore dripping at the end.

The pained shrieking of my classmates rang out from the back. I heard the wails of the dying. The hairless creature slowly drew forward, dropping the arm onto the floor with a wet thud. It started growling, a rising current of rumbling sound that vibrated from its barrel chest. Creeping forward on sharp, curving claws the color of ivory, it looked ready to pounce at any second. I heard its claws clicking with every step.

I thought Ian and I would die right then and there, ripped apart by this hellish abomination with its red eyes and bared teeth jutting out like railroad spikes. I took careful steps back, hearing the whirring of wings drawing closer with each thudding heartbeat. But I was afraid to look away from the hairless wolf creature, anxious that breaking eye contact would cause it to leap for my throat.

With a sudden battle cry, Stephanie ran past me, holding the classroom’s flag pole in one hand. The American flag streaked past, fluttering wildly as she speared the sharp end of the metal pole into one of the creature’s burning red eyes. It shrieked in a voice like grinding glass, retreating back into the dark hallway in a flash.

“Come on!” Stephanie cried, grabbing my arm. I saw blood trickling from a deep gash on her forehead, and one side of her face looked bruised and swollen. I glanced back, seeing most of my classmates laying on the floor, their frozen faces stuck in the rictus grimace of the dead. The sputtering of nerves shook my body as I saw all the gore, the wide, sightless eyes staring up into eternity. Two of the scorpions soared through the air in falling and rising currents, headed straight at us. I saw their strange, child-like faces twisted into pained grimaces.

Together, Ean, Stephanie and I ran out of that classroom of horrors, slamming the door shut moments before a flying scorpion smashed into the other side.

***

Across the hallway stood the telekinetics laboratory. I knew it held a variety of potentially useful items, including knives. But the door was closed and dark. I looked through the glass pane, but I could see nothing inside. From further down the shadowy hallway, I heard the creeping of many feet. Without hesitation, I gently pulled the door open, wincing as a rusted creaking rang out. I quickly ushered Ean and Stephanie inside, afraid that something had heard us. As quietly as possible, I closed the door behind us.

My eyes adjusted rapidly to the darkness. I realized we were not alone. The bodies of a dozen students lay twisted and broken on the floor. The smell of death rose, thick and rank. Blinking quickly, I looked around for something useful, something that might help us survive. In telekinetics class, students had to juggle knives, bend spoons, stop crossbow bolts from hitting their targets- and all with the power of their minds. Of course, some students had no telekinetic ability at all, including myself and Ean, and were rapidly withdrawn from the class. Stephanie was one of the few remaining students from our year who had what the teacher called “natural potential”.

The class had eight tables, each set up with four chairs and a sink. Cuts and injuries were common, especially during final exams, which were finishing tomorrow. After all, this insanity had begun during our final exam in Mr. Eckler’s room.

“I’m getting something right now, man,” Ean said nervously, his eyes flickering back and forth rapidly. “We’re not alone. Something bad…” His voice trailed off in terror. 

In the dim light streaming through the tiny barred windows overhead, I saw Ean’s pupils dilating and constricting rapidly, dozens of times each second. I knew his precognition had activated. His head ratcheted to face the corner suddenly. I followed his line of sight, seeing something moving.

Behind the black-topped tables, a little girl in a faded green nightgown huddled in the corner. Black hair covered her face. The front of her gown looked soaked and matted with fresh blood as well as drippings of darker and thicker fluids. More crimson droplets fell from her chin with every passing heartbeat. She slowly started rising to her full height, her naked feet cracking and dripping with deep purple sores and infected slices.

“My pets,” she hissed in a low, booming voice. It seemed amplified and unnatural. She giggled, but her laughter gurgled as if she had a slit throat hidden under all that hair. I glanced nervously over at Stepanie, who had slowly started backpedaling towards the cabinets against the side wall. I hoped she had a plan, because I certainly didn’t.

“Your pets?” I asked in a trembling voice. “You mean those… things roaming the hallways and classrooms?” The little girl nodded eagerly, her greasy, matted hair still hiding what lay underneath.

“The door opens sometimes, the pathway between worlds. It is the selection of the strong. The weak deserve to die, and how painfully they go! It brings joy to my heart to see their blue lips and slashed throats.” She laughed again, a revolting sound that made my heart palpitate in my chest.

“It’s a trap,” Ean whispered furtively by my side. “Watch the door. They’re going to try to…” But he never got to finish his thought, because at that moment, many things happened at once.

***

The classroom door flew open so hard that, when it hit the wall, the shatter-proof glass pane cracked down the middle. Slinking through the threshold, I saw two hairless hellhounds. One of them had an eye missing. The fiery socket constantly dribbled rivulets of blood down its demonic face. It glared up at Stephanie with a vengeance. 

I jumped, feeling Ean grab my arm and push me towards the far wall, where Stephanie stood in front of an open cabinet. Her long, slender fingers reached through the supplies with precision. A moment later, she withdrew her clenched fists. In each one, I saw a long butcher’s knife, the steel tips razor-sharp and gleaming. 

Without speaking, she flung the two knives straight up into the air. They spun in slow, lazy circles, looking like they would simply fall back down and land in Stephanie’s open hands. But a moment later, her arms shot out in a blur. Sparks of blue light sizzled off her skin. They spiraled down her wrists, exploding from the tips of her fingertips as the current connected with the knives.

Like rockets, they shot out in different directions, the sharp blades pointing at their victims. The little girl’s laughter got cut off abruptly as a knife disappeared in her thick mat of hair with a loud crunch of bone. Furiously, she reached up, the handle still quivering, the blade embedded deeply in the center of her skull. Her hair separated, revealing the horrorshow hiding underneath.

A skinned, eyeless face stared out. The muscles appeared rotted and gray, almost falling off the bone. The exposed facial muscles constantly twitched and contracted in random movements. As she pulled at the knife, more pieces fell off, revealing the grinning skull and broken, blackened teeth underneath.

The other knife soared through the air and into the wrinkled, sloping forehead of the nearer of the hellhounds. It gave a strangled low cry and fell on its side, its legs still pumping the air furiously. The other one kept creeping closer, staying near the ground. Its one red eye shone with light, while the other dribbled black blood in stains from the empty socket. The little girl’s bloody hands threw the knife across the room. I saw it soaring toward me, a blur of flashing silver and black. A moment later, it bit into my leg with a numbing, burning sensation. For a few heartbeats, I felt nothing but cold pins and needles radiating out in a circle.

From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the hellhound leaping up on powerful legs. In a streak of beige, it missed me by inches, landing on Stephanie’s chest with its crooked claws. A surging agony of pain ran up my leg. I stumbled, landing hard on my chest as the breath whooshed out of my bruised chest. 

Next to me, Stephanie fell backwards, a strangled scream dying in her throat. The hellhound’s claws bit through her skin with an explosion of blood. Stephanie twisted and writhed beneath the gnashing teeth, her tanned skin rapidly covered in spatters of crimson. Her telekinetic abilities exploded with a flash like blue lightning. Dozens of chairs laying strewn and broken across the room rose, smashing straight up into the ceiling with an ear-splitting shudder.

Another bolt of Stephanie’s energy hit the hellhound. It flew up in a blur, its one remaining red eye furious and wide. It hit the ceiling with a wet crack of bone and flesh. The tiles shattered, blowing apart into an expanding orb of dust. The destruction spread, widening as hidden wires and vents collapsed. Within moments, the cloud of falling debris had grown thick and impenetrable. I heard Stephanie’s wet gurgling nearby, but I could see nothing. Her attack on the ceiling had caused the entire room to start caving in.

I dragged myself forward over the debris, my spurting leg rapidly covering my jeans in warm, slick scarlet. Every breath felt like agony. Every twitch of my right leg brought a wave of pain so intense that I nearly passed out.

A hand fell on my shoulder. I spun around on my back, nearly screaming, but I immediately started choking on the dust.

“It’s me,” Ean whispered in a small voice, leaning down over me. Through the cloud of debris, I could just barely make out his silhouette. “Follow me.” 

He wrapped his arms around me, helping me to my feet. After putting an arm around my back, we staggered forward together as if we were in a three-legged race. We stumbled in the direction of the door, trying to get away from the insane little girl and her pets. Behind us, Stephanie’s death gasps rang out, weakening with every bloody breath. By the time we made it to the door, she had gone silent.

***

In the dark hallway, I saw long trails of drying blood, but no signs of any people or cryptids. The few windows opening up onto the Alaskan mountains allowed some of the snowy light to enter, but the shadows seemed unnaturally thick and persistent, leaving only a world of silhouettes and dim horrors. I heard no sign of the demonic girl. In the room we had just left, nothing seemed to stir. A powerful sense of hope gripped me then. Perhaps we had killed her?

“You need medical attention,” Ean murmured. I looked down at my leg, seeing the knife’s handle still sticking out like the quill of a porcupine. It had landed in the fleshy part of my thigh, missing the bone by a hair’s width. “Why don’t you use your ability?” I stared at him in horror.

“No freaking way,” I said quietly. “When I change, I can’t control it. I might kill you and everyone left alive. There is no human thought left when that happens. And I can’t control how long I stay like that, either. I could be gone for days or weeks.”

“You might not have a choice,” he said. “At this point, I don’t think there are a lot of people left alive. And the chances of us both making it out are tiny. If you changed, the wound in your leg wouldn’t affect you nearly as much.” I knew he was right in that. If I changed, the wound would probably affect me not at all, in truth. But the endless, maddening waves of hunger would.

“No, fuck that,” I said. “We need to find help. What’s your intuition saying?” I hoped Ean’s precognitive talents would allow him to see the right path forward. “Maybe if we make it to the train, we can alert the guards.”

“You act like they don’t already know what’s happening,” he said. “They probably do, but they just don’t care. Why else would they build this school in the middle of a mountainous wasteland?”

“To keep us as prisoners,” I answered. He laughed.

“I think there’s something else in here they want to keep imprisoned far more than us.” He looked both ways down the hallway, unsure of what to do. I stared intently at the closed door to Mr. Eckler’s classroom. The power in the room had apparently gone out. It sounded as quiet as a corpse in there. I wondered what had happened to the flying scorpions.

The door suddenly flew open. I screamed, nearly falling on my bad leg. Ean gave a gasp like a strangled cat, his arm tightening around my back. Through the dim, snowy light entering through the windows, I saw Mr. Eckler.

His button-up shirt and slacks looked absolutely shredded, revealing deep slices dribbling rivulets of blood down his chest and legs. One of the lenses of his black glasses had shattered, and the other had fallen out entirely. He stared blankly at us, his normally jovial, rounded face a mask of horror and trauma. Behind him lay the broken bodies of students. I also saw one of the flying scorpions laying upside-down, its once-beige exoskeleton now cracked and blackened, as if it had been roasted over a bonfire.

 “Oh, thank God,” Mr. Eckler whispered upon seeing us. “I thought everyone had already died. Jesus, what a mess.” He shook his head slowly, his pale face matted and covered in sweat.

“Mr. Eckler?” Ean mumbled nervously. “We thought you were dead. What happened?” Mr. Eckler gave a long, weary sigh.

“I really don’t know, Ean,” he said. “One moment, I was in the bathroom and everything seemed normal. The next moment, however, the back wall started moving away from me. Within a few seconds, the bathroom had expanded to something the size of a football stadium. The lights darkened and strobed until everything turned purple, and mist started to flow out of the walls until I couldn’t see. I had no idea where I was or even which direction to go. But that was far from the worst of it.

“The next thing I remember, something in the mist had grabbed me. At first, I couldn’t see, but I felt its teeth in my arm.” He raised his right wrist, where deep bite marks gleamed on the pale skin. “More of these things came. They looked like hairless dogs. One of them jumped on me and got me down to the ground before I could react. It slashed me over and over until I was forced to use my ability.” Mr. Eckler had never told us about his ability, though I knew all teachers at the Watchtower had one. I looked at the burnt body of the scorpion.

“You burned them?” I asked. He nodded.

“I can create fire, yes,” he said. “Pyrokinesis, they call it. An extremely dangerous talent, I must admit. When I was a boy, I accidentally burned down my whole house trying to clear imaginary monsters from under my bed. Of course, there were no monsters, but I accidentally killed both my parents. The government found out what happened and took me here, back when the Watchtower was first being built.”

“Can you help get us to safety? Sully got stabbed in the leg,” Ean said, motioning to me with a subtle nod of his head.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Mr. Eckler said, nodding brusquely. “Forgive my rudeness. We need to get you two evacuated immediately.” He looked right and left down the hallway, his pale eyes scanning the shadows for any signs of movement. But everything looked dead and silent now. I wondered if it was a trap.

After a few moments of hesitation, Mr. Eckler went left, towards the train station and away from the medical supply room.

***

Every step made the pain in my leg shriek with a sizzling of nerves and fresh streams of blood. I felt light-headed and weak, and I knew if I lost much more blood, I would probably pass out. Ean watched me closely as we followed Mr. Eckler through the shadowy hallways. He strode slowly forward in front of us, a dark silhouette like the angel of death.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ean whispered nervously. “I can’t see why, but… it’s like something is squeezing my heart. I don’t know if I’m just scared or if it’s a premonition. I can’t see beyond the dread.”

The bodies of dozens of students and more hellhounds and flying scorpions littered every part of the school. Every classroom we passed seemed like a nightmare of broken bodies and carnage. I couldn’t wait to get out of the Watchtower. I wanted to leave this place forever.

We descended the stairs and found the door leading to the train station wide open. Thick, wet snowflakes blew in through the threshold accompanied by strong winds and freezing blasts of cold. Two men in black military gear lay dead outside, their hands reaching out toward the doorway even in death. The snow had begun covering their corpses by this point, but peeking out under the white covering, I saw the silhouette of a black rifle.

“Oh, no,” Mr. Eckler said, putting his hand over his mouth. “How are we going to get out of here now?” I had no answer to that. Ean looked nervously past the dead bodies at the sleek train looming overhead, its black surface shining and covered in fresh drifts of snow.

“We have to figure out how to operate the train,” I said. “It’s the only way I can see to get us all out of here. Even if we could reach the outside world, no one could send a helicopter or plane in this.” Mr. Eckler looked pensive and thoughtful for a long moment, then nodded.

“Stay close by my sides, then,” he said, heading outside. Nervously, Ean and I followed closely behind.

***

Ean and I hadn’t taken more than a couple steps outside when I felt his grip abruptly release, sending me tumbling into the thick blanket of snow underfoot. A surprised shriek rang out, muffled and carried off by the roaring winds. I looked up, seeing Ean stumbling blindly forwards, the hilt of a large meat cleaver emerging from the side of his neck.

The blood spurted straight out from his jugular vein, shooting forwards like water from a squirt gun. He clawed at the hilt, both of his hands wrapping around it before he fell forward. His pupils dilated, his eyes glassy and filled with horror. The white snow turned crimson underneath him.

Behind him, the little girl with the black hair stood. The wind whipped her hair back, showing a face like a skull. Her insane rictus grin was marred by large, ragged tears caused by the knife Stephanie had shot at her, but the girl had apparently pulled it out. Pieces of torn, gray flesh hung down from her skinned cheeks and rotted sinus cavities.

“Are these the last of the sacrifices?” the girl gurgled, turning to look at Mr. Eckler. He nodded grimly, glancing down at me one last time.

“All of the students are dead, my queen,” he said.

“And you will be rewarded greatly for your service,” she said. “Their abilities flow through their blood like sand carried away by water. And once you have ascended, you will be able to absorb their powers like me.” 

I started crawling away through the freezing snow. The demon girl and Mr. Eckler continued talking, whispering in low voices. A moment later, the girl kneeled down over Ean’s body and drank from the still spurting wound on his neck. Her lipless mouth sucked greedily, her blackened, cracked teeth gnashing hungrily. I felt a strong hand grab me by the back of the neck, lifting my head up. I stared up into the insane blue eyes of Mr. Eckler.

“I wish I could say I was sorry about this, but truthfully, I’m not,” he hissed, his voice changing from the teacher I had once known into something rambling and unhinged. “I will live forever, and for that, a price must be paid.” At that moment, I knew I had nothing left to lose.

“Kill him now!” the girl cried from behind us. “This boy can glimpse the future, and with his blood in me, I can see, too. That one needs to die now! Now!” Mr. Eckler’s eyes widened, his hands growing hot with flame as I completely let go within my mind. The reptilian blood laying hidden within me erupted, and then all human thoughts disappeared.

***

My skin rippled and distorted, turning black and shiny like that of a snake’s. Long claws ripped their way out of my fingers and toes, shredding my shoes to ribbons in a heartbeat. Mr. Eckler’s burning hands stayed firmly wrapped around my neck, but they had no effect on the thick, reptilian exoskeleton. Dozens of fangs grew from my gums. My sense of smell grew exponentially. With every flick of my long tongue, I could taste the air, even able to notice the odor of rotting bodies far back in the building.

With the pain in my leg temporarily gone, I flew to my feet, slashing and biting furiously at the air. I felt my scales growing hot as Mr. Eckler hung on with his life. The black scales started dripping, running like oil down my tall, lizard-like body. He tried to pull back as my claws connected with his arm, ripping it open down to the bone, but I lunged forward and grabbed him by the neck with my teeth. I tasted the explosion of salty blood as it filled my mouth. In my reptilian state, it tasted sweet and powerful.

The girl used her abilities to lift up the body of one of the dead soldiers. With a discharge of blue lightning from her hands, the body flew across the air in a blur, slamming hard into the side of my head. I went flying into the concrete wall of the school, cracking the cement as I hit it.

Clawing blindly at the air, I pushed myself back to my feet and sprinted at the girl. Something like a blue lightning bolt flew from her body, causing the ground at my feet to open up with a deep, black fissure. At the same instance, I leapt, feeling the earth and snow crumbling beneath my feet. I soared through the air. The girl’s eyeless sockets spun with darkness and sickness. I crashed into her body, instantly driving my claws into her small chest and ripping up.

She gurgled, trying to crawl out from under me, but I opened my wide, reptilian mouth and closed my sharp fangs around her neck. She gave one final hiss as I ripped out her throat. Still twitching and kicking, I continued biting and shredding until her small head tore off her body.

With pieces of the spine poking out of the bottom, I left it there, loping off into the snowy wastelands of Alaska.

***

I don’t know how long I traveled or how far. In my animal state, time felt fluid and strange. I remember sprinting over high, jagged mountains and thick evergreen woodlands, hunting and killing as I went. Alaska had plenty of game for a natural hunter like myself, and even the polar bears and moose avoided me once they smelled the predatory reptilian pheromones of my transformed state. But I always felt hungry, even after I had just tasted fresh meat.

Weeks later, I finally transformed back. I found myself in a cold, dark cabin. Next to me lay the body of a hunter I had murdered and eaten. I barely remembered doing it. Everything blurred together, and the different tastes of deer, bear or human meat barely registered in my reptilian brain.

Sickened by what I had done, I went around the cabin, taking thick clothes and new shoes from the dead hunter. I went outside, and to my immense relief, I found a small town only a few miles away. From there, I made my way back to the mainland, always blending in with the crowds.

I still stay on the run. The government sent me to that hall of death in the first place, after all, and for all I know, they think I died there.

And, if so, I have no desire to change that belief.

Love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Some people hate for the sake of a loved one. Others love because their hatred is reciprocated. Both hatred and love can move mountains. I’ve seen lovers build, but I pity anyone in the way of the lover who lost their love.

I lost the woman I loved once. 

I remember her being beautiful. She had black silky hair and fair skin that was lightly freckled. It’s sad really, I can barely remember the details of her face these days, but I’ll never forget the pock-marked face of that son of a bitch who took her from me.

Life is cruel. 

When love dies all that passion must go somewhere. In my case, it went to the nearest vessel. He became my fixation. My obsession. Twelve years later, and I still feel it burning deep inside of me, ready to burst out and consume all in its path.

Now is the time.

I waited patiently. I planned. I dreamed of this moment. And finally, it has come. The day of vengeance is upon us.

***

My taxi was late, and so I got soaked.

The rain was pouring down in sheets that flew horizontally. The little umbrella I was holding did next to nothing. My clothes were drenched, and I felt a chill enter into my bones. Even still, I felt a smile dance across my face. 

I was a freeman today, and nothing would be able to damper my mood.

At least so I thought then.

I could’ve waited in the lobby until my taxi arrived. Some of the other inmates now freed were doing just that. But I couldn’t sit in there for one more minute. And so I stood there in the rain, letting the water wash over me.

A thought came to mind and I closed the dinky little umbrella given to me. The experience was almost a supernatural one. The water washed me clean. I felt some of the guilt that had torn at my insides for these past twelve years begin to ease.

The rain hid the tears running unchecked down my face as I began to think of the woman I had killed. Elizabeth was her name, and as long as I live I will never be able to forget it. She was too young, too beautiful, too alive for me to ever forget.

The last week of my incarceration I had asked the pastor that visited us every Friday, “How do I make it right?”

He looked at me and he told me, “Son, I've lived forty years, trying my damnedest to make up for what I’ve done. There is nothing that we can do to balance those scales. Not on this side at least. All the good Lord asks for us is that we learn from our mistakes. ‘Go and sin no more’ says Christ. And that’s what I’ve tried to do since I was released all those years ago.”

I looked at him, tears beginning to fill my eyes, and asked him, “How am I supposed to go on like nothing happened?”

“Hey there, I never said you forget. You never forget. You can’t forget. The moment you do, then you are a monster. And then, it’s only a matter of time before you do it again,” replied the old pastor.

And even though it was painful, I remained in that freezing rain, remembering the things that I did. I remembered the drinks. I remembered going into the bathroom sticking the needle in my vein. I remember the sweet bliss of silence that quieted all my concerns and worries. I also remember getting in the car. I remember the bright lights as I drove. But most of all, I remember the thud of impact. I remember the scream. I remember that poor woman smashing my windshield as she was flung up and over my car.

I remember the trial. I remember pleading guilty. I remember the look of absolute hatred from the husband of the woman. And I remember the words he said at the end of the trial. His final words to me were, “No matter how long nor how often you ask, I will never forgive you for taking that beautiful woman from me. You turned my life from one full of love to one full of hatred. Your car didn’t just kill my wife. It killed my hopes, my dreams, my future, and everything in between. You’re a monster, and frankly it would’ve been better if you were the one struck down that night.”

I was so lost in thought that I never saw it coming.

***

“What in the hell happened out there?” questioned the warden.

“Sir, the taxi jumped the curb and struck the man,” replied the officer at the front gate.

“Of course I know that. For Christ’s sake I can still see the puddle of blood out front. My question is how in the hell was it allowed for the woman’s husband to be the driver? Now we have a public relations nightmare in front of us. They're saying that one of our prisoners was murdered on our property. I look like a complete jackass now. I definitely can kiss the commissioner’s chair goodbye. I’ll be lucky to even keep my job after this whole shitstorm runs its course,” said the warden.

The officers looked from one to the other, each hoping that the other would reply to the warden. Seeing that no one else would, the one that first spoke responded, “Sir, I’m not sure. How do you want to proceed?”

“Like this, all of you are fired. Return your badge, your gun, and your uniform. I will not be the only one who goes down for this shit. After all, it was your job to watch them. I just hope this will be enough for the public,” replied the warden hotly.

“Please sir, I need this job. I have a kid on the way, and I can’t afford to find another one,” begged the man.

“Well maybe you should’ve thought about that before you allowed a man to be murdered in front of our gates,” replied the warden. 

The man looked at his former boss, absolute loathing in his gaze, as he responded, “Mark my words, there is always a day for vengeance.”

Jonathan sat on the grassy hill staring at the sky above the treeline. The location was carefully selected by him after years of trying new places to find the perfect one. It was off the beaten road enough for no light pollution to dull the stars and no sounds of cars to interrupt the serenity. All he could hear was the sound of the light wind blowing through the trees like a soothing whisper. Quieter was the sounds of insects and frogs all coinciding to create a melody no human could replicate. Above him was the sheet of gorgeous stars, trillions of little specks that perfected the beauty of the landscape in an awe inspiring portrait of explosions happening in deep space. 

One evening in grade school his father drove them to the desert without telling him why. That night when they sat at the bonfire he looked up and saw the true beauty of the night sky for the first time in his life. His little mind hadn’t appreciated much until then, but as he looked at the image in front of him he felt a sense of profound understanding mixed with curiosity for the first time in his life. “We all end up there someday,” his father sighed, “If you ever lose me, your mother, or anyone else they’ll always be looking down at you ready to help you when you need it.” And with that they embraced, not knowing it was for one of the last times.

A few months later his father passed from cancer. He had a large brain tumor that was inoperable that he kept quiet until he only had weeks to live. Even after losing his father he managed to become the man that he wanted to become. Every night when he went outside and looked up at the stars he could feel an overbearing presence like his dad and an impossible amount of infinitely loving beings were looking at him with care and encouragement. These feelings gave him the strength to live on; so he made it his ritual to look at the stars every night and appreciate everything. 

Maria was a unique woman. He had been at a party in college that a mutual friend was hosting after graduating. He was standing in the kitchen congratulating his friend when he caught her gaze. He didn’t approach her as he didn’t want to seem strange, but he could tell she noticed him when he looked at her. He went onto the porch to get away from the noise of the party for a minute, and she followed him out there. The moment their eyes met on that porch they immediately knew they were meant for each other. After a long night of enthralling conversation she gave him her number and kissed him on the cheek before leaving. He sat on the porch for a long while afterwards, just looking at the sky with a large smile on his face. It felt like the beings smiled back at him and a new warmth seemed to be kindled inside of him. 

Now he was sitting in the grass, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to keep his composure. He looked over at her, she was quietly looking at the stars with a somber expression on her face. After six happy years together things had started to go downhill. His mind swam through memories trying to find where everything went wrong, but it couldn’t grasp a reason behind the misery that had fallen over them. She coughed violently which snapped him out of his spiral. She sat up and coughed more, each cough made him jump a little and exacerbated the shaking in his hands. Her body shook too as she tried to catch her breath while the hoarse wheezing racked her body. He felt helpless and could only watch until the fit was over and she laid back down on the grass.

A tear fell from his eye as he looked at her. She was so frail and her body was a shell of how she formerly looked. Even though he wasn’t sick, he decayed with her. As he watched her wither away he could feel the once roaring fire in his soul was now just dying embers waiting to be reignited. It was a pathetic hope to grasp onto something that would never come to fruition and deep down, he knew that. She had been in the hospital for a long time but with her release that last inkling of hope was destroyed. The drive home was silent. When he saw her wandering the house he wanted to break down but he couldn’t because she was the one in pain and she stayed strong. He tried to do everything for her that he could to make her comfortable, but there was only so much that he could do when her body was destroying itself from the inside. That night she was laying in bed next to him when she looked him in the eyes and asked if they could go look at the stars together. Her condition was worsening and he knew this could be one of their last nights together. 

Now under the beauty of the night sky they were alone. He could see the pain in her eyes as she opened her mouth to speak to him with a hoarse voice, “Just because I’ll be gone soon doesn’t mean your dreams should die with me honey.” 

He opened his mouth to try to speak but the lump in his throat silenced him. He looked down at the grass to avoid looking her in the eyes. His gaze slowly lifted to the sky looking for some guidance or help, anything to save his soul from this bitter pain. He still felt the warmth but it wasn’t enough to mask or even help with the overwhelming sadness that filled him. Years of love and joy were being smothered by this awful disease and he was helpless to stop it. He couldn’t bear to watch her in pain as her body failed her.

He finally looked towards her to face the woman he loved. She was looking back at him, her eyes were filled with tears. They had once been a beautiful brown that would reflect off the sunlight and look like a pool of life-filled caramel. Now they looked hollow and that spark of life was nearly gone. As a tear rolled down her cheek he could also feel one roll down his. At this moment it was only them together in this cruel world. 

He leaned in and put his arms over her shoulders pulling her into a deep hug. Her sobs were broken intermittently by ragged coughing. Every cough made him shake with her. “I’m scared,” She whispered into his chest. “I’m not scared of dying but I’m scared of being alone. I’m sorry I’m leaving you alone. I love you. I’m in so much pain but I can see you’re in pain too. You’ve always made me happy, so please-” She was interrupted by a violent fit of coughs into her hand.

When she pulled her hand away there were small dots of blood covering it. She looked up into his eyes and whispered, “Please just tell me you’ll move on and cherish the days we had together. You always made me happy. Please just let yourself be happy.”

He pulled away from her, his hands grazed her neck but they lingered for a moment too long. It was just a momentary lapse of judgment, a small bit of hesitation but the sadness and betrayal in her eyes smothered the last bit of warmth in his heart. The once glorious bonfire of passion was reduced to ashes and everything seemed to grow dark around him. Her voice shook as she spoke,  “I will never get to say I love you as much as I want to, but no matter what happens, I will always love you.” 

She gasped as his hands closed around her throat. The sickness had made her weak and frail so she couldn’t do anything against him. With one hand she instinctively grabbed at her neck and with the other she rubbed against his cheek with care. His heart screamed at him to stop but his mind just wanted the pain to end for both of them. Tears streamed down his face and he let out an animalistic cry as his grip strengthened and the little bit of life she had left faded from her eyes. Her head fell back onto the grass, her body now resting lifelessly under the stars. 

He fell down on top of her screaming in unimaginable sorrow. Everything in his life had been taken away from him and he was too selfish to let her enjoy her final days with him. He had just wanted the pain to end for both of them but it only ended for her. The torment lit his mind on fire as he realized he had destroyed the only thing he loved in the world with his bare hands. 

Every time in his life that he felt sad or lost he would look at the night sky and feel the warmth that would guide him through whatever he was going through. He looked up to the sky for some sort of reprieve from the pain and suffering, but as he looked up the last bit of any positive emotion left in his mind was crushed. The stars that once looked down on him like caring parents were now gone. He had been given everything and smothered it in front of them. Now they looked away in shame and disgust. 

He fell on his knees and screamed to the sky because there was nothing else he could do. He tried to think about happier memories from a time when the world seemed brighter, but even they seemed dark now. His actions tarnished every memory leaving him to bask in the pain that he caused himself. The loneliness was so overwhelming it felt as though he had been alone forever and would always be alone. Nothing he could do would redeem him from this monstrous act. He laid down in the grass next to her and felt her body was already getting cold. He couldn’t see in the darkness but he knew that the sun would never rise to shine its warm light on his face again. He didn’t deserve to feel the warmth of the sun after what he did. She had apologized to him for something out of her control. Now it was time for him to find her and apologize for the mess he created. He laid his head down in the grass next to her in hopes that very soon, they’d see each other again. 

Lewis and I were identical in nearly every way. We shared the same sandy hair, the same piercing blue eyes, and even the same mischievous grin that drove our parents up the wall. Growing up, we were two halves of a whole, our lives so intertwined that it was impossible to imagine one of us without the other.

We did everything together. Whether it was exploring the woods behind our house, playing endless games of basketball in the driveway, or staying up late into the night whispering secrets and dreams, we were inseparable. Even our friends and teachers struggled to tell us apart, and we loved to play pranks, swapping places and watching the confusion unfold.

Our bond was more than just physical; it was almost telepathic. We had our own language of glances and gestures, a silent communication that only we understood. It was comforting, knowing that no matter what happened, we had each other.

But we weren’t just best friends; we were rivals too. There was always a healthy competition between us, whether it was for better grades, faster race times, or who could tell the best joke. Lewis had a natural charm that drew people in, while I was more introspective, preferring to observe and think before acting. Yet, despite our differences, we complemented each other perfectly.

As we got older, our interests began to diverge. Lewis became passionate about music, spending hours in his room practicing guitar, while I threw myself into sports, determined to make the varsity basketball team. Still, our bond remained unshaken, and we always found time for our shared adventures.

One of our favorite traditions was the annual summer camping trip with our dad. Every year, we would pack up the car and head to the same remote campsite, far away from the noise and distractions of everyday life. Those trips were magical, filled with late-night ghost stories around the campfire, fishing in the clear, cool lake, and hiking through the dense forest trails.

It was during one of these trips that we discovered an old, abandoned cabin deep in the woods. The place was a wreck, with broken windows and a collapsing roof, but to us, it was a treasure trove of possibilities. We spent hours exploring, pretending it was our secret hideout, a place where we could escape from the world and be whoever we wanted to be.

As the years passed, the cabin became our sanctuary. Whenever life got too overwhelming, we would sneak away, escaping to our secret refuge. It was there that we had some of our deepest conversations, sharing our hopes, fears, and dreams for the future.

But everything changed on that cold December night. It was supposed to be a night of celebration, filled with warmth and laughter. We had just finished decorating the Christmas tree, a tradition that always brought our family together. The house was filled with the scent of pine and cinnamon, the soft glow of fairy lights casting a cozy ambiance.

Lewis and I had been arguing earlier that day about something trivial—who got to put the star on top of the tree. It was a silly, childish argument, but it left a lingering tension between us. We barely spoke during dinner, each of us nursing our bruised egos.

The fire started in the basement, in the room where our father kept his woodworking tools. We didn’t notice it at first, too engrossed in our own worlds. It wasn’t until the smoke alarm went off that we realized something was wrong.

My father sprang into action, shouting for us to get out. The smoke was thick, filling the house with a choking haze. Lewis and I were upstairs, and as we tried to make our way down, the flames erupted, blocking our path. Panic set in, the reality of the situation hitting us hard.

My father reached me first, his strong arms pulling me through the smoke and flames. I screamed for Lewis, but my voice was drowned out by the roaring fire. I caught a glimpse of him at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide with fear. Our gazes locked for what felt like an eternity, and then he was gone, swallowed by the inferno.

The fire department arrived too late. Our house, once a place of warmth and love, was reduced to ashes. And Lewis, my other half, was gone forever. The grief that followed was indescribable, a constant ache that settled in my chest and refused to leave.

My mother fell into a deep depression, her vibrant spirit extinguished. She would sit for hours, staring at old photographs of Lewis, her tears flowing freely. My father threw himself into his work, using it as a distraction from the unbearable pain. As for me, I was lost, wandering through life like a shadow of my former self.

For a while, it seemed like life might return to some semblance of normalcy. But then, strange things started happening. It began with small, almost insignificant occurrences—flickering lights, unexplained hot spots in the house, the smell of smoke with no apparent source. At first, we dismissed them as coincidences, but the incidents became more frequent and more terrifying.

The first real tragedy struck about a year after the fire. My mother was alone at home, lighting a candle in Lewis’s memory, something she did every day. According to the fire report, it was a freak accident. The candle tipped over, igniting the curtains. By the time the fire department arrived, the house was engulfed in flames. My mother didn’t make it out.

Her death shattered us. My father and I were consumed by grief, barely able to function. We moved into a small apartment, hoping for a fresh start. But the fires followed us. Next was my father. He was a careful man, meticulous in his habits. But one night, as he was working late in his home office, the apartment building caught fire. The cause was never determined. My father died trying to save the other tenants.

I was alone, the last surviving member of my family. The fear and paranoia became my constant companions. I was convinced that Lewis’s spirit was behind the fires, seeking vengeance for his untimely death. The thought of my twin brother, once my closest friend, turned into a vengeful spirit was almost too much to bear.

I tried to escape, moving from place to place, never staying in one spot for too long. But no matter where I went, the fires followed. I started seeing Lewis everywhere—in reflections, in dreams, in the flickering shadows of candlelight. His presence was a constant reminder of the past, a haunting specter that refused to let me go.

One night, I woke up to find my bedroom filled with smoke. The fire alarm blared, and flames licked at the walls. I stumbled out of bed, coughing and disoriented, but there was no way out. The door was blocked by fire, and the windows were sealed shut. I was trapped.

That’s when I saw him—Lewis, standing in the midst of the flames, his eyes filled with sorrow and rage. He didn’t speak, but I felt his anger, his pain. I knew then that I had to confront him, to find a way to make amends.

“Lewis,” I whispered, my voice choked with smoke and fear. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His expression softened, the flames around him flickering and dimming. For a moment, it seemed like he might forgive me, but then his face twisted in pain, and the flames roared back to life. I knew I had to do more.

“I should have saved you,” I cried, tears streaming down my face. “It should have been me. I miss you every day, Lewis. Please, let me make this right.”

The flames around us seemed to waver, and Lewis stepped closer. I could see the pain in his eyes, the torment that had consumed him. I reached out, my hand passing through the flames, and touched his ghostly form.

In that moment, a wave of memories washed over me—our childhood, the laughter, the shared dreams. I felt his pain, his anger, but also his love. The connection we had as twins, stronger than anything, was still there, buried beneath the anger and sorrow.

“I love you, Lewis,” I whispered. “I always have. Please, let go of the anger. Let go of the pain.”

His eyes met mine, and for the first time since the fire, I saw a flicker of recognition, of the brother I had lost. The flames around us began to fade, the heat dissipating. Lewis’s form grew faint, the anger in his eyes replaced by a deep, abiding sadness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Tears blurred my vision, and I nodded, unable to speak. In that moment, I felt a profound sense of peace, a release from the torment that had plagued us both. Lewis’s form faded, the last remnants of the fire extinguishing with him.

The room was silent, the air clear. I was alone, but I felt a sense of closure, a peace that had eluded me for so long. I knew that Lewis had finally found rest, and that I could begin to heal.

The days that followed were difficult, filled with grief and memories. But I no longer felt the oppressive presence of my brother’s spirit. The fires had stopped, and for the first time since that tragic night, I felt a glimmer of hope.

I still think of Lewis every day

Can't remember the name but I been trying to find it again

Anyone got an archive of Dark Somnium's narration on Tales from a Rookie Storm Chaser? I really want to show a friend these stories. They were my favorite since I live out in the midwest and could vividly imagine the setting of the story and the looks of the storm.

I checked the mag of my pistol, 12 rounds in the mag, plus the one in the chamber, so 13. I reinserted the mag and gave a nod to Maverick and Elijah, they had just finished setting up. “Now!” Maverick said. All three of us popped out from cover and started firing while walking backwards towards the stairwell doors. I don’t know how many we killed, but it was about half of them. 

The second those doors were in my peripheral vision, I bolted through them, Elijah right behind me. I made it halfway down the stairs before realizing that Maverick wasn’t behind us. I ran back up to see through the glass Maverick fall to the ground after being shot in the shoulder. I reached the door and was about to open it when Maverick drew his pistol and his head jerked back. Taking a closer look, I could see a red hole in his forehead, and blood started to ooze out of it. 

“NOOOOOOOO!” I screamed as I ripped the door open and took a step before being ripped back by Elijah. 

“He’s gone, we gotta move!” he yelled as he dragged me back down the stairs. He let go shortly after and we bursted through the doors to the first floor, running to the left of the science area and hiding under the counter. The bar-like counter was in an L-shape, and Maverick and I hid in opposite corners under the counter. 

The men entered the area a few seconds later. “Where’d they go?” one of them asked angrily. 

“I don’t know. I hope we find them.” another one answered. 

We heard the sound of something hitting the lockers. “WE DON’T HOPE, DIPSHIT! HOPE HAS COST US OVER HALF OUR MEN! WE ARE GOING TO FIND THEM! GOT IT?” 

“Yes sir. It’s not like they can get out, anyway. All the doors are locked and only Alpha has the keys. They’re locked in here with us, not the other way around.” the other man said. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” the first man said. “Let’s move.” he said and we could hear them walking away down the hall. 

That was the first time we breathed in 2 minutes. “Holy shit.” I said to myself. 

“Michael?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Either I'm going crazy, or we’re being joined by Mr. Conway.” 

I looked at him and saw where he was looking. I looked there and saw the dead body of Mr. Smith. I sighed, “I thought I told you to hold out.” 

“You knew he was here?” 

“I found him earlier, told him I’d find a way out, only to find out there isn’t one.” 

“Oh.” We came out of our spots a few seconds later. We both got out and slung our long guns on our backs so that the stock was behind our left shoulder and the barrel behind our right hand. I quivered, sniffled, and put my hands on my hips. Elijah and I made eye contact, “you good?” he asked. 

I shook my head, “no,” I said as a tear fell down my face. 

ElijahElijah opened his arms and I fell into them, and I broke down. I could hear him start to break down, too, he was our best friend. We stood there for a minute. We didn’t speak, we didn’t need to. We let go, I wiped my tears away, and wiped my nose. “Look at me.” I did. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” 

“Yeah.. yeah.” 

“How you doing on ammo?” 

“Not good.” I said as I drew my pistol and dropped the mag, reloading a new one. Elijah did the same. 

“Hey, I just realized something.” Elijah Elijah said as he took his rifle off his back. 

“What?” I asked as I did the same thing. 

“Alpha has the keys to the doors, that could be our way out.” he said as he dropped the mag from his AK. 

“Yeah, but there’s a problem with that.” I said as I closed the bolt on my shotgun and lowered it to start loading. 

“What?” 

“We blew up Alpha squad. So we most likely destroyed the keys along with them.” I said as I loaded the first set of 4. 

“Yeah, but who’s to say that wasn’t all of them?” Elijah inserted a new mag in his rifle. 

“What, like they split up or something?” I loaded the next 4. 

“Yeah. it could be our way out.” 

“Maybe.” 

“It’s worth looking into.” 

I held my gun in a two handed carry. “Not like we’ve got anything else to do.” 

“Exactly. You ready?” 

“Yeah.” We both racked the charging handles on our guns and walked to the threshold. 

Elijah held the left side of the hall while I held the right. “Clear.” He said. 

“Clear.” I responded. 

“I’ve got a body.” 

“Dead?” 

“Seems to be.” 

“From Alpha?” 

“Can’t tell. Still clear on your side?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright, move up.” 

“Copy.” I said as we both walked towards the dead man I killed almost 2 hours ago. I know the language we were using sounded a little weird, but he, Maverick, and I had played and acted out scenarios similar to this. Who knew that stuff would actually pay off? 

We saw on the front of his vest a patch that was partially destroyed, but still read “-lpha”. We rolled him over and found a ring of keys on the back of his belt held on by a carabiner. I took them off of him and held them in my hand. We looked up at each other at the same time, then looked at the doors, then back at each other, then we ran for the doors. 

We cleared the stairwell as we made entry and made our way towards the doors. I leaned my shotgun against the wall and started trying keys. The first one didn’t even go in, the second went in but didn’t turn, the third one went in, turned and unlatched the lock. I quickly removed the lock and undid the chain, opening the doors and holding them open for Elijah to get through. “Go go go.” I said in a whisper. 

He went through and turned around to face me, “come on.” he whispered. I stayed there. “Come on.” he said a little sharper. 

A flash of Maverick went through my head. “I need to finish what I started.” I said and quickly closed the doors and redid the chain. He tried to stop me and open the doors as I locked it back up. I grabbed my shotgun and ran back into the school, chucking the keys to the side. I heard Elijah pound on the glass and I could have sworn I heard him yell, “damnit.” 

I walked back through the hall, passed the culinary room and passed the councilors offices. I was seeing a lot of their helmets on the ground, still don’t know why. I was perpendicular to one of the 3 entrances to the cafeteria when someone came out from the stairs to the second floor open space I was at earlier where I took out the onslaught, he was holding a pistol, a glock variant of some kind. I raised my shotgun and was about to pull the trigger when he spoke. “Hold on there, cowboy, don’t pull that trigger just yet.” 

I still don’t know why I didn’t just blow him away right then and there, but I held myself, “why?” 

“Because my buddy will cap you.” he said as I felt something press into the right side of my neck. 

“Hi.” I heard from behind me in an uncomfortably cheery tone. 

“Ok, so here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna hand your weapons to my buddy, and we’ll give you the courtesy of making your death quick, which is more than what you deserve.” I didn’t move a muscle, I didn’t speak a word, I just kept my barrel on him. “Come on, man, you have a pump action and you have a man on your 6, there’s no way you’re making it out of this alive.” 

I took a sharp inhale, and dropped my head as I exhaled. I looked back up at the man in front of me. “You’re right.” I said as I hit the switch on my shotgun, converting it to pump action. I turned to the man behind me, “I’m gonna pass you the shotgun over my shoulder, ok?” 

“Do it slowly.” He said. I flipped the shotgun 90 degrees, so the ejection port was facing upward, and placed the shogun on top of my shoulder with my thumb in the trigger guard, still pointed at the man up front. “There you go.” he said as I heard the click of a pistol sliding into its holster. 

I didn’t hesitate. I pulled the trigger with my thumb, sending a flaming mass towards the man in front, and the buttstock hit the guy behind me. The front guy dropped as I turned around and knocked the guy behind me to the ground. I rechambered a round, “you broke my fucking…” he said before I shot him in the face. 

I walked over to the first guy, racking the pump and chambering a new round, then switching it back to semi auto. He had blood coming out of his mouth, holding his stomach, failing to contain the blood. “.... nice move.” he said weakly while choking and gurgling on his own blood. 

“I know.” I said before I shot him in the face. I dropped my shotgun down and grabbed a set of shells off my belt, loading them into the gun. I checked the chamber to make sure there was a round in the chamber. There was. I let the bolt ride forward as I heard something hitting the lockers from the second floor and the sound of a girl grunting a second later. I ran up the stairs as quickly as I could while also staying quiet. 

I got to the top and saw another man fighting with a girl. I recognized her. It was Ellie. I didn't want to use the shotgun, I might hit her, so I switched to my Glock and moved to the right so she wasn't in my line of fire. I lined up my sights on his head. I put my finger on the trigger and pulled it once, but heard two shots, one came just before I pulled the trigger, maybe half a second. I watched the man drop to the ground limp with a fresh hole in his head, and Ellie fell against the lockers holding her stomach. I ran to the body of the terrorist to make sure he was dead. He was. 

I looked over to Ellie “Michael?” she said, looking up at me. 

“Hey.” was all I could think to say. 

“Can you help me?” she said in a pleading tone. 

“Yeah,” I said as I squatted down, holstering my pistol. “lift up your shirt for me.” she lifted it up to just below her bra. “Turn to your right a bit.” She did so, grunting a little. I looked at her back and saw blood coming out of a small hole. “Ok, there’s an exit wound. This shouldn’t be too hard to manage.” I grabbed the med kit off my belt and grabbed four gauze pads. Two for the front and two for the back. I pressed two on the entry wound and told her to hold it there. She did so as I grabbed the other two pads and gauze wrap and proceeded to dress the wound. Ellie grunted and groaned in small amounts throughout the process, but not nearly as much as I was anticipating. I think it was shock and adrenaline that wasn’t allowing her to feel the pain as much. I finished wrapping and ripped off the rest of the roll, placing it in the med kit and re-attaching it to my belt. “Ok, that should be good for now.” 

“Thank you.” she said. 

“Any time.” I said. 

“So what now?” Ellie asked me. 

“I don’t know, to be honest.” 

“Is there a way out?” 

“No, the doors are locked.” 

“Damnit.” 

“Yeah.” 

She looked a little harder into my eyes. “Are you ok?” 

“All things considered, I’m fine. you” 

She looked down at her stomach, then looked back up at me, “could be better.” 

“Yeah.” I looked off to the left for a bit. Thinking. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asked me. 

I exhaled out my nose and looked at her, “you know, I’ve had a crush on you since the 5th grade.” That's the grade we met in. 

“And why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I don’t know if I'm gonna live to see the light of day tomorrow.” 

She got a smile on her face and rested her face in her right hand, “god damnit.” 

“What?” 

“I’ve also had a crush on you.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” We stared at each other, then both of us leaned forward for a kiss. For a moment, I was happy. But of course, I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t have peace. Our kiss only lasted a few seconds before I heard loud and heavy footsteps coming from my left. I got tackled to the right and lost my shotgun in the skuffle. He laid me flat on my back and pressed me into the ground. “You… you piece of shit!” I drew my handgun and tried to shoot him, but he grabbed my wrist and I ended up firing a few rounds into the ceiling. Ellie grabbed the man by his shoulders and tried to pull him off of me. He wrenched his arm back and hit her in the stomach. Right in her wound. He ripped my gun out of my hand and shot her in the back of the head. 

I lost it. “MOTHER FUCKER!!!” I yelled as I charged and tackled him to the ground, the gun sliding about 10 feet away. He throws me off of him and we both get up. He pulled something out of his back left pocket. I couldn’t tell what it was at first, but the blade popping out made that very clear. 

I put my hands up like I was ready to fight. I wasn’t. He charged and shoved me to the ground, and I fell against the lockers. I regained my bearings as he tried to stab me in the chest with his knife, but I caught his hand and stopped him from doing so, thankfully without stabbing the blade through my own hand. I held it back with all the strength I had, but he was stronger. The blade kept inching closer and closer to my chest. He started laughing. The closer the blade got, the more maniacal his laugh got. 

The blade was an inch from my chest and the man was laughing harder than the Joker. His face was just as close as the blade and his mouth was wide open, bellowing laughter. The blade inched closer. His laugh peaked. I thought my life was gonna end. All of that came to a close when through his open mouth, I saw the tip of a knife poke out. His laughter stopped. His face turned from a look of glee, to a look of shock, then a look of death. He let go of the knife, which I was now holding in my hand, still pointed at myself. His body was shoved to the side. 

“Need a hand?” He said to me as he laid down his hand for me to take. He was a friend of ours from a different school. 

I held the knife in my left hand and took Al’s with my right. “Thanks.” I said as he helped me up. I folded up the knife and put it in my back left pocket. I walked around and picked up my gear, slinging my shotgun and holstering my pistol. “What are you doing here, Al?” Alister was his full name, but we alll just called him Al. 

“I was out for a walk and I heard gunshots.” 

“Ah.” I said in understanding. It made sense at first, but then I realized that he lived two towns over, so he would’ve had to walk several miles to get here. 

“Yeah, so I came in and the rest is obvious.” 

Now I’m confused, because all the doors are locked. “What?” 

“Well-” 

“Alister, the hell are you-” we heard coming from the hallway behind Al. I drew my handgun to shoot him, but Al was faster. He turned around and shot the guy square in the forehead. 

“Fuckers.” he said as he holstered his weapon. He looked at me, saw the look on my face, saw the look of disgust and betrayal. “What?” 

“He said your name.” 

“Well duh, they have a list.” 

“He said your name like he knew you, like he was angry with you.” 

Al stood there for a second, I assume not knowing what to say, but he found the words, “these people are killers-” 

“No shit, Sherlock!” 

“And you people deserve what’s happening to you.” 

I scoffed. “Useful idiots.” 

“Excuse me.” 

“You do realize that once they’re done they’ll be killing you too, right?” 

“They won’t.” 

“They killed Maverick!” 

“Good!” 

“....You can’t be serious.” 

“As a heart attack.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve always hated this school and the people in it.” He used to go to our school. “Bullies, shitty teachers, girls that wouldn’t give me any attention…” 

“Jesus christ, you fucking incel.” 

“The fuck did you say to me?” 

“I said you’re a fucking incel!” 

“Says the guy who still hasn’t gotten laid.” 

“Having sex with your sister is not a flex.” 

“STEP sister.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“The fuck is wrong with you? Every time I needed you, you were nowhere to be found. Where were you? Y’all deserve what you’re getting, and so do these terrorists. They won’t be remembered, you won’t be remembered, y’all will just be a bunch of numbers. Only I will be remembered!” 

I’d had enough, I raised my handgun and shot him in the chest. He fell to the ground, clutching the wound. I walked up to him, staring down into his eyes, which were slowly draining of life, “no. you won’t.” I said before I shot him in the face. 

I stood there for a few seconds, the realization of me killing one of my own friends settling in. what he was doing was awful, but he was still a friend. Why did he do this? “Some friend, huh?” I heard from my left, I looked and saw another one of them standing there, leaning up against the wall, I just raised my gun and shot him too. 

I holstered my pistol and pulled my shotgun off my shoulder. I walked down the hall, back to the language arts center. I walked around the massive hole we made about half an hour ago, stepping around the bodies of the terrorists we killed, and continued to Mavericks body. I stood there a minute or two. I said, “rest in peace.” I turned around and started walking back to where I was. I heard a series of gunshots coming from the floor above me, followed by the cheers of two girls. “Good Job.” I said as I continued on. 

I carried my shotgun in a trail carry in my left hand as I walked past the math and science areas. I looked down at the entrance to the cafeteria, mainly to see if someone was coming out of it. There wasn’t. I looked back forward, I then heard a gunshot and my hat flew off my head, hitting the artwork display case to my right. I immediately ducked behind the half wall, the realization that I was a few inches away from dying hitting me harder than a bus going sixty. “You’re fucking done for, kid!” I heard someone yell. I grabbed my hat off the ground that now had a hole in it through the middle of the bill, and stuck it back on my head. I then proceeded to sneak backwards to the edge of the wall while he spoke some more. “This shit ends now! Your reign on men stops! You will die, right here, right now!” 

I checked the safety and chamber on my shotgun, safety off and a loaded chamber. “Doubtful!” I yelled as I popped up from cover and fired a series of five shots at him. I missed with the first shot, and that gave him the opportunity to duck behind cover. He came back out and started firing in full auto back at me, making me duck. The sound of it made me think it was a full auto AR or AK of some sort. A few bullets came through the concrete, but luckily exited in places I wasn’t sitting. He stopped and I swear I heard him say, “shit.” I assumed he was reloading so I popped out and fired four more shots before my bolt locked to the rear. I ducked again as he popped back up and started shooting again, he fired about 12-15 shots before stopping, I assumed keeping it on where I was. I crouch walked forward a few feet, so at least I wasn’t directly in his line of fire. I pulled a shell of the carrier and dropped it into the action, dropping the bolt on the live round. I dropped the shotgun down, grabbed a set of two off my belt and loaded it into the gun, then grabbed four more and loaded them. I went for another set, only to find that there were no more shells on my belt. The seven in the gun and the four on the left side of the action were all I had left. I grabbed two off the carrier and loaded them into the mag tube. 

I continued forward slowly, keeping light on my feet. I checked one of the bodies I’d killed earlier, but it didn’t have any shells on it. I got to the corner of the half wall and stopped. I took a quiet deep breath, came out of cover, and fired two shots at his rifle, knocking it out of his hands. I stepped out of cover and he did the same, drawing his handgun. “DROP IT, NOW!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. 

“I’m impressed.” 

“Thank you, now drop the fucking gun!” He had a revolver of some sort. 

“Fifty men came here for you all, forty nine of them are dead, all because of you and your friends.” he lifted the gun up by his wrist, “so here’s what I think…” he popped out the cylinder and dropped the rounds out of it. He flicked it back in and chucked it over the edge. He then drew a knife. “Your turn.” 

“What?” 

“You have a knife, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, so?” 

“Chuck your arms, and let’s fight like men.” 

I stood there for a few seconds, not speaking a word or moving a muscle. I thought about just pulling the trigger and ending it all, I still don’t know why I didn’t. All I know is I braced my shotgun on my hip and racked the charging handle, ejecting the remaining seven shells onto the floor. I then threw the shotgun down to the first floor. I drew my handgun, did a John Wick style mag ejection, cleared the chamber, and flung the pistol over the edge. I went as far as to take off the battle belt I was wearing and threw that over as well. I untucked my shirt, letting it drape over the waist of my jeans. I untucked my shirt and pulled the knife out of my pocket, hitting the button and deploying the blade. His knife was a fixed blade and about an inch and a half longer, so I was at a clear disadvantage. 

He flipped his knife to a reverse grip and charged at me, stabbing the knife down to hit either my shoulder or my head. I caught his wrist with my right hand and went to stab him in the stomach with the knife in my left, but he grabbed my wrist too, stopping me from stabbing him. He headbutt me and I fell back a few feet, we both let go of each other. He then Spartan kicked me in the chest and I fell to the ground. He tried to stab me again, but I kicked him in the stomach from the ground and he stepped back a few feet, clutching his stomach. I got up, ran to him, and did a karate style kick directly to his face, sending sprawling across the floor. He got up and I slashed him across his face, slicing his right cheek. I swiped back the other way, getting his other cheek. I swiped again the same way as the first but he caught my hand, a massive smile came across his face, and he raised his knife. “Oh shit-” I said as he stabbed the knife down into my left outer thigh. The pain was outlandish. He pulled the knife out, which fucking hurt by the way, and I immediately felt a large amount of blood run down my leg. I swiped at him again but I missed. He grabbed my wrist again and lifted it up. He swiped his knife under my arm and sliced my left side up, just below my ribcage. I screamed in pain and he kicked me in the chest, sending me rolling about 10 feet. 

I landed on my back, my left hand holding my leg and my right hand holding my side, my hands becoming covered in blood. He started laughing at me as I moved my right hand to my lower back. “Oooohhh, did I hurt your back?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Nah, I’m not gay.” 

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole.” 

“I know, but it’s like I said earlier, you’re gonna die tonight.” 

I was scooting back during the conversation, I found the grip and held onto it. “And it’s like I said earlier…” the small sound of a safety being flipped off could be heard, “doubtful.” I said as I pulled the L5 and shot him. The bullet went in between his eyes and exited the back of his skull, hitting the ceiling and dropping small chunks of brick down to the ground. He fell backwards, the thump of his body hitting the ground echoing through the hall and my head. 

I struggled to get back up off the ground due to the pain in my leg. I limped over to his body and kicked him in the nuts. With my right foot, of course. The force of the kick combined with the hindered balance in my left leg made me fall, but I caught myself on the railing. I chucked the gun over the ledge like the rest of the weapons. I held on to the railing as I slowly made my way back over to where Maverick was laying. I passed the railing and didn’t even make it to the science rooms before I collapsed, and I blacked out a few seconds later. 

I woke up lying down to intensely bright lights in my face. Way brighter than the lights in my school. I felt something weird in my nose.  I looked away from the lights and I saw a curtain and medical equipment, I looked over a little bit and saw my dad and my little sister asleep in chairs they must’ve brought in from the waiting room. My mom must’ve been at work. I figured out that the weird feeling in my nose was from a nasal tube. I heard footsteps coming from the door on the left side of the room. A female nurse came in with a clipboard in her hands. “Hi.” she said in a cheery voice. I immediately put my finger to my lips, then pointed to my family. My dad shifted in his chair, but didn’t wake up. My sister didn’t move a muscle. “Oh,” she said in a whisper and walked over to me, “you know, with the exception of work and school, they spend all day and night here.” 

“Doesn’t shock me.” I looked at my sister, “how’s she been holding up?” 

“All things considered, pretty well. How are you feeling?” 

“All things considered, shitty.” I looked down and saw my left arm was in a sling. I moved the gown out of the way and saw a patch over my left shoulder. 

The nurse giggled a little bit, “I get it.” 

“Yeah. how long was I out for?” 

“Eight days.” 

I yawned, “I’ve been asleep for eight days, how am I still tired?” 

She laughed under her breath, “you’re on a litany of painkillers, plus you lost a good amount of blood, we had to replace two and a half units, your body is still adjusting to the new blood.” 

“Mikey!” I heard come from the other side of the room. I looked and saw my sister come charging at me. I saw a flash of the man that stabbed me for half a second. She leaped on me, her hand landing on my shoulder, the one I got shot in. I groaned hard and said ow probably twenty times, but the hug we shared made the pain tolerable. My dad got up and pulled her off of me and the nurse checked my shoulder. 

“Sorry about that, buddy.” my dad said to me. 

“Considering the circumstances, I’ll let it slide.” 

“You’re all good, stitches held.” the nurse said. 

“Thank you.” my dad and I said at almost the same time. “You feel ok, kid?” he asked me. 

“I’ve been better.” 

“Right, stupid question.” 

“Better than not asking at all.” 

“True.” 

“From what I hear you two have been staying here pretty much 24/7.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” 

I looked back at my sister, “what about you? Anything new going on in the third grade?” 

“It’s good, we have a final test on friday.” my sister said. 

“You gonna pass?” 

“Does a bear poop in the woods?” 

“Yes it does.” 

“Then there you go.” 

“Ma’am, do you know when he’ll be out?” my dad asked the nurse. 

“He should be out in the next few days.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Hey, where’s mom?” I asked my dad. 

“She’s at work, she should be here later tonight.” 

“Ok.” 

The next few days were a blur. I got released from the hospital two days later and was questioned by the police. I basically lied through my teeth the whole time, making it seem like I didn’t kill anyone, and had received my injuries trying to evade my attackers. They seemed to believe me. The police let me go. The school was closed for the rest of the year, and all homework assignments and tests were done away with. All of us seniors were sent our diplomas in the mail. There was a memorial for those who lost their lives that night, Maverick included. Many people were crying, Elijah and I were no exception. Afterwards, Elijah and I hugged with tears in our eyes and drove ourselves home. I know he resents me for going back in, but I know deep down he understands why. As I was leaving, another friend of mine, Steven, came up to me. We were dressed in similar attire. Black dress pants with black socks and shoes, and a long sleeve dress shirt, except my sleeves were rolled up and his weren’t. “Hey Michael, you ok?” 

“Could be better, could be worse. You?” 

“‘Bout the same. I heard you were at the school during… you know…” 

“Yeah I was. You weren’t?” 

“No, I had to watch my little brother, but my condolences. I could only imagine what you went through and what you had to do.” 

“Thank you.” I said as I turned around to get into my car. 

“Wait.” I stopped and turned back around to look at him again. “If you ever need anything, you have my number. Don’t be afraid to give me a call, even if it’s just to call. Nothing is off the table.” 

“I appreciate that, man, thank you. I might just take you up on that. I gotta go, but I’ll see you around.” 

“Yeah man, see you around.” he said as we parted ways. I got in my car and drove home. 

It’s been a little over a month since the shooting. I got a job working at Subway so I could make some extra cash before college. I’m going to get a gunsmithing degree, btw. I got back from work around 4 pm. I showered, changed clothes, and basically leaped onto my bed, landing on my back. I layed there, staring at my bedroom ceiling. I saw a few quick flashes of the horrors from that night. I got up, did some of my chores, and then layed back down about two hours later. Not thirty seconds after that, my mom called me and my sister down for dinner. She had made us fish sticks and mac and cheese, a meal I will never complain about. We plated our food, sat at the table, said grace, and then ate. We finished up, put our plates in the sink, and my sister and I went up to our rooms. 

I sat in my bed, phone in my hand, but it wasn’t turned on. More flashes went through my head, I shook them off, entered the pass code into my phone, and called Elijah. It rang. It rang and rang and rang and eventually went to voicemail. I tried again, same thing. Frustrated, I threw my phone on the foot of my bed, and got up from my bed, irritated. I know it’s been a couple weeks since we talked, but dammit man, pick up. You went through the same thing I did. My phone then chimed with a text notification. I checked it and it was a picture sent to me from an unknown number. It was of Elijah, tied up in the back of a white van. I then got sent another picture of Elijah, bloody and bruised sitting on the ground against the wall in a cinder block room with his hands secured above his head. The same unknown number then proceeded to call me. I answered the call: “hello?” 

“Did you really think we wouldn’t come back?” 

“Who are you?” 

“You know who? I’m willing to bet you thought you get us all, but you didn’t.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Frankly, we want your head on a pike, but we’re also impressed. So we wanted to challenge you. I just sent you a text of coordinates to where we are currently located. You have one month to gather any resources you can for a fight. Deal?” 

I thought about it for a second. “Do people count as a resource?” 

“Sure, but good luck with that.” 

“Are you done?” 

“I am.” 

“Good, and say a prayer within the next month, I have a feeling it will come in handy.” I hung up. I sounded tough over the phone, but the second I hung up, I felt like I was gonna have a panic attack. I spent the rest of the night going between looking at Elijah's pictures, having a panic attack, and writing this story. I need to go to bed, and in the morning, I’m gonna call Steven. I think it’s time to cash in that offer.

July 1st

I don’t know what to do. It’s three in the morning and I’m supposed to be up at seven to get ready for work. I’ve spent god knows how long staring at this fucked up picture and trying to figure out a plan. I don’t want to go through this again, I can't, but what choice do I have? The consequences are too harsh to bear. I’m sorry… I’m rambling. I think it’s best we start from the beginning. 

May 30th

"Mom, I'll be fine," I said as I turned around away from my backpack, "don't worry about me." 

My mom was leaning against the door frame of my bedroom with her arms folded. "I'm your mother, it's my job." 

"You don't get paid for it, therefore, it's not a job." 

"Smart ass." 

"I get it from you." 

"True. You're gonna be ok, right?" 

"Yeah, what are you so worried about? It's a senior lock in." 

"I don't know, there's a lot of bad people out there, and you go to school with some of them." 

"Well, the people you're worried about likely won't show up to this, they'll call it lame or some shit and stay home." 

"Good point, but you're going with a friend, right?" 

"Yeah, I'm gonna pick up Elijah on the way," I said as I heard the familiar sound of my phone's ringtone. I grabbed it off my bed and looked at the caller ID, 'Elijah' "speak of the devel," I answered the call and put it on speaker, "what's up?" 

"Hey Michael, you ready?" 

"Just about, got a few more things to pack, I'll be at your place in like, 15-20 minutes." 

"Cool, see you then." 

"See you then, love ya." 

"You're so fucking weird." 

"So are you. You love it. bye." 

"Bye." And he hung up. 

"See," I said to my mom, "nothing to worry about." 

"Be safe, for me?" 

I walked over and gave my mom a big hug, "I will." we let go after a few seconds later, "I gotta finish packing." 

"Ok." And my mom walked away. I zipped up my backpack and threw it over my left shoulder. I said goodbye to my parents and that I would be back tomorrow. "Love you." My mom yelled from the couch. 

"Love you too." And I walked out the front door. I unlocked my car, a 2018 Toyota RAV 4, threw my backpack in the back seat, and got in. I stuck the key in the ignition and turned it, and my car roared to life. I pulled out of my driveway and drove to Elijah's house. 

I arrived at his about five minutes later, and he was waiting on his front porch. I pulled over to the curb and rolled down my passenger side window as he started to get up, "get in, loser, we're going shopping." I yelled out my window. Elijah opened the back door and put his backpack down in the seat, then got in on the passenger side. I rolled up the window as he shut the door. "Ready to go?" 

"Yeah." Elijah says to me. I put the car in drive and pulled out onto the street, making our way to the school. 

We pulled up in the parking lot of our school at around 8:30 pm. I shut off the car and pulled the key out of the ignition as the two of us opened the doors and got out, shutting both doors behind us. We opened the back doors and grabbed our backpacks out from the backseats, then closed them. I hit the button on my keys to lock the doors and checked both the driver's side door and the back door to make sure they locked, like my dad always did. “So how do you think this will go?” I asked Elijah. 

“Very badly.” 

“Pessimist.”  

“Sup, losers.” we heard from behind us and to the left. Ellie always poked fun at us, but we still like her. 

“Hey, glad you could make it to the shitshow.” Elijah said. 

“Come on, it won’t be that bad.” I said.

“We’ll see.” 

We walked through the front doors and handed our tickets to the lady at the table at the entrance. “Head to the auditorium for the briefing.” the lady said to us. We thanked her and walked to the auditorium. 

We sat down in the sixth row on the right side, placing our backpacks on the floor in between our legs. A few minutes later, principal Peterson came out to speak to us. We all clapped as he came out because we’re all 4 years old in our hearts, and Mr. Peterson put his hands up with a smirk to settle us, and we quieted down. “Good to see you all again. Welcome to the 30th annual senior lock in. I just need to go over a few rules with y’all and then you’re free to do whatever. We do have games and activities for you to do, if you’d like. Number one, No drugs or alcohol of any kind. If you are caught using or in possession of drugs or alcohol, you will be sent home and not be allowed to walk at graduation. There will be no fighting. We are here to celebrate and have a good time, not to give each other black eyes and bloody noses. Offenders will be sent home and not allowed to walk at graduation. And finally, no fornication of any kind.” we all groaned in disgust at that one. “HEY, don’t get mad at me, get mad at the class of 2016 for that one. Violators will be sent home and not be allowed to walk at graduation. Anyway,” he checks his watch, “my watch says that it is currently 9:00 pm, we are closing up shop at 5:00 am. Until then, go off and have a great time, you are dismissed.” 

On that note, we all got up and made our way out of the auditorium. Myself and Elijah went over to this little spot next to the principal offices and the cafeteria. We sat down against the wall as Ellie and another friend of ours, Maverick, sat down with us. We chatted about nonsense for about 30 minutes, laughing and cackling. We stopped for a moment to catch our breaths and calm down, then Maverick spoke, “So are we just gonna sit here and talk shit or are we actually gonna do something?” 

I reached into my backpack and gripped onto the box, “well I don’t know about y’all,” and I pulled out a game of cards against humanity, “but I’d like to play a game.” I said like the puppet from Saw. 

“I’m in.” Maverick said. 

“Oh hell yeah.” Ellie said

“Let’s go.” Elijah said. 

I smiled and placed the box in between the 4 of us and took the lid off, “alright you sorry degenerates, you all know the rules, take your seven white cards, I volunteer to be the card czar first, we shall work clockwise, and let the games begin.” We all grabbed our white answer cards, and I grabbed a black question card and read it, “behold the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse, war, famine, death, and ____.” 

Elijah slammed down a card right away, while Maverick and Ellie looked over their cards for a few seconds, Maverick took a card out of his hand and placed it down, Ellie right behind him. 

I picked up the cards they laid down and shuffled them, then flipped the stack over, “behold the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse, war, famine, death and explosions.” that got a chuckle from Maverick, I knew it was his. “behold the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse, war, famine, death and daddy issues.” That made all of us laugh. “Behold the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse, war, famine, death and shooting a rifle into the air while balls deep in a squealing hog.” We all laughed again. “Arguably the best card in the game.” I said through my laughter. “But daddy issues wins.” Elijah cheered and grabbed the black card. 

We continued like this for about 10-15 minutes when I felt my bowels growl at me. I set my cards down and stood up, “I need to go to the bathroom, keep playing without me.” I said as I started to walk away, taking my backpack with me. Just in case. I looked back and I could have sworn I saw Ellie wink at me. I smiled and snickered a little bit before walking to the bathroom. On my way there, I passed one of the chaperones, there were a surprising amount of them, by the way, like way more than there should be. I passed one who was wearing a puffer jacket, and I saw a little extra puff on his left side.  “Weird.” I said to myself as I made my way to the bathroom. 

I stopped at the one next to the auditorium where we were briefed. I walked in and took the furthest stall from the door. Don’t ask why, I’ve just done it since I was a kid. I pulled my pants down, sat down, and let nature do its thing. I was there for about 2 or 3 minutes when the lights cut out and I heard gunfire and screaming coming from outside the bathroom. 

That is the first time I have literally had the shit scared out of me. I quickly grabbed some toilet paper and wiped my ass before quickly pulling my pants up and getting up on the toilet seat. The emergency lights came on, glowing a dim red. The door opened a few seconds later and I could hear the heavy footsteps of someone wearing boots. Their steps were slow, methodical, calculated, like he’s not just walking, but looking. Searching. I thought it could be a teacher or another chaperone looking for students to evacuate. They opened the door to the first stall, there’s only two, and I heard a small hum of understanding. It was deep, like that of an older man. I looked at the latch on the door to my stall, seeing that it was locked shut. He turned to mine and tried to push it open, but the lock stopped him. I then heard a loud bang and saw the door shake, assuming he had shoulder checked it. In spite of the fact that the door is made of cheap plastic and the lock and hinge are made of thin, soft metal and cheap screws, the door didn’t break or even crack, it stayed strong. The door shook again with another loud hit, nothing. A third hit, nothing. “Fuck it.” I heard from the other side. All of the sudden I saw a shotgun slide under the door, bounce off the wall, and slide towards the toilet I was squatting on. Without even thinking, I picked up the shotgun, made sure the safety was off, and aimed at the bottom of the door, which had an obviously overweight man with his head and shoulder popping out the other side. “Fuck this.” he said as he crawled back under to the other side and got back up. I could hear him walking away from the stall door. 

I was ready to hear the bathroom door open and close, but then I heard quick footsteps and watched the stall door burst open and smack into the tile wall. I shuffled a little bit and the toilet seat clanked. His head whipped to the noise and saw me, pointing his gun at him. “You’re not gonna shoot me with that thing.” he said with confidence. 

“Try me.” 

He drew his pistol and tried to shoot me, but you can’t outdraw a gun already pulled on you. I pulled the trigger, and a flaming mass left the barrel and hit him in the upper chest and his throat. Dragons breath. He hit the wall and fell to the ground. I still remember the sound of the empty shell hitting the ground. “Holy shit” I said with a shaky voice. 

I stepped off the toilet and walked to the man's body. I leaned the shotgun against the wall, a Benelli m3 for those who care, and started taking the gear off his body. I took his battle belt off of him and put it on around my waist, tightening it to fit me. On the left side were shotgun shells and pistol mags, and on the right was an empty holster. I grabbed the pistol that was in his hand, a Glock 17L, again, for those who care, and inserted it into the holster. I took note of the walkie talkie on the back left side. I looked back at him and the rest of his gear. The bullet proof vest he was wearing was destroyed by the dragon's breath round. I could tell he had patches on his vest, but they were destroyed, say for an “-odey” on his left peck. Yeah, the plate carrier was worthless, but the ballistic helmet he was wearing wasn’t. It was a dev tac ronan helmet with full head protection. I was wearing a black baseball cap backwards with the words “come and take it” with a picture of an AR-15 on it. I took it off, placing it in my backpack, and I put on the helmet before taking a deep breath. I sighed, “you need a shower.” I said into thin air. I turned on the two lights on the sides of the helmet, grabbed my backpack and my new shotgun, and headed for the door. 

I opened the door slowly, letting the barrel of my shotgun leave the bathroom before my body did. There were bodies all over the place. I recognized a few of them. I turned left and headed towards the language hall and principles office. I heard voices coming from the adjacent hall in front of me, and I quickly ducked behind the lockers, turning off the lights on my helmet. I could hear more gunshots in the distance. How many more are there? The red lights went out and the normal lights came back on, dimly though. 

“How many kids do you think are left?” one of them asked. 

“I don’t know, shouldn’t be many, though.” the other said. 

“Copy.” 

“We should check these lanes.” 

“Yeah, we should.” the first one said. I could hear him moving in between the lanes of lockers, clearing them one by one. I scooted back a few steps, my finger on the trigger. About 30 seconds after, which felt like an hour, he got to me, holding what looked like a 9mm AR patterned submachine gun. I stood up and pulled the trigger, nothing. Not even a click. “The fuck are you doing?! Lay your weapon down, now!” he must have thought I was one of them. The gear, that’s right. “Put it down, NOW!” I changed my grip so that all 4 of my fingers were wrapped around the grip and hit the guy in the face with the stock of my shotgun. He fell to the ground, landing on his back. I racked the pump on my shotgun and fired a round into his helmet. The ballistic panels on these helmets are able to stop shotgun rounds, but the lenses aren’t. The shot bursts through them, killing him. 

I quickly looked and pointed my weapon at the other individual he was with, chambering a new round. He pointed his gun at me, what appeared to be a 1911 pistol. I’m not playing games at this point and I yelled, “put your weapon down and walk away.” 

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that.” he said, doing a press check on his pistol, making sure a round was loaded. 

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Drop your weapon and leave.” 

“Make me.” 

I didn’t hesitate, I pulled the trigger and fired another flaming mass at him. I pumped the shotgun, chambering a new round and ejecting the old one. I forgot to mention something, the Benelli m3 is a convertible shotgun, meaning it can be converted from a pump action function to a semi automatic function with a grip of a switch on the front of the hand guard. I converted it to semi auto and walked away from the two dead men. “You asked for it.” 

I passed the office doors and I went to enter to see if there was anybody hiding there, but the doors were locked, so I couldn’t get in. I turned around to start walking down the adjacent hallway when I heard a loud sound that sounded like something big and heavy being slammed into the lockers. I ran to where the sound came from, it seemed to be from the science center, and I saw one of the terrorists and another man, looked like one of the chaperones, fighting over something in between them. I couldn’t tell what it was, but the gunshot made that mystery very clear. The man dropped to the ground holding his stomach. 

I raised my shotgun and yelled, “hey asshole!” He looked up at me and I fired before he could react, dropping him to the ground. 

I slung my shotgun over my left shoulder and knelt down next to the man who got shot, it was my science teacher, Mr. Conway. He started pushing himself away, “get the hell away from me.” 

“Nonono, Mr. Conway…” I took off my helmet, “... it’s me, Michael.” 

He had a look of shock on his face, clenching his stomach, “please don't tell me you’re with them.” 

“No, just killed one and took his gear. I’m just trying to save lives in here, starting with you.” I said as I got my arm under him and helped him up, and guided him to the labs and the little work area. I hid Mr. Conway under this bar-like counter, “ok. I’m going to go and look for help, you hold out here.” 

“Ok.” he said and I took off. I grabbed my helmet off the ground and ran for the doors next to the office while putting it back on my head. I ran to the doors and pushed on the bar to open it, before slamming my face into the glass. I stumbled back and fell to the ground. I got up and pushed on the door again, hearing a strange jingle. I look down and see a heavy duty chain and military grade padlock on the door. I stepped back and fired a round out of my shotgun, it didn’t do anything. Due to a few other shootings that happened a few years ago, my school invested in some bullet proof glass doors. I turned around, reloaded my shotgun using a quadload technique, and checked the main entrance doors, padlocked. I ran to the doors near where the bathroom I was in earlier. I slowed down due to exhaustion and passed the doors to the cafeteria. 

I reached the bathrooms when I was suddenly tackled into the side into a display case, smashing the glass and the both of us falling to the ground. The man got up before I could and I pointed my shotgun at him, but he grabbed it and pulled it out of my hands and tossed it to the side. He pointed a short barreled AK at me, what looked like an AKs-74u to me, and was about to pull the trigger, but I grabbed the rifle with my left hand, his left arm with my right, pressed my foot against his chest and threw him over me. He flew a few feet, and I still had his rifle. I got a proper grip and fired a few bursts from the prone as he ran away and ducked behind a wall to the right, right next to the auditorium doors. That brief feels so long ago. 

I got up, picked up my shotgun, slinging it over my left shoulder, and slowly walked to where he was so as to not let my footsteps be heard. I quickly moved to see around the corner, my weapon aimed where he would be, but no one was there. Confused, I slowly walked forward, keeping my weapon up. I had my eyes on the door into the auditorium, then the top of the rifle was smacked by a light brown looking mass and fell to the ground. The man who tackled me was wielding a 2x2 piece of wood and started swinging it in my direction. He swung twice before I grabbed the wood and ripped it out of his grip. I raised it and swung it down on him. He blocked it with his forearms in a cross-like guard and fell to the ground. I tossed the wood to the ground. “My turn.” I said as I grabbed the back of his shirt, dragged him a few feet, and threw him into another display case, shattering it. I picked him up and pinned him to the wall. I punched him 3 times in the face. Left hook, right hook, left hook, before I drew my Glock and pressed it into his forehead. 

He looked angry, and there was something weird about him that was setting off alarm bells in my head. “DO IT!” he yelled. “DO IT YOU FUCKING PUSSY!” and that’s when it occurred to me. He was slightly shorter than me, he had long-ish blue hair tied back in a ponytail, and his voice was slightly deeper than mine with a northern accent. 

I stepped back, dropping my gun down to dangle on my side, “Elijah?” 

He got a look of horror on his face, “h-hhow do you know my name?” 

I holstered my pistol and took off my helmet, “well, it would be weird if your best friend didn’t know your name.” 

Elijah stared at me for a few seconds with a look of confusion now. “Michael?” he rubbed the right side of his face with his left hand, “you asshole.” 

I tossed the helmet off to the right, “Sorry man, I….” 

“Save it. You’re with these assholes?” 

“What? No.”   

“Dude, you’re wearing the same gear they are and you tried to kill me.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you just did to me?” 

“Well I thought you were one of them.” 

“I did too. And you’re also wearing the same gear. So what, you’re with them too?” 

“Hell no, man, I stole it so I could blend in with them.” 

“And what the hell do you think I’m doing?” 

“Man, fuck you.” he said as he tried to hit me, but I was quicker. I grabbed his arm and threw him behind me, and ran into the opposite wall of the hallway. I took the shotgun off my shoulder and pointed it at him to keep him at bay. He drew his pistol and pointed it at me. Looked like a glock as well. Standard size, maybe a 17. “Is this really how you want to end things?” 

“Stop. ok? I don’t want to do this to you, man. Don’t force my hand.” 

“Don’t force your hand? I won’t need to. You’ll do it anyway.” 

“Why would I?” 

“I’m willing to bet attacking this place was your idea.” 

I looked at him with utter shock and disbelief, “are you fucking ki……” 

“Ladies, ladies…” we heard from down the hall a bit. We both turned and pointed our weapons in that direction to see 5 armed men in a V like formation. “There’s no need to argue. Let’s just figure things out.” 

Morte:

Corspy had her head buried in specialized autopsies, the latest task for rebuilding the realm of the gods falling on me. After apologizing several times, the government had requested her after all. The twins joined my side, Hel choosing to stay behind to protect her. Wut made the choice to come, his smoke filling up the hearse. The twins coughed in the back, the hum of the window rolling down had a warm breeze sending the smoke out of the front. Chewing on my lips, the image of her bump standing out in the shape of her dress had me blushing a deep scarlet. Wut smacking the back of my head had me snapping back into reality, a look of concern meeting my apologetic smile. Typing in the address, a long huff drew from my lips. Of course the trip was four hours each way. 

“What are the seven deadly sins doing today?” He asked with a curious grin, his palms pressing together. “I never really know.” Turning the key, the engine rumbled to life. Waiting patiently for me to answer him, he viewed me as his brother most of the time. That fact alone granted him the knowledge he desired.

“They do the cleanup work. You know, picking up the bodies and gathering information.” I answered him with a crooked grin, checking up on the twins. “I believe that they also clean the bloodstains as well. Why do you ask?” Realization dawned on his face, the twins shaking their heads in disbelief.  Waving away any questions, he stewed next to me. What could I do to improve his mood?

“I bet our kids would be best friends if you had your own.” I teased with a wink, a snort and a laugh tumbled from his lips. “There we go. I can’t have you fuming.” Rolling his eyes while shaking his head, a snap of his finger had the radio crackling to life. Bringing his left foot to the seat, he leaned onto the back of the seat. Jamming out to the alternative rock hits, our singing helped the time pass by faster. The last of the forest changed into an abandoned small town, the brakes squealing as I parked behind the sign. Activating the no damage spell, we couldn’t keep requesting new hearses from the government. Climbing out, I dropped my supply bag over my shoulders. Adjusting my simple black dress shirt to end the irritating bunching, a bit of dirt landed on my dress pants. Tucking my scythe into my belt, their eager eyes watched me pull out a map of the town. Our first god, Thorns, was tucked away in one of the many fifties' style homes. Wut hovered behind me, a low growl rumbling in my throat. Too close, I thought irritably.

"Let's use the perimeter to whittle down her area and then we can get our new friend.” He suggested while glancing back at the twins playing with their lightning powers. “What if we bring back the electricity? It should draw out the bad goddess while I search the homes? I think the better option is the second one.” Huffing out an impatient sure, the twins touched the nearest poles. Lightning danced down the lines, homes flickering to life. Travy fussed over  her usual ivory suit while her sister smoothed out her hair. Shooting me a thumbs up, the ground rumbled as Wut took off to find our other target. Coming out from behind the sign, an iridescent katana whistled over my head. The regal blade quivered in the sign, the twins cursing at the same time at the seven foot goddess with pearly white waves sitting on an iridescent wave. Her pearly white corset dress hugged her hourglass figure, the slits on the side allowing her to spread her legs open. Sniffing the air, the scent of lust and envy mixed with pride.  Wonderful, she was a combination of all three sins. Summoning her katana, it flew back into her eager palms. Leaning on her blade, disappointment dimmed her eyes. 

“Damn it! I thought that I would get the real deal. Where is the lead goddess herself?” She whined in an icy tone, her eyes flitting over to my scythe. “Never mind that.  You must be what decays all. Your name is among the legends, my dear Morte.” Keeping my calm, she was merely trying to get under my skin. Her next words had me paralyzed in my spot, her maniacal giggles not making it better. 

“Stormy is on her way to your mansion since she didn’t show up. I suppose it is my turn to play second fiddle.” She gloated gleefully, pure rage simmering in my eyes. “Oh forgive me. They call me Trifecta, the Goddess of Three Sins. Ready to play!” Hopping off her wave, a flip of my scythe had my water clashing with hers. A quick rain soaked us, the twins summoning umbrellas. That reaction made sense, water and electricity didn't mix so well.

“Is that how you want to play, hunter boy?” She mused with a cruel grin, her words striking a nerve. “How many monsters did you drag into the realm of death unfairly? How many corpses did you make for your dear wife?” Shaking off the initial desire to charge in, she was using the same tactics as Corpsy. Mind tricks didn’t work on me, my unimpressed smirk infuriating her. 

“Poor baby!” I retorted sarcastically, another wave forming behind me. “My wife can handle herself so that is a dumb move. Also, her guard dogs are ready. Who is going to save you?” Confusion twisted her features, the twins popping up behind her. Lightning danced down their arms, the shock knocking her out instantly. Catching her before she hit the cracked concrete, I motioned for them to follow me into the nearest house. Carrying her downstairs, I needed more information. My faith had to lay with Hel and Eris, the two being plenty strong. Finding the basement, terror rounded the twins' eyes as I motioned for them to take her downstairs. Dragging the chair with me, one look had them sitting her in the chair. Fishing around my bag, I tossed them a power draining rope. 

“Tie her up. We are going to learn a bit more of Miss Stormy’s plot.” I spoke with an irked tone, the demons tying her up nice and proper. Tossing me her blade, the wood groaned as I sat down about the third step up. Holding out my palm, water poured from my hand. Humming while the water level crept up, Travy and Saly ran back over to me. Saly played with the hem of her pink summer dress, a Cheshire Grin curling across her lips at my request. 

“Poke the water with your blades and plenty of lightning if she refuses to answer me.” I inquired with a devilish grin, both of them nodding once. Hating this tactic, electrocuting someone in a pool of water usually worked out in my favor. Humming while waiting for her to wake, her eyes opened up groggily. Waking up real quick, her screams bounced off the walls. Motioning for a good old jolt, lightning crackled to life on their blades. Poking them into the water, her skin smoked until she stopped screaming. Panting as sweat poured down her face, her defiant grin met my cold smirk. 

“I don’t play. Sure, I could beat you within an inch of your life. Answers need to be told and your death will be quicker as a reward.” I threatened her with a chilly tone, her quivering eyes watching me cut my palm. “Decay courses through my veins. Enough of this good old blood gets into this puddle, I might need a dust pan for you.” Her cocky smile fell, the inky liquid pooling in my palm. 

“What do you need to know?” She caved incredulously, wiggling in her chair. “Please don’t kill me. I had to work under a contract to pay off my parents’ debt. You helped your wife slaughter them the other day.” Curiosity peaked in my mind, her words leaving a spot of guilt in my heart. Running my hand through my hair, the twins stopped me from rescinding the water. The rope snapped, her bones cracking as her body shifted into a shimmering wolf. Her furry head hit the roof, the twins dragging me out of the house. Sprinting away from the house, debris flipped through the air. Every time her paw hit the ground our feet would fly off the cracking concrete. Ripping my scythe from my belt, her body appearing over us had panic written all over my face. Thorny vines shot up from the concrete, a bunch of thorny bullets whistling over my head. A young god with flowing chestnut brown hair and glittering copper eyes stood at least a few inches over me, his steampunk rifle resting on his shoulders. Vines pinned the wolf to the ground, his aim hovering in the area around her head. Undoing the safety, howls of fear pierced the still air. 

“Time to say goodnight, Trifecta!” He yipped with a howl of his own, one tug on his trigger sending several thorny bullets into the center of her head. “Howdy, I am Thorn. Miss Corpsia wants me on the counsel, right? Count me in.” The color drained from my cheeks at his vines crushing her body into a plant food, his plants absorbing it all. Dusting off his pristine brown leather jacket, his finger plucked a piece of dirt off of his ripped jeans. Adjusting his jet black crown made of thorny vines, he offered me his hand. Curling my fingers around his, one firm had him respecting me. Corpsy called for help through our mental connection, my sharp order to move had us sprinting back towards the hearse. Wut waved up at me, his smoke curling into the sky as he flew back home. Hopping into the driver’s seat, Thorn took the passenger’s seat. Jamming my key into the ignition, the engine rumbled to life as the twins slammed the back door shut. Peeling onto the street, the time couldn’t pass fast enough with every passing mile. Seconds from losing my composure, we peeled into the driveway. Ripping out the key as I hopped out, the alarms were blaring in the house. Wut held me back, his head shaking. 

“We can’t charge in. The others are locked in the morgue while Stormy is looking for something.” He informed me urgently, hesitation burning in his eyes. “She does have Corpsy on a chain to get the codes. I was thinking that we could come in through the back and take back what is ours. Thorns cleared his throat behind me, the twins standing next to him with their blades to the ready. Noticing an ornate carriage with a dragon in the front, an idea had me laughing evilly.  Time to play as dirty as Stormy.

“Burn her carriage.” I spoke simply, the twins striking it with lightning. The dragon wiggled out of its harness, the clawed creature running deeper into the woods. Motioning for them to hide behind the hearse, Thorn cracked his neck. Realizing that I would need a purebred god to fend her off as I increased the wards, Thorn winked in my direction. Sending Wut ahead to scout what danger lie ahead, a defiant grin lit up my features at her stomping out with Corpsy on a chained collar. Dirt stained her white coat, a few bruises covering her cheeks. My smile faded at the sight of her limping. A vine shot from the ground, the tip destroying the chain around her neck. Thorn spun into view, his rifle bouncing off of his hand. 

“Time for a dragon lady to get her desserts.” He taunted with a cocky grin, Corpsy sinking to her knees. Sending the twins ahead to bring her back in, I needed to get my supply bag from the front seat. Creeping over to the driver’s door, bullets were colliding with her blade. Opening the door slowly, her energy behind me had chills running up my spine. Wondering where Thorn was, his busted body was limping towards the mansion. Tossing him my bag, his big palm caught it. 

“Bring the supplies to Cal, he will know what to do!” I barked huskily, feeling my voice growing raspy. Elbowing her in the gut, a spin of my scythe had the curve of my blade pressed against her chest. Fear showed in her eyes for the first time, ribbons of ash swirling around me. My hair floated up, a wave of water sloshing to life behind me. 

“Leave or get decayed like the rest of them.” I warned him bitterly, a haughty laugh exploding from her lips. Bowing with a sadistic grin, the decay mixed with the water. Maneuvering it into a ball, her hands waved around with her desperate pleas. Sending it splashing down onto her, her shrill shrieks had me covering my ears. Slamming my door shut, hot vomit wanted to visit at her skin peeling off with every claw at her cheeks. Sprinting into the dome of protection, the bushes caught my vomit. 

The dome strengthened, the wards shining bright. Her flames whisked her away, the distance between the mansion and me seemed to expand and shrink back. Swaying slightly, the realization that I went past my limits had me leaning onto the nearest tree. Sliding down, exhaustion swept me away into a rough slumber.  

Sucking in a deep breath as I jerked awake, Miles shoved a trash can over to me.  Spewing up what remained in my stomach, this power poisoning was the real deal. Corpsy looked up from her notes, her steady hand slicing up a heart. Hel stood behind her with the official report in her hand. Scribbling down the fuzzy words, another bout had me throwing up once more. Setting down her scalpel, her pair of gloves hit the bottom of the trashcan. Washing her hands at the sink, she made her way over to me. Asking Miles to get me some medicine for power poisoning, he skipped off after a peck on her cheek. Tucking a sweat soaked piece of hair behind my ear, my heart fluttered at her brushing her lips against my forehead.  Must she be so sweet to me.

“How are you holding up, Morte?” She queried adorably, her steady hands guiding my clammy palms to her bump. “They are fine. She hit my face. The strangest thing happened, a shield of sorts stopped her from hitting my bump. Perhaps, they knew to protect themselves.”  Asking Hel to put on a pair of gloves to put away the samples,she shot her a thumbs up. Plopping onto the couch, her slender hands placed my head on her lap. Feeling her bump against the back of my head had pride glowing in my eyes, her fingers playing with my hair.  Seconds from passing out again, her touch was magic itself.

“Why are you so good to me?” I sighed tiredly, watching Miles slide down the railing with his sisters in tow. Presenting her with a vial of violet liquid with the cutest bow, his sisters asked if he wanted to play. Lingering for a moment to ask if it was okay, Corpsy gave him an affirming smile. Giggling with his sisters, they were gone. Leaning down to kiss me, our wedding song flowed from her lips. A tender blush colored my cheeks, the notes sounding like bells. Finishing up, the rest of the team had gathered at the bottom of the stairs. Growing redder than a tomato, her hand covered her mouth. Gathering what remained of her composure, they pressed their palms together. Rising to her feet, her face went blank. 

“This never leaves the room, right?” She asserted firmly, all of them shrinking back at the word right. “What is that you desire?” Shifting uncomfortably, her left leg still had a limp. Hiding it in the shadows, Hel picked up on it. Coming to her side, her throat cleared. Not one person said a word as she sauntered up to Thorn with a friendly smile, his hand resting on his hips. Letting out a haughty laugh, gasps shot around the room as he placed his palm on her head. 

“I vow to serve you as a disciple of the lead goddess. Let me take care of your ankle. Doesn’t it hurt to be standing?” He questioned her honestly, a snarl twitching on her lips. “Don’t get cranky with me. I am merely worried about my master.” Growling through gritted teeth, Hel told the others to get dinner going. Rushing off to complete dinner, he lifted her up by her good ankle. Folding her arms across her chest, her patience was wearing thinner by the second. Hovering her hand over her busted ankle, a bright light blinded me. The light died down to reveal a healed ankle and clear skin, his second abilities presenting themselves. Shooting him a bitter thank you, he set her back down. 

“Who is going to help you give birth to these little ones?” He asked intensely, her breath growing shorter. Stumbling back, Hel caught her. Shouting at him to cut the shit, his smile fell. Apologizing immediately, the idea of giving birth had Corpsy burying her face into her shoulders. Placing his hands in his pockets, he turned to leave. Steadying her breath, she squirmed out of Hel’s arms. Snatching his wrists, the corner of her lips quivered. 

“Please help me! I have no idea what to do! My whole plan was to do it myself!” She blurted out with tears dribbling off of her chin. “I am sorry. Help is hard for me to ask for. Sorry about the loss of your parents. I had no choice but to kill th-” Cupping her mouth as he spun to face her, a rare stern moment reminded me of how an uncle would talk to a niece.

“Stop it before you say something you regret, my dear.” He comforted her sweetly, his big old grin returning. “My parents betrayed the one they were ordered to protect. Stormy has always been a pain in my ass, her policies winning them over an eternity ago. Call a plan of revenge to undo the sorrow she caused me. I will be the one to deliver your children and you can’t deny it. Call it a favor for helping me all those years ago.” Clutching her hands to her chest, his hand hit his side. Confusion twisted her features, Hel placing her hand on her shoulder.   

“What do you mean? I helped so many people at this point.” She laughed lightly, scarlet painting his cheeks at her polite smile. Scratching the back of her neck, a long sigh drew from her lips. Fishing around his pocket, he pulled out an item with a darker blush. Opening up his palm, a simple black marble rolled around his palm. Realizing who he was, she covered her mouth while laughing. 

“I taught you how to shoot your rifle when your parents were away. The marble was the prize. You were so cute back then. I wonder what happened.” She spoke with a wink and her natural smile, her hands crossing on the bloodied skirt of her dress. “It seems you are a sharp shooter. Keep up the good work. Speaking of work, we need to get back at it. That werewolf disease is going to solve itself!” Bouncing with a big smile, she went back to examining the samples of the heart. A fit of laughter burst from his lips, his eyes falling on me. Leaving with a wink, all seemed so perfect in this moment. Please grant us the hope and luck we need, my dear God.

For seven days straight, an eerie, blood-red bus would stop in front of my house at 3:33 AM. This seemed strange, mostly because, like the vast majority of American towns, Frost Hollow had no public transportation at all.

 Even stranger, people always got on and off the bus whenever it stopped. They all looked extremely tall and thin, and whenever I tried to focus on their faces, they seemed like no more than a flesh-colored blur.

On the morning of the seventh day, I had called the sheriff’s department to ask them about it. I had no better ideas. A woman with a thick Southern accent answered the phone.

“Morning, sheriff’s office, how can I help you?” she drawled. I hesitated, not even knowing where to start with this odd story.

“I’m not really sure who to call about this, but there’s a bus stopping in front of my house in the middle of the night, dropping people off. I live on Slaughterhouse Road, past the abandoned school. It’s… a little strange, because it only comes past 3 in the morning, and there are always people waiting to board it,” I rambled, sweating heavily. I felt like a fool. The woman went silent for a long moment. I could hear her slight breathing on the other end of the line.

“We don’t have any buses going to Slaughterhouse Road, sir,” she said insistently. “There are no buses in the town at all, other than for the public schools. At least not public transportation. Perhaps it’s a private company? Did you see any company logo or information on the side of the bus, any route numbers or anything? Sometimes the nursing homes or medical facilities might have private buses for elderly or disabled patients.” I had been trying to avoid this subject, but now, I had no choice but to reveal what I saw.

“Yes… on the side of the bus, it said Inferno Express, and the route number said 666.” I heard only breathing on the other end of the line for a couple seconds, as if the woman were waiting for the punchline. A heartbeat later, I heard her hang up on me. I stood there listening to the whine of the dial tone, thinking and wondering.

***

I knew I needed evidence of the mysterious night bus and I felt determined to get it. At 3 AM, I put on a black long-sleeved shirt, black sneakers and black jeans, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. Nervously, I grabbed my digital camera and headed outside.

The night felt beautiful, warm and humid with a soft breeze. I smelled the fresh summer air sweeping down the rolling hills, trying to calm myself down. I felt as if I were going out to commit a murder rather than just trying to capture video of a random bus in my own backyard.

I crept across the road, seeing the windows in my neighbor’s house stood dark. The street I lived on consisted mostly of woodlands with a few scattered houses. There were plenty of good hiding spots. I knew the bus stopped in front of a patch of marshy swampland a few hundred feet down the road, right on the border of my neighbor’s property. I found some large, thick bushes near the street to hide behind, making sure I was far enough away to avoid being detected while still maintaining a clear line of sight.

I checked my watch, seeing the minute hand creeping toward the penultimate moment. This was my last chance to leave. I felt a rising anxiety and uncertainty. Sweating heavily, I closed my eyes, waiting and listening. It seemed only seconds later that I heard the approaching rumble of a powerful engine echoing far down the road.

I went into action immediately, pressing the record button. I turned the camera on myself, whispering furtively.

“Hello, my name is Landon Piers,” I murmured quickly, trying to get it all out before the bus got here. “I live in Frost Hollow on Slaughterhouse Road. For the past week, a bus has been stopping in front of my house in the middle of the night, and the people on it… they don’t look right. They’re all extremely tall and thin. So I’m here, recording all of this. If something happens to me, if someone finds this…” 

I let the sentence fade off into nothing. The brakes of the bus squealed with a hellish caterwauling. I smelled exhaust and gasoline. A heartbeat later, the bus came into view, stopping only a stone’s throw away from where I crouched, hiding in the thick shadows of the swampy brush. Mosquitoes constantly buzzed past my ears, landing on my neck and arms every few seconds, but I dared not move. I kept the camera steady, trying to quiet my breathing. I felt paranoid and watched, as if the people on the bus knew exactly where I was and what I was up to.

The bus gleamed with fresh, blood-red paint. The windows looked like sideways eyeballs, long dark oval panes whose shadows contrasted heavily with the bright exterior. I checked to make sure the camera was recording, satisfied to see the small red indicator light glowing brightly. I hoped that the people on the bus wouldn’t see the slight glare of the screen or the red dot of the camera- if indeed they were people at all.

The door at the front slid open with a shrieking of rusty metal. An interior light turned on inside the bus, glowing with a fiery radiance. All of the strange, eye-shaped windows shone with the bright scarlet illumination. It danced and strobed, sending long shadows skittering down the swamp.

At the front, I saw a driver in a black suit with white buttons and high, polished boots, almost reminding me of the garb of an SS officer. He looked extremely tall, his bone-white head extending nearly to the ceiling. Two lidless, black eyes bulged from his head, like the eyes of some monstrous praying mantis. They looked nearly the size of oranges. I gasped as he turned to look in my direction. I wondered if those enormous eyes could see the tiny red dot on my camera. To my horror, my question was answered moments later.

Tall, faceless silhouettes stepped off the bus, appearing suddenly in the crimson light. I looked through the screen of the camera, zooming in to try to see any signs of eyes or mouths or noses. Yet the recording showed everything clearly enough, the smooth, featureless flesh stretching across their egg-shaped heads. Their arms stretched down nearly to their feet, their fingers long and twisted like the gnarled roots of a tree. Around their bodies, I saw orange jumpsuits, like those prisoners in the area wore. Their smooth, hairless skin rippled slightly, moving in and out as if these strange creatures breathed through it.

A few of these bizarre creatures entered the woods and swamps, diverging in different directions. One of them went towards a neighbor’s house, creeping around the side with exaggerated, eerie steps. It glanced in the windows with its eyeless face, putting its long fingers around the sides of its head as if it were trying to block out the glare of nonexistent sunlight. It was as if these abominations had only heard about human mannerisms through word of mouth. It tiptoed forward on dull black shoes that seemed twice as long as any normal human foot.

The bus stayed unmoving in front of me, its engine idling loudly, the door hanging open. I saw the driver pushing himself up off his massive chair. He slunk forwards, bowing his smooth, hairless head as he exited the threshold. Like the faceless creatures, he tiptoed forwards in an exaggerated, almost child-like manner, his bulging, black eyes glittering. He looked completely insane. He kept his arms raised, drawing the claw-like hands back and forth with every overemphasized step.

I realized with mounting horror that he appeared headed in my direction. A few moments later, I was certain of it. His head ratcheted up to face me, his protuberant eyes appearing more excited and manic than before. My heart hammered in my chest as I looked around for a way out.

The hairless, chalk-white face grinned with a psychotic gleam as the driver quickly pushed his way through the thick bushes at the border of the road, his gaze never faltering, his eyes never leaving mine. At that moment, a fear like I had never experienced before shot through my body. 

I stumbled to my feet, turning to sprint blindly into the forest. But behind me lay a fetid swamp. As soon as I took a single step, my foot sunk deeply into the earth. Brown water flooded over the moss covering the ground in a superficial layer as it collapsed under my weight.

“Shit!” I swore, my arms windmilling as I nearly fell forward into the rank water. But a hand shot out, grabbing me by the back of the neck and yanking me back. The hand felt burning hot, as if the flesh of the owner had an extreme case of fever. My digital camera slipped out of my hands, falling into the swampy ground with a wet thud.

“Get off me!” I screamed, trying to grab at the hand holding my neck with an iron grasp. I was still facing away from the bus, but I felt myself being pulled backwards. Stumbling, I tried not to fall. My foot caught on sharp rocks and roots, but the sharp fingers of the hand never loosened. It would just pull me back up to my feet, the fingers digging into my flesh with an agonizing pain. I felt small trickles of blood running down my back and the sides of my neck.

As we got back to the pavement, the driver threw me down hard in front of the bus steps. I felt skin tear along my knees and elbows, sensed the many cuts and bruises I had suffered.

I raised my head, slowly blinking my eyes. Blearily, I looked up through the open door, seeing the enormous driver’s seat sitting empty. It took me a few moments to realize what else I was seeing, but when I did, a sense of horror like a lightning strike smashed down upon me.

The steps held human bones. Arm and leg bones placed side-by-side covered the entire surface of the stairs. Many looked yellowed and cracked with age, but others seemed far fresher, the bone smoother and whiter.

The driver’s chair was even more horrifying. Hundreds of grinning human skulls composed the guts of the chair, rising up to the ceiling. Human skin covered the front and seat, pale and leathery. Countless human teeth stuck out of the skin, their roots embedded in the supple flesh. The teeth rose up to the top of the bus in crisscrossing diagonal patterns.

I glanced back at the driver, seeing his thin body looming over me. One inhumanly long arm pointed at the open door of the bus. It reminded me of the Grim Reaper showing the way forwards to the recently dead. He stood without speaking. His eyes glittered with insanity, and he had a rictus grin plastered across his smooth, white face.

“No, I don’t want to,” I pleaded. “Don’t make me get on it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should never have come out here!” The driver stayed as still as a corpse with a face like a grinning death mask. I saw movement behind him, realizing two tall, faceless humanoids had appeared in bright jumpsuits to board the bus. They came up besides the driver, their blurry heads bowing down to look at me- if indeed, they could see at all without eyes. I wasn’t sure whether these creatures were just mimicking human gestures and movements or not.

Without warning, the two humanoids scuttled forwards, their rail-thin arms reaching out to me. I tried to crawl away, but moments later, I felt them wrap my wrists. Their skin felt burning hot and feverish.

They lifted me up. I tried screaming, to call for help from my neighbors, but no help would arrive. They pushed me through the door into the fiery red light beyond.

***

In every seat, I saw tall, emaciated people with smooth faces. The skin rippled and distorted when I tried to look at their heads. The two creatures holding me forced me toward the back. There, a boy of about ten or eleven sat, looking terrified and alone.

They threw me into the seat, turning and walking away immediately after. From the front of the bus, I heard the door slowly closing with a squeal of rusted joints. The driver was back in his seat. I looked up, seeing him staring into the rearview mirror at me, grinning.

“How’d you get here?” the boy asked in a small, quavering voice. I turned to look at him in wonder. His pale skin heavily contrasted with his dark eyes and black hair. With his high cheekbones, he had a slightly vampiric look.

“I… I don’t know. I was kidnapped. What’s going on, kid? Who are these people? Where are they taking us?” I whispered, constantly looking up to see if we were being watched. Yet the faceless humanoids stayed still in their seats. Their blurry heads pointed straight ahead, totally frozen and unmoving. Only the driver showed any signs of life as he put the bus in drive and slowly pulled forward.

“They’re taking us to the Playpen. They showed it to me in my dreams,” he said. “I used to see these people looking in my window at night, people without faces who looked really tall and skinny. I told my parents about it, but they thought I was just having nightmares. But when I fell asleep, they showed me everything.”

“OK, so what is it? What’d you see?” I asked. His face went pale. He just shook his head.

“I don’t think you really want to know,” he answered. “Both of us will be there soon enough, and then you’ll see for yourself.”

***

I found out the boy’s name was Ian, and I told him mine was Landon. He said he was from the other end of Frost Hollow, and that he had been on the bus for days without food or water.

“It circles around to different towns,” Ian whispered. I looked out the window, seeing a dark desert all around us. Sand dunes swirled on both sides of an endless highway. I hadn’t noticed when the world outside had shifted from forest to desert. “Those things without faces, they come in people’s houses, get inside their head and their dreams. They make you think horrible things. They used to scream at me that I needed to kill myself, to hang myself or slit my wrists. I call them the Stalkers.”

“That’s a good name for them,” I said listlessly, still staring out the window at the shadowy, endless dunes. “We’re not getting out of this, are we, Ian? I mean alive.”

“Probably not,” he said, his voice hopeless and dead. On the horizon of the dead, dark desert, a black monolith rose high in the air. In general shape, it looked like a lighthouse, but it had no windows and its outer walls looked like polished obsidian or onyx. It appeared to rise hundreds of stories into the cloudless sky.

The bus started slowing down. The crimson lights lit up overhead. I looked forward, realizing that all the Stalkers had turned their blurry heads now to stare straight back at me and Ian. The driver, too, continuously looked at us through the rearview mirror as the bus came to a stop.

“Now arriving: the Playpen,” a robotic female voice intoned calmly through speakers built into the walls. The door at the front flew open. Except for the idling of the engine, everything had gone deathly silent.

“I think they want us to get out,” Ian whispered nervously, slowly getting to his feet. I wanted to say no, to fight back, but with dozens of faceless Stalkers staring at us in their eerie, frozen poses, my courage failed me. On unsteady legs, I got to my feet and followed Ian down the walkway.

The faces of the Stalkers turned to follow us, seeming to blur and ripple faster with excitement. I wondered what would happen once we got outside.

But, in reality, I had no inkling of the horrors ahead.

***

As I stepped down onto the inky pavement of the street, I realized that this desert felt freezing cold. Wind swept across the dunes at a tremendous speed. Clouds of dark sand obscured the black sky. The bus door stayed open, all of its passengers watching us with interest. The driver, too, never took his eyes off of me and Ian. I wanted to get far away from these creepy Stalkers.

“Let’s go,” I said over the roaring winds, putting a hand on Ian’s shoulder. He flinched away, looking small and scared. Side by side, we started walking down the road.

It wasn’t long before we found our first body. A mummified corpse lay on the side of the street, its dried flesh sticking tightly to the bone. Its eyeless sockets stared straight up. Its open mouth looked like it was frozen in a silent scream, a black hole filled with sand. Ian gave a strangled cry as he saw it, falling back.

“Hey, buddy, it’s OK,” I said. “It’s just a dead body.” He shook his head, pointing vigorously at the desiccated corpse. I followed the line of his finger, realizing something odd was happening.

The corpse had begun to shake and rattle, its splayed-out limbs jumping up and down. The ragged strands of cloth still covering its chest and legs ripped apart with a soft tearing sound. Wet, black tentacles covered in dozens of eyes rose up, snapping apart the remaining bones and flesh with ease. As the ribs jutted up like spikes, something hellish slithered out.

It rolled on its tentacles, a ball of slithering limbs covered in something slick and shiny. Though the size of a small dog, as it splayed out, its width and height doubled. It had no head or central mass, but its many eyes constantly blinked in chaotic and random patterns. The eyes looked blue and very human, bloodshot and dilated with fury.

“Get away from it!” Ian screamed with a terror I had never heard in a child’s voice before. He ripped at my arm, pulling me back. I stumbled, nearly falling. The tentacled creature slithered towards us at an incredible speed, its many eyes focused ahead, insane and furious.

As we turned, I glimpsed Stalkers watching us from the sides of the street. Their blurred faces stayed hidden in the sandstorms blowing past, but I saw their tall, inhuman silhouettes in the darkness. They reminded me of spectators watching gladiators dying in the Colosseum.

“What is it?!” I shrieked over the roaring winds. “What happens if it catches us?!” Ian was breathless with terror, sprinting ahead of me. He was a very fast kid.

“Don’t let it catch you!” he screamed back. I realized the monolith stood ahead of us only a few hundred feet. A powerful current of hope surged through my heart as I saw a massive threshold filled with white light.

But as I got to within a stone’s throw away, I felt something warm and slick close around my ankle. I screamed as I fell forward, seeing Ian disappearing through the doorway, his silhouette sharp and clear for a moment before the white light swallowed him up like a hungry mouth.

***

“Goddamn it! Help me!” I cried, crawling towards the white light. I kicked and struggled against the tentacles wrapping around my leg with a grip like squeezing metal bands. I dragged my hands through the sand as I felt myself pulled back, my head smacking hard against the pavement underneath. Stars danced in front of my vision. In the gloom and darkness, swimming against unconsciousness, I glimpsed more of the Stalkers, always watching from a far distance, their flesh seeming to ripple with excitement at the prospect of witnessing imminent death and dismemberment.

As more tentacles wrapped around my waist, I looked back. Only inches away, furious, dilated eyes stared back. The tendril shot towards my mouth as others held my head in place. I didn’t know what it would do once it got inside me, but I knew instinctively it would be something horrible.

I heard a hoarse shout, felt something smash into the creature on my chest. I felt the tentacles suddenly retract from my face and head, the eyes turning to look at whatever new threat had arrived.

A thin man with a long beard and haunted eyes stood above me, holding a homemade stone club. It looked like it had been whittled from sandstone, the end formed into a jagged point. The tentacled creature hissed like a snake as the man bashed it again. Finally, mercifully, it released me. I rolled away, coughing and sputtering.

“Run, you idiot!” the man cried, smashing the creature through one of its many eyes with the sharp point at the end. The eye exploded in a shower of black blood and vitreous fluid. The creature’s hissing escalated into a distorted wail that split and echoed like hundreds of voices screaming at once.

I didn’t need more encouragement than that. Shell-shocked and terrified, I scrambled to my feet, sprinting the last few steps towards the threshold. I looked back to see the man running behind me, the tentacled creature hissing and gurgling as it pursued.

Together, we fell through the doorway of white light. As soon as we crossed the threshold, the creature stopped, its eyes furiously blinking and glaring. A few heartbeats later, it rolled away, its silhouette disappearing into the shadowy dunes outside.

***

“Well, that Star-spawn almost got you!” the man whispered, clapping me on the shoulder. “Good thing I was coming back this way. I went out hunting.” He showed me a dead rattlesnake slung around his back. “I’m Teddy, by the way.” He reached out his hand to me, but I only stared at it. He let it drop after a moment.

“Star-spawn?” I asked. He nodded eagerly, his brown eyes gleaming. He looked extremely thin and malnourished, and the clothes he wore were frayed and falling apart. I wondered how long he had been trapped here.

“That’s what we call them, yeah,” Teddy answered. “They come off the Black God. Parts of his body sometimes fall off when he’s sleeping, little parts here and there, but they regrow into… those things. The Star-spawn. If they get their tentacle down your throat, it’s game over, buddy. A little piece of them breaks off and starts growing in your stomach, eating away at your organs and muscle until it decides to break through. It’s not a fast death, either. You might be in excruciating pain for weeks before it kills you.”

I looked around the room in the black tower where we stood. A massive chamber with gleaming obsidian walls surrounded us, extending up dozens of feet to a flat, black ceiling. There, a bright spotlight pointed down at us, illuminating the room in white light. Stairs made of the same stone spiraled up the outer perimeter of the circular room, disappearing into a gap in the ceiling.

“My friend came through here,” I asked. “Do you know where he is?” Teddy shook his head.

“What’s your friend’s name, stranger?” he asked. I laughed uncertainly, then introduced myself. “Well, he’s gotta be upstairs with the other one.”

“The other one?” I asked. Teddy nodded.

“We’re not the only refugees here, Landon,” he answered. “The bus brings more victims all the time, from all over the world. A lot of them don’t last long. The Star-spawn often get them, and if they don’t, the Stalkers hunt them down and torture them to death. I’ve seen a lot of bodies skinned alive, people who got caught by the Stalkers.”

“Well, let’s go see them,” I said. “I want to make sure he’s OK. He’s just a boy, you know.” Teddy looked at me grimly.

“He’s not the only child who’s been brought to this place,” he answered. “I’ve seen more corpses of children here than you could possibly know.”

***

I walked up the stairs with Teddy at my heels, rising through the gap in the ceiling. Here, there was an even larger chamber, rising up thousands of feet into the air. Towards the top of it, I saw something massive and black with thousands of tentacles. It stuck to the flat ceiling, slick and wet, the countless enormous eyelids on its limbs tightly closed in sleep. Drops of slime occasionally fell down from the creature’s body, landing on the floor with soft patterings.

I saw an old woman sitting next to a small fire with Ian by her side. She had a rattlesnake on a spit and was cooking it. Ian had a leather satchel of water in his hands, which he drank from thirstily before passing it back to her. I remember him saying he had been trapped on the bus for days, and I wondered if he had any food or water that whole time.

I walked forwards, waving and smiling, feeling much more hopeful seeing Ian alive and well. I glanced nervously up at the tentacled monstrosity, uncertain of whether I should be afraid or not.

“The Black God sleeps above us,” the old woman whispered. “Do not wake him.”

“We must escape before he awakes,” Teddy said furtively, putting a callused hand on my shoulder. “We are going to try to hijack the bus. It is the only way between worlds. If we stay here, we will all certainly die, including the boy. It’s only a matter of time. But if we can kill the driver…”

“What about all the Stalkers?” I asked. “It’s not just the driver.”

“Whatever is on the bus, the Black God is far worse,” the man whispered. “His sleep becomes more troubled as time passes. We see his tentacles twisting with his nightmares. Once he awakens, those nightmares will spread throughout the Playpen. Right now, we are only hunted by the Star-spawn and the Stalkers.”

“I met an old man who saw the Black God awaken,” the old woman said. “When I got here, he was still alive. Every few months, the Black God comes alive to feed, and he said that the corpses walk when that happens. The dead scream and the sky rips apart, and everything moving gets hunted down like vermin to be absorbed into the Black God’s flesh, where they live for weeks being slowly digested and driven insane by the pain.”

“So how did he survive?” I asked. She shrugged.

“He said he hid in the bus. The driver gets out sometimes to hunt, and he snuck in. The Black God missed him, but he was the only one.”

***

I found out the old woman’s name was Jacquie. Like Teddy, she wanted to get out of the Playpen immediately.

“The Stalkers and Star-spawn won’t come in here,” she said. “They’re afraid of the Black God.”

“And rightly so,” Teddy muttered. “It’s suicidal to be in here. That thing could wake up at any minute. And we’ll be the first ones sucked into Hell if it does. I’ve heard the screams of people being eaten by the Black God’s flesh, and it sounds like they’re being burned alive. They went on for weeks, months…”

“Stop it,” Jacquie insisted. “You’re scaring the boy.” I looked over at Ian, seeing she was right. He looked ready to pass out, his skin turning chalk-white. Jacquie pulled the roasted rattlesnake off the spit, ripping it apart with her hands and handing pieces of it to Ian and Teddy. She looked at me, her wrinkled face cocked. “Do you want a piece?” I shook my head, feeling slightly nauseous just looking at the dead, burnt snake. Its head was still attached to the body, its open eyes blackened and staring.

“So what’s the plan here?” I asked. “How do we get back?” Teddy looked at me, chewing a mouthful of rattlesnake. He lifted his homemade sandstone club, then nodded past Jacquie. I followed his line of sight, seeing a few more primitive truncheons. “That’s it? We’re going to bludgeon the driver and all the Stalkers and steal the bus?” Teddy nodded.

“You have a better idea?” he answered. In truth, I did not.

***

The four of us went back out of the stone monolith that held the Black God, seeing the endless paved road disappearing into the horizon. Armed with the primitive stone truncheons, we walked side by side, constantly scanning the darkness for enemies.

“There are bodies everywhere,” Teddy said over the roar of the wind. “Most of them have Star-spawn hiding inside.” I wondered how often the bus came this way, but at that moment, chaos broke out.

I saw the Star-spawn with one punctured eye rolling furiously down the pavement. I pointed, screaming, when something ran into me from the side. I fell hard into Ian, knocking both of us down. We went sprawling in the sand as two Stalkers stood overhead, their insane faces blurring and jerking from side to side as arms as long as a human twisted toward me. Sharp fingers jabbed down at my face, and in a blinding moment of absolute panic and agony, I felt them puncture my left eye.

I screamed, jerking back as they ripped and crumpled my eye. I felt it explode with a powerful jet of blood and vitreous fluid. My vision went white with agony.

At that moment, I saw headlights through the haze of pain and terror. In my shell-shocked state, I barely realized it was the bus speeding down the road. The small Star-spawn hissed with animal hunger before a tire ran over it, causing black blood to explode from it like a water balloon filled with sludge.

Teddy came behind the Stalker, bringing his heavy stone club down on the back of its head. I heard a wet crack of bone as it fell limply on top of me, its fingers still clutching my dismembered eye. I realized the optic nerve and blood vessels were still attached, running along a few inches from the mutilated socket. I pushed myself to my feet with a rush of adrenaline, feeling the vessels rip apart like snapping string. I nearly passed out, but Ian and Teddy came to my sides, each putting a steadying hand around my back.

The bus stopped in front of us, the door shrieking open. As the first of the Stalkers descended the step, I heard a primal screaming from behind us, from the direction of the monolith. I looked back in terror, seeing the top of it explode in a shower of volcanic stone as massive tentacles hundreds of feet long reached blindly out. The Black God pulled itself up, like a colossus sitting atop the world. Its many gigantic eyes glared down balefully.

“It’s starting!” Teddy screamed. “We need to get on that bus now!” Staggering, I watched the three of them run forwards. I followed behind, feeling weak and sick. With my one remaining eye, I saw the driver descending the stairs.

His black eyes bulged as he stared up at the sky. I realized with horror that the clouds had started to rain fire. The flickering flames lit up the world as the Black God roared with a primal scream. Teddy ran forward, raising the club to strike at the driver. Casually, almost lazily, the driver raised one hand, grabbing Teddy by the neck and lifting him off the ground. His sharp fingers stabbed into the skin and flesh, digging deeply as Teddy gurgled. He weakly brought the club down as the driver threw his broken body to the side of the road. Teddy twitched, suffocating on his own blood and seizing. I watched his eyes roll back in his head.

Jacquie and Ian ran at the driver together, closing in on him from both sides. Ian struck at the long, emaciated leg under the black suit. The driver slashed at Jacquie’s face as bone cracked under the weight of Ian’s blow. The driver buckled as his leg gave way, his furious, lidless eyes ratcheting towards Ian. As he fell, he reached forward, dragging the boy down with him. I saw Jacquie on the ground next to them with deep stab wounds eating through her eyes and into her brain. Blood spurted from her still body.

I stumbled forward, raising the club and bringing it down on the back of the driver’s head. His head collapsed as he clawed and stabbed at Ian’s face and neck, opening up his throat in an instant. I heard gurgling and weak cries as I jumped onto the bus.

Sickened by all the blood and death, I ran up the steps, never looking back.

***

Bleeding heavily, my vision turning white with pain, I started the bus. The engine turned on immediately, rumbling and powerful. I had never heard such a sweet sound in all my life.

I began driving ahead, down the freezing dark streets of the Playpen. I felt my hands sticking to the steering wheel, my skin covered in gore and clotted blood. I glanced in the rearview mirror and had to repress an urge to scream.

Every seat was filled with Stalkers, their blurring faces looking straight ahead. Their long, mannequin-like bodies twisted and jerked. Like one single hive mind, they rose.

Up ahead, the dark street disappeared into a spiraling vortex the color of fresh blood. I accelerated, pushing the bus as fast as it would go. Afraid to look back, to see what the Stalkers would do, I drove through the vortex, pushing the bus up to 70 and 80 miles an hour.

The blinding torrents of crimson light dissolved to reveal my street, Slaughterhouse Road. I slammed on the brakes, glancing back to see a Stalker only inches behind me, its twisted fingers reaching out to grab me. Their heads jerked from side to side, blurring and jumping. Their arms seemed to vibrate with seizure-like movements. I heard a cry like one voice, a sound of anticipation and bloodlust.

I opened the door and fell out of the bus as sharp fingers clawed at my head and scalp. Fresh blood ran down my face as I crawled across the pavement, screaming and crying. Thankfully, one of my neighbors heard me and came out, shining a flashlight in my bloody, mutilated face.

Soon after, I lost consciousness. I remember waking up in the hospital, but my nightmares were always of Playpen and the Black God. And I think they always will be.

“Ladies, ladies…” we heard from down the hall a bit. We both turned and pointed our weapons in that direction to see 5 armed men in a V like formation. “There’s no need to argue. Let’s just figure things out.” 

“Yeah, and how’s that gonna work, huh?” Elijah asked the lead man, “with a revolver with one bullet in it? A little Russian Roulette?” 

“Not quite what I had in mind.” 

“What did you have in mind, then?” I asked. 

“Something that ended with both of you dead.” 

Elijah turned his head towards me, “so you’re not with them?” 

I looked back slightly, “I told you.” 

“Look boys, I don’t want to end this with blood…” 

“Then leave!” Elijah and I both growled at them. 

“Can’t do that.” 

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Elijah asked me. 

“It’s a bad idea, but I don’t have a better one. On my que.” 

“Don’t try anything stupid.” 

“Now.” I said and we both opened fire while moving to cover. I watched as 2 of them fell to the ground. I fired 4 rounds before taking cover. “You hurt?” I asked as bullets flew past us. 

“No. Some Friday night, huh?” 

“Not what I had in mind.” I looked at the doors near our position, chained and locked. “Damn it. Over here’s locked up too.” I said as I dropped my shotgun into a position where I could quad load it. 

“Yeah, I checked everywhere. It’s all locked up. There’s no way out.” he said as I grabbed 4 shells off my belt and loaded them into my gun. “Where’d you learn that?” 

“My dad and youtube.” 

“Oh.” 

The gunfire stopped. “Alright boys, you made your point. Come on out, I’d like to talk.” 

I drew my handgun, “yeah, I’d like to talk too. But I’d like to talk with bullets.” and I blindly fired 7 rounds around the corner. 

“You missed.” one of them yelled. 

I turned to Elijah and I whispered, “ is it just me, or do all of these guys sound a lot older than us?” 

“Like they’re all old enough to be our dads? Yeah, I noticed. The guy I got my gear off of looked like he was in his late 40s.”

“Mine looked like early 50s.” 

“Y’all deliberating over there?” one of them yelled at us. 

“We’re going over our options. A little patience would be nice.” 

“I have an idea.” Elijah said. 

“And that is?” 

He motioned for me to follow him. I did, and he led me to the doors leading into the auditorium. “Ok, aren’t there doors behind the stage for the actors to enter from?” 

“Yeah. let me guess, you want to use said doors to get behind and unload some full auto hatred upon them.” 

“Yes.” 

“Ok. there’s a set on the right side of the stage, but don’t use those, it’s too close to their position. There’s another way on the left side which is used for equipment and leads to a hallway behind the stage. Use that one. Just open the doors slowly, and they won’t hear you coming.” 

“Ok.” Elijah said we gave each other a fist bump. 

He walked down the aisle and I stopped him, “hey…” he looked back at me, “one more thing, their helmets are pistol rated, and you have a rifle. I’ll let you do the math.” he nodded his head and went the rest of the way down the aisle. 

I returned to our original spot and took my hat out of my backpack, placing it on my head backwards. 

“Hey boys, you willing to play nice now?” I heard one of them yell. 

“I don’t know, are you?” I yelled back as I put my backpack back on. 

“Eh, no promises.” 

“Same here.” 

“How about your friend?” 

“He doesn’t like strangers.” 

“Why do I get the feeling there’s an underlying tone of bullshit in there?” another one said. 

“Maybe because there is.” the first guy said, “is that true?” he asked me. 

“Wow. I'm honestly surprised you were smart enough to figure it out.” 

“Are you implying we’re stupid, son?” 

“First off, I’m not your son. Second, no, I’m saying that you are.” 

“We are not dumb.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“No, we’re not.” 

“If you weren’t, then you wouldn’t have put yourselves in that position.” 

“What?” 

“You see, us students have a massive advantage. We walk these halls on a daily basis, we know the layout of this school like the back of our own hands, you don’t, zt best you had blueprints of the layout, and you guys have just placed yourselves in between a rock and a hard place.” 

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

Before I could answer, I could hear full auto gunfire coming from down the hallway and obscenities coming from the men. I peaked out from the corner to see 2 of the 3 men fall as I fired a shot at the last man, dropping him to the ground. He writhed in pain and I fired another round to put him out of his misery. “You good?” Elijah yelled from down the hall. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” I yelled back before feeling something press into the back of my head. It was hard, cold, but small in diameter. 

“Don’t move. You try anything, and I’ll fucking shoot you. Do you understand?” I nod my head and he grabbed my left shoulder, “good, now back up slowly with me.” I didn’t have much of a choice so I did as he said, and he led me to the far right aisle of the auditorium. He turned me around and pressed my back against the wall, pointing his gun in my face, a Beretta style handgun. “Drop your shotgun.” I did it without question. 

“So what’s your plan here, pal?” 

“I’m not your fucking pal!” 

“Woah, relax, I’m just trying to not catch a 9mil to the face.” 

“Do you wanna die?” 

“See my previous answer.” He then hits me with his pistol across my face, hitting my left cheek, then swipes back, clipping my right temple. “OW! Ok, the first one I understand. The second one was uncalled for.” 

He pressed his Beretta into my stomach, “I’ll fucking kill you.” 

“Then do me a small favor,” I said as I grabbed the barrel of the pistol and moved it from my stomach to my forehead, “make it clean.” 

“Do you re-” before he could finish I pushed the barrel away from me, hit the back of his hand with my fist, making him let go of the pistol. I shoved him against the wall and pressed the barrel of his gun into his throat. 

“Didn’t expect that one, did ya?” 

“You’re good, I’ll give you that.” 

“Take it off.” 

“What?” 

“Your helmet, take it off.” he didn’t move an inch, I cocked the hammer, “do it.” I said sternly. He did so without speaking. I recognized him. He was my friend, Emilio. I was shocked, then I was furious. “Mother fucker.” I said and then I whipped him in the side of the head hard enough to make him fall to the ground to the left. He got up holding his head and I hit him again, making him fall again. I got on top of him and started beating him over and over with his gun until he was bloody and bruised. I lost track of how many times I hit him, but I know it was more than 10. When I stopped, he was crying, a black eye was forming and he was bleeding out of his nose and several cuts on his face. 

“Why?” he asked through his sobs. 

“Because you were my friend, asshole.” I said as I pointed the pistol in his face and pulled the trigger. The bullet fired and entered his head, killing him. I pulled the trigger again, and again, and again, and I kept shooting until the slide of the pistol locked to the rear, indicating that the magazine was out of ammunition. 

I sat there for a few seconds, breathing heavily and trying to calm it down. “You good?” I looked up to see Elijah standing on the stage with a concerned look on his face. 

“Not really.” I said as I threw the pistol off to the side. 

Elijah looked as to who it was on the ground, “Emilio?” 

“Yeah. man, all this shit, it’s…” 

“Over here. Shots came from this direction." We heard come from the left side of the stage. 4 men emerge from the left side and aim their weapons at us, and without hesitation, Elijah aimed his AK at them and opened fire. I drew my Glock and started firing at them. I fired about 6 rounds before stopping to pick up my shotgun that I dropped. Two of the men dropped dead, and the other two ran away, clutching their arms with blood dripping down from their hands, groaning in pain. I watched as Elijah dropped the mag out of his AK and loaded a new one in, racking the bolt to chamber a round. “You good?” he yelled to me. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Imma check the hallway.” 

“Ok. God, these guys don’t stop coming. They’re like a plague.” 

“Yeah, or a clingy girlfriend.” 

“That too.” 

“You would know all about that.” 

“The hell’s that supposed to mean-” he said before he was shot and fell to the ground. I think it came from the left side of the stage and I fired a shot from my shotgun at that side, not sure if I hit anything or not. I then heard a gunshot from my right and a piece of the wall broke off and hit me. I turn my head to see three men with their weapons pointed at me. I quickly pointed my shotgun at them and fired one shot before running up the stairs. I watched out of the corner of my eye one of them drop to the ground. 

I reached the top of the stairs, which is there for the second floor balcony for the theater, but also has access to one of the second floor hallways. I immediately turned to the left and ran down the hall. I passed the music room and ran into the 8th grade core, where I found two dead bodies wearing body armor. I ran to them, seeing if I could find anything useful, and I found something disturbing. They were carrying thermite grenades. “The fuck are they doing with grenades?” I asked myself as I heard footsteps coming from down the hall. I ran up the stairs to the second floor of the core, third floor of the building, and hid, two grenades still in my left hand. I heard footsteps enter the core. 

“Hello? You here kid? Come on out and we won’t hurt you.” one of them yelled. I didn’t answer. I clipped one of the grenades to my belt and held the other in my left hand. After all, I was left-handed. “Come on, we’ll spare you. We’ll forgive what you and your friends have done.” Friends? As in more than one? I removed the safety clip off the grenade and pulled the pin. “Last chance, we’ll let you live.” 

I walked to the railing over the staircase and held the grenade over it, “yeah I call bullshit.” and I dropped the grenade. 

It clanked on the bottom step and landed on the carpet below. “Oh shit.” one of them yelled as they grabbed it and threw it back up. It got about halfway to me when it detonated. The blast threw me into the lockers on the wall. I got up slowly with my ears ringing like you just got hit with a flashbang in Call of Duty. I limped into the area where the classrooms are and fell against the wall next to the doors. 

I sat there for a few minutes with my shotgun in my lap, leaning my head against the wall with my closed. What I’ve been doing for the past hour started to sink in, my breathing quickened and I started to have a panic attack. I guess all the action kept my mind off it. I tried to calm my breathing down, but nothing was working. I lifted the shotgun from my lap and rested the buttstock on the ground, pressing the top of the barrel into my forehead. I tried to slow my breathing again and to calm down, but failed again. I pounded my head with the shotgun a few times and I screamed. The scream only lasted about 3 seconds, but it helped. For a few moments, I had peace. But that peace was taken away from me as I heard the pounding of lockers behind me. 

“That was really stupid of you.” I quickly got up to a standing position and shouldered my shotgun, taking a step back so my muzzle wasn’t sticking out, “you kids are dumb as f- ow!” He was interrupted when he entered the classroom area and I barrel tapped him in the face. He stepped back, holding his face. I didn’t give any time to react and I swung my shotgun like a bat and hit him in the head with it, making him fall to the right. knocking his helmet off his head. It bounced and rolled a good 20 feet away. He got up and I hit him in the face again, but with the butt of the shotgun this time. He fell to the ground again and I stepped on his chest to prevent him from getting up. “No wait-”he yelled before I fired a round into his face. 

I stood there, not moving a muscle for a few moments, my breath heavy, all the emotions coming back in one big flood. I kept myself composed, I dropped my shotgun down in my right hand upside down, the feed tray facing me. I shakely grabbed a set of 4 shells off my belt, and loaded them into the gun. My hands were shaking like crazy at this point, I transferred the shotgun into my left hand and looked at my right. My right hand was shaking really badly. I closed my hand into a fist, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. My hand stopped shaking and my breathing had steadied. I opened my hand and wiggled my fingers a little, felt just fine. I felt hot so I stripped myself of the black overshirt and stuffed it in my backpack. My upper left arm hurt and I went to inspect it, noticing a tear in the sleeve and blood running down my arm. “Damnit, I loved this shirt.” I said as I grabbed a paper towel from the bathroom and wiped the blood off my arm, the bleeding itself seemed to have stopped. 

I went back down the stairs to the second floor, the first floor of the 8th grade core, and looked at the carnage of what I had caused. There were only 3 bodies that were still intact, but the rest were eviscerated. I searched the bodies that were still in one piece, for the most part, and found only one glock mag and 4 shotgun shells. I added them to my belt and stood up with my knees popping like rice krispies. I groaned a little when I heard a crackle come from my hip, “Rhodey, come in.” I heard from the walkie talkie on my belt. I grabbed the walkie and pulled it off as the voice spoke again, “Rhodey, multiple units are not responding, what is your status?...... Rhodey, please respond.” 

I held the walkie to my mouth, held the button down, and spoke, “current status, Rhodey sucks at his job.” 

“Haha, who the hell is this?” 

“The boogie man.” 

“You think you’re really funny, don’t ya?” he said with anger in his voice. 

“I don’t think I am, I know I am. Now the real question is, who the hell are you?” 

“You’re the boogie man, and I’m the grim reaper.” 

“Well then, mr. reaper, let me tell you what’s up. I don’t know who you are, and frankly, I don’t care. But just know, I’ve already killed a number of your men, and I’m gonna kill the rest. Every. Last. one of them.” I said as I dropped the radio on the ground and stomped on it, crushing and destroying it. 

I stepped out of the 8th grade core and turned left with my shotgun in my left hand in a trail carry. A man walked out from the adjacent hallway as we passed the 6th grade core. I drew my handgun and did a press check to make sure there was a round in the chamber. There was. “Yo, where’s-” started to say before I fired a round into his throat. He dropped to the ground holding his throat, at which I pressed the barrel of my pistol under his chin and fired. His head kicked back a little and I saw a small bulge come out through the top of the helmet. 

I holstered my pistol and walked further down the hall, passing the 6th grade core. I swung my shotgun around and grabbed the grip, holding it in a two handed carry with the muzzle forward. Using my left hand thumb, I pull back the bolt about half way and see the rim of a shotgun shell. I flip the shotgun over and check the mag tube, seeing the back of a shell. If my math is correct, there should be 7 rounds in the tube, and I think it holds 8, plus one in the chamber, so 9 total. I left the hallway and entered this open area with a little half wall on the right side with a railing on top and a staircase . 

I walked along the left side when one of them walked out from the adjacent hallway. I lifted my shotgun and fired 2 shots, he dropped. Another one came out of the art room to my right, I turned and fired 2 rounds at him, he fell against the wall and died. 2 more came up the stairs. I turned again and fired 4 more rounds at them, both falling down in a ball of fire. I looked at the other two, their flames were dying down. I hadn’t noticed until now that the rounds I’m shooting leave the target on fire for a period of time. I heard a bullet wizz past my head and I dropped to the ground, taking cover behind the wall. I popped up to fire a round, but the trigger was dead. I dropped back down and looked at my shotgun to see what was wrong with it, the bolt was locked to the rear, I ran the gun dry. I drew my glock and blind fired 2 rounds and heard a faint, “oh shit.” I came out of cover but kept my gun pointed in that direction. I stood there for about 7 seconds but it felt like an hour before he popped up from his cover and I fired once into his head. 

I holstered my pistol and went to fix my empty shotgun problem. I grabbed a shell off the shell carrier which was on the left side of the action of the gun, and inserted it into the chamber, pressing the release button with my left hand from under the action. I dropped the gun down to my waist upside down and quad loaded the gun twice. I looked at the shell holders on my belt, I only had 1 set of 4 left on my belt. I slung the shotgun over my shoulder and drew my pistol once more and headed down the hall, past the art and science rooms and towards the language arts department. It was at that point that I heard a thud and a loud grunt coming from that department. I walked to the threshold and saw a student on the ground almost in the fetal position and one of the shooters kicking him in the stomach. He stopped and squatted down towards him and held him by the throat. I aimed my pistol at him and gave a signal whistle. He perked his head up and I fired a shot and hit him in the throat. He grabbed at his throat and crawled backwards a little bit, gurgling on his own blood. I stepped on his chest and fired another round into his head. I heard a cough come from the student he was assaulting…

“Thank you.” he said to me. 

I holstered my gun, “anyti-” I said as I turned around and cut myself off when I saw who it was. It was Jake Bryer, my bully. The kid terrorized me since we got to this school in the 6th grade. He beat me up several times, started rumors about me, called me names and insulted me countless times. Frankly, I’m fed up with it. We realized who the other was at the same time and we both started laughing. He tried to get up but I kicked him in the stomach and dropped him back down. I looked down at him and chuckled, “I honestly didn’t think you’d come to this, I thought you’d find it lame.” 

“You’re with these guys?” 

“No, I’m fighting back against these assholes, and I’m not the only one. I thought you would too, clearly I was wrong.” 

“Don’t make me kick your ass again.” 

“Shut up, bitch.” 

“Don’t call me a bitch.” he said as he tried to get up again, but I swept his feet out from under him. 

“Well don’t act like one then, Jake.” I drew my handgun and squatted down to him. “I always found it funny how you call me a bitch all the time and yet it’s a problem when I call you one. Hypocrites always piss me off-” 

“You mo-” he tried to say something, but I punched him in the face to shut him up. 

“Shut the fuck up.” I said as he grabbed his nose, which started to bleed, “It’s funny when you think about it.” 

“What’s funny?” 

“No one will know it was me. I’ll just blend in with the other terrorists.” I pressed my pistol into his forehead. “Who’s the bitch now?” and pulled the trigger. 

I got up and went to search the terrorist I had killed a minute ago. He didn’t have any shotgun shells on him, but he did have a few glock mags which I took. I also pulled a few other magazines out that didn’t look like glock mags. They weren’t. The cartridges in the mags were not 9mm, they were .357 magnum. I searched him a little more and found on the back of his belt a Desert Eagle L5. I took the gun and stuffed it into the back of my waistband and stuffed the mags into my back pocket. 

I stood up, contemplating on what to do next when I heard a soft yelp come from the floor above me. I opened the door to the stairwell slowly so as to not create a lot of noise and went up the stairs quickly while remaining light in my feet. 

I reached the door to the third floor and saw through the glass one of those men throw a girl to the ground. He kneels down, grabs her, and drags her back into the classroom. I opened the door slowly and stepped through, pushing the lock bar and letting the door close softly, and releasing the bar slowly so as to not make any noise. 

I crept over to the room she was dragged into as I heard her exclaim, ‘let go of me, you chicken shit.” 

“You really think there’s an escape for you?” the man said. 

“Let go of her!” a second girl said. I recognized both girl’s voices. 

“Please don’t.” the first girl said as I peaked out and saw her on the ground on her back with him on top of her with his hand around her throat. It was my friend Annie. 

I didn’t hesitate. I got up and kicked him in the face. He recoiled up and held his face, and I punched him in the side of the head, making him fall to the left. I grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged him a few feet away. I dropped him in front of the teachers desk and fired two shots into the back of his head. Immediately after, I heard a gunshot and felt a pain in my upper left arm. I yelped and dropped to the ground. I stopped moving and layed completely still. 

“Don’t you fucking move.” the other man said. 

“O-okay.” I heard the other girl say. Gabby? 

The man walked over to me, I could hear Annie wince a little, and he kicked me in the stomach. Not enough to make it hurt, but enough to move me and see if I was dead. He did it two more times when he saw I didn’t move. I still didn’t move after those two. “Wow…” I heard him say. 

“Mikey?” I heard Annie say. 

I heard the man take the mag out of his pistol and put it back in, “those fmj’s hit a lot harder than I thought they did.” 

I opened my eyes, his back was to me. I raised my pistol up and fired into the back of his head, hearing the two girls yelp. It appears that my aim was a little off as he clenched the back of his neck and fell. I got up and kinda stumbled to him as he rolled over to look at me. I stepped on his chest, “not hard enough” and I shot him in the head. I holstered my weapon and laid a hand down for Annie to take. She took it and I helped her back to her feet, and she then grappled me in a hug, of which I returned. 

“Thank you.” she said. 

“Just doing the right thing. You two okay?” 

“Yeah.” the both of them say. 

“Okay, good.” 

“Forgive me for asking, but what the hell are you doing?” Gabby asked me. 

“Showing these assholes they’re messing with the wrong people. I ain’t the only one either, Elijah’s fighting back as well. Wouldn’t shock me if there are a few others as well.” 

“Are we gonna have to fight back, too?” Annie asked. 

“Look, I’m not saying you need to go hunting for these degenerates, but what I am saying is that in case more of them show up, open up a can of whoopass.” 

“How?” 

I looked back at the two dead terrorists, then back at the girls, then took their guns and handed them to the two of them. I went back and took the mags and gave them to the girls. “Do you know how to use these?” I asked. 

“Yeah.” Annie said. 

“No.” Gabby said. 

“Can you teach her?” I asked Annie. 

“Yeah, no problem.” she said. 

“Okay. good luck to the both of you.” and I left the room, but not before taking a med kit off of one of the dead men. I stopped right outside the room and checked my arm. I couldn’t see an exit wound, so the bullet was still in my arm. I grabbed a gauze pad and gauze wrap and wrapped my arm up. I attached the med kit to the back right side of my belt and went left down the hall. There was no activity from what I could see. I checked the staircase before heading down. Clear. I went down the first half slowly, keeping my shotgun on any open area I can see. I reach the halfway point and see nobody. I ran down the second half and entered the second floor hall. I got two steps in and was hit in the face by something, I couldn't tell what. My vision went blurry and my ears started to ring. 

Before I could react, my shotgun was ripped out of my hands. I drew my handgun, but that was knocked out of my hand and sent flying to the right. Two men grabbed me by the arms and lifted me to my knees, stripping me of my backpack. “You’re good, kid. Really good.” the lead man said as the other two returned to the front. There were five of them, total. 

“Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me yet, cuz your rain of terror stops here.” he drew his pistol and aimed it at my head, “any last words?” 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I opened them while breathing out and I saw a slight amount of movement coming from the left side. I looked and through the legs of the other men, I could see someone hiding behind the corner, I smiled when I saw that. I looked to the other side and I could see someone back there too. I started cackling. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“This isn’t my execution, this is yours.” I said through my laughter. The one on the left fired and I dropped to my side and covered my head. The four on the sides dropped and I drew the L5, firing into his head. The man on the left came out from cover and I aimed his way before lowering it, it was Elijah. “Sorry.” 

“Is that how you say ‘thank you?’” he said. 

“Sorry, can’t be too sure.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Who’s the other guy?” I asked while getting up with a small grunt. 

“Come on out, meal team six.” 

The other man stepped out, “alright, listen here, you little shit.” 

“Maverick.” I said while holstering my L5, “why am I not surprised?” I asked, bending down to pick up my Glock. 

“Because you know I kick ass.” He said. Maverick was holding a short barreled FAL with a suppressor on it. The pistol on his leg seemed to be a glock of some sort, couldn’t tell which one. He grabbed my shotgun off the ground and handed it to me grip first as I was holstering my Glock. “I believe this is yours.” 

“It is, thank you.” I grab it and sling it over my left shoulder. 

We stood there for a solid 10 seconds in complete silence. “So… what do we do now?” Elijah asked. 

“Well I don’t know about y’all.” I heard from behind Maverick, “but we have plans.” as a man comes out and puts a gun to Mavericks head. At the same time, I feel the barrel of one press up against the back of my neck. Someone else came out from the language arts center and pressed a pistol to Elijah's head. “Y’all have nowhere to go.” I chuckled a little at this, “you think this is funny?!” 

“No matter how many times people say it, they’re always wrong.” I glanced at Maverick and he winked at me. “There’s always somewhere to go.” and the two of us drew our pistols and shot the men behind us. Maverick fired once over his shoulder while I went twice under my armpit. Mine dropped to the ground and I could hear the thud of Mavericks hitting the ground. 

We turned to the one lone gunman who grabbed Elijah across his torso, “I’ll kill em.” Maverick and I looked at each other, then looked back at the man and fired. The man dropped, taking Elijah down with him. We both lay down a hand for Elijah to take, of which he took both and we helped him back to his feet. 

“You good?” I asked. 

“Yeah.” he said. “My ears are ringing. God, I’m getting my ass handed to me today.” 

“Same.” I said back. 

Elijah looked at my arm, “shit, what happened to you?” 

“Got shot. What about you, Maverick?” 

“I’m good, a little exhausted, but I’m good.” 

“Lucky.” Elijah and I said at the same time. 

“Hey, it ain’t my fault I’m better at this than y’all are.” 

“Boy, I will thump you in your middle tooth.” I said to Maverick. 

Maverick looked down and then back up at me, “you may wanna deal with your empty pistol first.” 

I looked down and the slide of my glock was locked to the rear. I chuckled a little. I dropped the mag out, loaded in a new one, and hit the slide release, chambering a round. I holstered my pistol. 

“So what do we do now?” Maverick asked. 

I looked at the bodies. “I’m low on shotgun shells. How about you guys?” 

“Doing fine on rifle ammo, not so good on pistol.” Maverick said. 

“Same.” Elijah said. 

“So search these bodies for anything you can use.” I said and we all started searching. I found 6 shotgun shells and added them to my belt. I removed the guy's helmet, “hey Ash…” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s like before, older guy, mid 50s.” 

The other guys removed the helmets of the guys they were searching, “I’d say late 50’s.” Maverick said. 

“I’d say early to mid for mine.” Elijah said. 

“I don’t get it,” Maverick says, “why are a bunch of old men here trying to kill us when we’re supposed to be having fun?” 

“I don’t know.” I said as I pulled a glock mag and slid it into my mag carrier. “If you find any grenades, take them.” 

Maverick looked at the vest of one of the shooters. “Bravo” he read out loud. 

“What?” 

Maverick gestured to the vest, “it says ‘Bravo’”

I got a confused look on my face. “Hey guys, check this out.” Elijah says. Maverick gets up and walks to him, and Elijah hands him a sheet of paper, still creased from the folds. 

“Oh shit.” Maverick said. 

“What?” I asked. Maverick handed me the sheet. I looked at it. “Oh shit.” It was a list, names of the people who were here tonight, including Principal Peterson. Several of the names were crossed out. “It’s a fucking hit list.” 

“Yeah.” Elijah said. 

“Smith, this is Alpha squad, what’s your status? We heard gunfire.” we heard coming from a walkie talkie on one of the bodies. I grabbed it and held it to my mouth. “Smith?” 

“We got ambushed.” I looked at another one of the men, his vest said ‘Sanchez’, “it’s just myself and Sanchez left.” 

“Did you get any of them?” 

“No. There were 3 of them, and we wounded 2, but they got away.” 

“Shit. Alright, we’re making our way to you. Where are you, exactly?” 

“Language arts hall on the second floor.” 

“Ok. we’re next to the Theatre. Be there in 3 minutes or less. Over and out.” 

“Copy that, over and out.” and the radio went silent. 

“So what do we do?” Maverick asked. 

I grabbed a thermite grenade off one of the bodies. “Did y’all grab any grenades off your bodies?” 

“Yeah, 2 of ‘em.” Elijah said. 

“Same.” 

“Ok.” I said. 

“What’s the plan?” Maverick asked. 

I hold up a grenade, “we’re gonna send them to hell in a handbasket.” 

2 minutes later

“Damn, they did a number on these guys.” We heard one of them say in the distance. Maverick and I were down the hall, hiding in opposing classrooms. I was on the left, and he was on the right. Elijah hid up the stairs I came down earlier. We all had earbuds in and were in a group call. 

“Yeah.” another said. 

“Uhh…. sir?” 

“What?” 

“It was Smith on the radio, right? And he said he was with Sanchez?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Well, Smith is right here.” He said to his squad leader. 

“And Sanchez is right here.” another said. 

I twisted and pulled the pin on my grenade and Maverick did the same. “Get ready.” I said in a sharp whisper. 

“Then who the hell were we speaking to?” one of them asked. 

“Now.” I said. Maverick and I threw our grenades down the hall, and Elijah had thrown his from around the corner before bolting up the stairs. All they heard was the metallic tings of the metal safety spoons coming off three grenades. 

“OH SHI-” is all we heard before we heard the massive boom of the combined explosion of two fragmentation grenades and a thermite grenade. My ears were ringing, I didn’t think about that part until it was too late. 

When the smoke cleared, the three of us emerged from our hiding spots and went to the scene. There was a hole in the floor, about 12 feet in diameter and about 8 inches deep. The lockers on either side were dented inward, damn near touching the inside walls of the lockers. 

“Overkill?” Elijah asked. 

“Little bit.” Maverick said. 

“Juuuust a little bit.” I said while making the ‘itty bitty’ hand gesture. We all started to laugh uncontrollably for a few seconds, “jesus christ, we made a crater!” 

“Look at the lockers.” Maverick said, pointing at the lockers. 

“I feel really bad for whoever left their stuff in there.” Elijah said. 

“Same…” I looked at the emaciated bodies of ‘Alpha squad’ “Do you think we can scavenge anything from these guys?” 

“Probably not.” said Elijah. 

I searched one of the bodies, even their weapons were destroyed, but I found one singular shotgun shell that was still intact. I held it up in triumph, “bingo” I said as I put it on my shell caddy on the side of my shotgun. 

Elijah went to one of the bodies, picked up a broken glock mag, and poured out a few rounds out of it. He dropped the mag, picked up one of the rounds and dropped it on the ground. “4 rounds.” 

“Nice.” Maverick and I said at the same time. 

“Ah, the ringing in my ears finally stopped.” Eli said. 

“Yeah, same. God, I’m gonna have tinnitus by the time I’m 30.” We all leaned against the lockers and BSed with each other for about 30 seconds. Chuckling a little before settling down and going silent for a few seconds. 

“We’re gonna be ok, right?” Maverick asked. 

“As long as we play our cards right, yeah, we will.” I said in return. 

Maverick thinks it over for a few seconds while nodding his head, “okay.” 

We sat there in silence for a few more seconds before we heard hurried footsteps coming up the stairs and from down the hall near the art and science rooms. 

“Shit, get ready.” I said as we all pointed our weapons towards the sound and started walking backwards. 3 men entered the threshold and we all fired at them, dropping them to the ground. 4 more entered, and we dropped them. We kept backing up as we fired. 4 more entered and we fired, then my trigger went dead, I ran out of ammo. Before I could draw my pistol or reload, I was shot in the left shoulder and I fell to the ground. We were near the end of the hall and we each ducked into a classroom. I went to the right, and Elijah and Maverick went to the room on the left. 

I grabbed the other grenade off my belt, pulled the pin and threw it at the group. One of them had a shotgun and shot it while it was still flying at them, blowing it up before it could get to them. “Damn It!” I yelled. I grabbed the med kit off my belt and did my best to wrap up my shoulder. I looked over at Maverick and Elijah and saw them both holding one of their arms. They motioned for me to throw them the kit, and I did. A shot was fired as the kit flew from one room to the other, but luckily, they missed. I drew my handgun, leaned out and fired 8 rounds at them while my buddies got what they needed from it, patched themselves up, and then threw the kit back. No shot fired that time. I ducked back in once they started firing at me again. 

I jumped out of my skin when I heard Maverick speak in my right ear. I forgot we were in a group call. “I have an idea.” 

“What?” I asked. 

“I’ll keep them occupied while you and Elijah get away.” 

“You’re insane.” 

“I know.” 

I exhaled sharply through my nose and looked him dead in the eyes, “you better make it out alive.” 

“I will.” 

I checked the mag of my pistol, 12 rounds in the mag, plus the one in the chamber, so 13. I reinserted the mag and gave a nod to Maverick and Elijah, they had just finished setting up. “Now!” Maverick said. All three of us popped out from cover and started firing while walking backwards towards the stairwell doors. I don’t know how many we killed, but it was about half of them. 

The second those doors were in my peripheral vision, I bolted through them, Elijah right behind me. I made it halfway down the stairs before realizing that Maverick wasn’t behind us. I ran back up to see through the glass Maverick fall to the ground after being shot in the shoulder. I reached the door and was about to open it when Maverick drew his pistol and his head jerked back. Taking a closer look, I could see a red hole in his forehead, and blood started to ooze out of it.