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Sonic Springs.EXE

My name is Mike, and i LOVE sonic the hedgehog. especially the classics, one of my friends, Luis, sent me an email. The email said, "Hey!1!! I have a game for you, i know you love sonic!!!! so i found this for you!!!" Along with the email was a game titled "SONIC: SPRINGS. EXE" i booted it up and it looked like the first sonic game, i was happy because as i said, i loved the classics!

It started with sonic running through a black void revealing the SEGA Logo. then the sonic jumped into the classic logo, doing his finger wagging. I pressed play and started "Spring lake ACT 1"

Near the end of the act there was a boss fight with doctor Robotnik, but the game glitched, bad. every thing turned red... Then the music glitched really bad.

Then the game crashed, I was visibly confused. so i booted the game up again and every thing started the same. except when i pressed play, text appeared saying, "YoUr In My WoRlD mIkE" alongside with the text was a angry sonic. then i realized. there was a text file i had not seen be fore on my computer, it was titled, "GoD" I opened it and it said, "PLEASE HELP 01001000 01000101 00100000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01000111 01001111 01000100 00101100 00100000 01001000 01000101 00100000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01001111 01010101 01010010 00100000 01010011 01000001 01001001 01010110 01001111 01010101 01010010PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEAS..............................................\,L;CKJCHD " I was speechless.

I watched as the game took over my computer. im using a new computer to write this. i went to school and didnt see Luis..... so i went to his house, still, gone.

8/8/2018.

Hello? hi its mike. god all of this happened a long time ago... um its 2020 now my family calls it the 888 incident.update on the luis thing nobody had seen him for 2 years. im going to the forest. i, i think hes there, his house lived next to the forest. 3/1/2020

OH GOD, IM BLEEDING SOME FRICKEN HEDGEOG LOOKIN FUCK JUST BIT ME, IM RUNNING. 4/1/2020

Im safe now. im in some kind of shed. please if i ever post this FUCK SOMETHING IS OUT SIDE IM GON TO HIDE

01101001 01101101 00100000 01101111 01110101 01110100 00101110 00100000 01101001 01110100 01110011 00100000 01100111 01101111 01101110 01100101 00101110 00100000 01101001 01101101 00100000 01100111 01101111 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101110 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100100 01100101 01101101 01101111 01101110 00101110

Im back. i got outta there. i need to play that game. and confront that demon.

whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhwywhwywhhhyheddddddddd/.....f gvv AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

im playing it now. it said BACK FOR ROUND 2. Instead of play it said COME FACE ME. I pressed the once play button its there. iwant to beat that motherfucker up. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS AXXDCVFBGRHEJ U6KIEC 4 ........................................ 01001000 01000101 01010011 00100000 01000100 01000101 01000001 01000100 00100000 00101101 00100000 01010011 01001111 01001110 01001001 01000011 00100000 01011001 01001111 01010101 01010010 00100000 01000010 01000101 01010011 01010100 00100000 01010000 01000001 01001100 00101110

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2024/03/29
02:21 UTC

44

My Colleague and I Were Sent To Explore The Mariana Trench

Base to Doctors. Are you two ready?

“Ready..”

We said it in unison, though he sounded more worried than I did. The voices of the scientists back at the base came out loud and clear through speakers that connected to the built in radio. We responded by pushing in a button and talking into a long, thin microphone.

This was supposed to be a dream come true, but I admit, I was just as nervous as my colleague. It was around a four hour trip, and I spent a lot of it reminiscing on everything that had got me to this point in my life. Descending down into one of the earth’s deepest points. A vast abyss of secrets. A trench that held so many unknown species of life. A place only very few had seen with their own two eyes. I was excited and panicked on the inside, but seemed unbothered on the outside. My colleague was quiet as well. I assumed he was doing the same thing as we drifted down into the water. We both looked out of the front window of the submersible we helped build. Our faces were expressionless.

Descending...

1,000 meters..

2,000 meters..


When I was a kid, I was obsessed with water. Pools, oceans, lakes, rivers, and seas. You name a body of water, and I bet I loved it. At first, I only had an interest in swimming. As I got older though, I started to take a fascination in marine life. That fascination turned into a career, and I went on to become a marine biologist. A successful one at that. I had my bachelor’s degree, master’s degree, and PhD. I never really dated because I was so focused on school. My biggest supporters were always my parents.

When I was in my late 30’s, I was working in a research lab in Europe. Back then I was at the top of my game. I was well known in my profession and had chances to work with some of the world’s smartest scientists. My one colleague and I had been discussing an exploration with other scientists and engineers. A private one, but a big and costly one.

My colleague was the only other biologist I worked with that had the same PhD as I did. If this idea we had were to happen, he would be going with me. At first we talked about doing a deep exploratory dive about 200 meters down in the Pacific Ocean. This fun and interesting idea turned into taking an exploratory expedition into the Mariana Trench. At one point, my colleague even suggested that we see if we could get all the way down to Challenger Deep. An even deeper point of the ocean lying at the southern end of the Mariana Trench. For an entire year, it was nothing but talk. Until one of the engineers started to make it into reality.

The engineer gathered all of us inside of the conference room. There was a huge diagram on the whiteboard located at the the front of the room. It was a blueprint of some submersible device. He handed out copies of the blueprint for us to examine while he went through the process. He had designed a submarine that was able to withstand thousands of pounds of pressure. He explained how it would work, and it’s safe to say everyone in the room was completely on board. Once the project was approved, everyone got to work.

We spent 8 months preparing for our expedition. We had everything down to a perfect science. The current, the weather, the day, the submersible, our suits, the coordinates. Everything was planned down to the last nitty gritty detail. We had spent so much time preparing physically, I think I forgot to prepare emotionally. Though, even if I did, I don’t think it would make what happened any easier.

This was what people like me lived for. This experience we were about to do. Engineers and scientists spent over an hour getting on our suits the morning of the expedition. They weren’t meant to withstand thousands of pounds of pressure, but we still needed to be safe. Oxygen levels were checked. The submersible was triple checked. Everything was tight and completely sealed off. I thought about the last time I told my parents I loved them. I thought about my dog, my friends, my fellow biologists. I thought my couch and my TV. Lastly, I thought about mankind. I was submerging thousands of meters down. The thought of discovering the unknown made all those years of school worth it. What if I got to name a new species of fish? I thought about what I would name it.

I thought about what my colleague was thinking, but we both just sat there. We stared in silence. Listening to the water whoosh by us as we descended further and further away from the surface.


8,000 meters..

The pit in my stomach widened. Everything was so dark. We had seen an occasional shark and plenty of well documented species of fish. We documented an interesting looking angler fish and a black jellyfish. Other than that, just darkness.

9,000 meters..

My colleague finally said something. He’s the one who really pushed for this. It was something I completely unexpected though.

“When we land, I’m going to take the side submersible to explore Challenger Deep.” He said. His voice was eerily calm.

10,000 meters

Can you hear us, doctors? You’re currently at 10,549 meters. You should be approaching the bottom momentarily.

“We hear you loud and clear. We’ve made it to the bottom. Turning on the lights and activating video cameras now”

My voice was shaky but confident. The adrenaline had kicked in, and I was beyond belief. There were purple and orange plants that littered the trench’s floor. It looked like a swaying field of flowers. Tiny fish swam by the video camera. Fish that I had only ever seen in books. I looked over at my colleague. He was smiling as I watched a tear fall from his eye.

“We did it.” My colleague’s voice cracked. He sounded happy, but off. We were 10,600 meters underwater. I figured that had to be it. That would make anybody sound off.

“Yeah, we did.” I responded lightheartedly. I smiled, trying to lighten up the mood.

We moved around the ocean floor for about five hours documenting, taking photos, and making calculations. Every thing looked remarkable. It looked like something straight out of a movie. We were only supposed to be down here for six to seven hours before ascending. About five and a half hours into our expedition, I saw my colleague putting on a rebreather.

“Why are you putting that on? You know we can’t leave. There’s way too much pressure. You know that.” I tried to sound calm.

“I know. I’m not stepping out into the water, idiot. You think I don’t know that 16,000 pounds of pressure per square inch will kill me?” He was laughing.

“Well, why are you putting on a rebreather then?” I said calmly, but slightly more irritated.

“I’m going into the side sub. I’m going to descend further. We didn’t come all this way and descend towards the southern end for nothing.” He wasn’t laughing anymore, but his voice was still cheerful.

“That’s for emergencies only. You know once it detaches that you can’t come back onto the ship. You’ll have to try and hook yourself back on. Who’s the real idiot?!” My voice was now overflowing with irritation.

He didn’t say anything else. He geared up, opened the compartment that led to the side submersible, let it close behind him, and started it up. The headlights were bright beside me. I watched him drift away, and then start to descend.

I called up to the base to tell them that my colleague had basically just went rogue. The side submersible had a tracker on it as well. After awhile with still no sign of him, I asked for his location.

11,017 meters. The side submersible can’t handle all of that pressure for long. I don’t know if anyone has even descended that far before. We’re not getting a signal from him either, doctor.

I remember thinking why. Just why? Why did he have to do this? We’ve already made a remarkable journey. Of course he always had to push the limits. I steered the main submersible over to where I last saw him. Once I reached his point of descent, I looked down. It was black. It looked like a whole other trench. If I wouldn’t have known any better, I would have thought it was a whole trench of its own. I would think it was definitely not part of the Mariana Trench.

I wasn’t going down there. So I waited. And waited. And then waited some more. After about two more hours we became absolutely frantic. I told the base I wasn’t going down, but I couldn’t leave without him. I just couldn’t. That’s when I saw headlights coming up from the darkness. I let out a sigh of relief. He was finally coming back, and he was okay. I thanked whatever higher power there was.

Until the side submersible came up the whole way. Empty.

Any relief I had been feeling quickly dissipated. I frantically called to base that the side submersible was empty. No answer. Communication was only meant to be for seven hours at most. We were close to ten and a half.

Worried I had lost all communication, I tried to steer the submersible back to the starting point. On my way there I saw something floating in front of me. As I drew closer, something made a wave big enough to push me back at least 40 feet. Looking around me, I couldn’t see anything. Only about three feet in front of me. It was sandy and hard to see now. Whatever made the wave stirred up the ocean floor. I was pushing my way back when I was hit was another underwater wave. This time the submersible spun around a like high speed record player.

When I finally stopped spinning, I steadied myself to try to steer once more. This time I couldn’t even see a foot in front of me. It was like a tornado just swept across the trench’s floor. That’s when I heard something smack against the side of the sub. It rattled me again, but it didn’t knock me over. I looked but couldn’t see anything at all.

That’s when I saw him. He smacked against the windshield so hard that my entire body involuntarily flinched. His body lied against the glass like a squashed fly. His eyes were fully popped out of his head. His eyes, nose, and ears were all profusely bleeding. His dangling eyes were completely bloodshot. His body was bloated everywhere. He looked like an over-inflated balloon, ready to pop at any second. His suit was expelling blood from every opening.

I let out a blood-curdling scream. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Just as quickly as he was slapped on the windshield, he was washed away. I looked, but his body was gone. I waited for the ocean floor to settle a bit, and made my way back to the starting point.

I was able to reach base and have them start ascending me back to the surface. When they asked about my colleague, all I could do was cry. They reassured me everything would be fine, but I knew it wasn’t. I just saw my inflated, dead friend smack against the submersible’s window. I thought about his family. I thought about how no one would ever retrieve his body, and how his final resting place is at the deepest part of the ocean. I was shaking. I couldn’t think of what could have happened. He would have never gone out there on his own free will.

About 2,000 meters into ascending, the submersible was hit again. It stopped the ascension. It was pitch black and dead silent. I listened, and heard scratching from the roof of the sub. I heard base say something, but it went in one ear and out the other. I was listening to something crawl all the way around the submersible. I crouched down behind the control panel and peaked over slightly.

Long, spindly legs and arms wrapped around the window. It’s body contorted and stretched in ways a human could never. It’s like it’s bones were able to bend. It had the body of a human, but it’s legs and arms were so absurdly long. The creature was so skinny, it looked like it’s ribs could poke threw at any moment. It had four rows of razor sharp teeth. I watched it’s bulging eyes dart around, inspecting the inside of the submersible. Once it didn’t see anything, it let out a shriek that I’ve never heard in my entire life. It left my ears ringing. I thought that my eardrums had burst and expected blood, but luckily the ringing and pain faded quickly.

That’s when I heard my colleague’s voice. His laugh. I looked around, and then peaked over the control panel again. The creature was still latched onto the windshield, but this time it’s face was that of my dead colleague. I watched it mimic his voice perfectly. It was calling out for me. I just wanted to jump out and scream “I’M RIGHT HERE. PLEASE COME BACK. PLEASE.”

I knew, it might’ve had his face and his voice, but it sure as hell was not him. I covered my mouth as the creature recited conversations we’d had throughout the years. I held back tears and vomit as it rocked the submersible and screamed in frustration. Once I felt it flee, I slowly pulled myself back up into one of the control seats. I whispered into the microphone.

“Ascend. As fast as you can. Now.” My voice was quiet and frantic.

Once I reached the shore, I was inconsolable. I tried to explain what happened, but I could barely talk. I was taken back to land and immediately sent to the hospital for any wounds or contusions I may have had. Physically, I was fine. Emotionally, I was terrified.

There was so much blood around the submersible that they didn’t even bring it back. They scrapped it. They never went to look for my colleague, and they never used any of our documentation or findings. The research facility wanted it to be swept under the rug. The expedition was never documented either. They figured it would be a bad look if one of their employees died on a private research expedition. I was then fired and moved back to the United States.

The nightmares still stay with me. All of these years, and the image of that creature and my dead friend are stuck in my brain like a parasite. The gruesome scene replaying over and over every night. I can still hear the creature’s nails dragging along the metal. I can still hear it tapping on the windshield. I can still hear the ear-piercing shriek that thing let out.

There’s something down there. At the very, very bottom of the ocean. Lying dormant at the very bottom of the world’s deepest trench. I don’t know what it is, but that’s not the part that scares me the most.

The fact that no matter what it is, it can turn into anybody or anything. It can use your traumas against you. It can play your mind like a fiddle. You are nothing but prey. The fact that it was using my colleague’s rebreather. The fact that it can also breathe air.

That’s what scares me the most.

1 Comment
2024/03/28
22:37 UTC

53

I Got a Job at Long John Silver's. Something Went Seriously Wrong.

Part 1

Part 2

My heart dropped into my stomach, and my face drained of color.

What the fuck, Ahmad! Feeding the rookie to an eldritch deity on his first day? Not cool, man.

I hesitantly turned toward the little girl rocking back and forth slowly in the darkest corner of the room. Once I saw her face, the creaking of the rocking chair fell silent. My eyes grew wide as dinner plates. My back was pressed against the wall like the floor in front of me was made of burning magma. Clarissa was the most downright evil child I had ever seen.

Her pupils encompassed the entirety of her eyes, twin pitch-black orbs that felt as if they could consume my entire being. She was ghostly white, and her face was framed by neatly kept black braids. She wore an outdated dress - Victorian era if I had to take a stab at it - along with matching shoes.

The monstrosity smiled at me. Those yellow, rotting teeth were enough to make my skin crawl. But the worst part was her aura. Clarissa exuded an air of malevolence unlike anyone or anything I’d ever met. It was easily ten times worse than that of Alice, and that’s really saying something.

Come closer.

Clarissa’s demented voice floated to my ears from across the room. Her smile seemed to be growing wider by the second. We were playing a deadly game of cat and mouse, and spoiler alert: I was not the cat.

I vehemently shook my head, keeping my back glued to the wall like my life depended on it; which, to be fair, it kinda did.

Please? I’m lonely.

Clarissa’s voice was strange. It was as if someone had taken a little girl’s voice and pitched it down an octave. A chill rippled down my spine every time she spoke.

“No, I don’t think tha-” Clarissa’s eyes lit up, and she greedily licked her lips. I had a sinking feeling that I was about to screw up big time. Then, I remember something Ahmad told me:

Don’t speak directly to Clarissa.

“-aaat’s not a good idea is what I would say if I was talking to someone. Nope, just thinkin’ out loud here. All alone. By myself. Just me.”

Clarissa’s joyous expression shifted to an unsatisfied snarl. She almost had me, and she knew it.

Suddenly, to my surprise, the door opened back up again.

“Congratulations, buddy! You passed the te-”

Smack.

I socked Ahmad right in the kisser. He glanced back at me, blood trickling down his lip.

“What the fuck, Ahmad! You coulda killed me, you asshole! Really funny prank you just pulled, locking me in here with a damn demon child.”

“Clarissa didn’t hurt you. She’s harmless as long as you don’t touch her or speak directly to her. That’s it. I just had to make sure you were capable of following basic instructions… And that really fucking hurt, ya know that?” he replied, dabbing at his wound with a napkin he’d produced from his pocket.

“Obviously. Happy now? I don’t want to spend another second in the same room as that thing. Or you, for that matter.”

“Well, buckle up Buttercup, because you’re stuck with me,” Ahmad grinned, slapping me on the back. “Now, let’s go. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like hanging around Clarissa.”

“Was that really the only reason you brought me here? We didn’t have anything to actually do? I mean, like maybe, I dunno, our jobs?” I wondered aloud as the door whirred shut.

“No, not with Clarissa. That’s the only upside to her. She doesn’t make a mess, she doesn’t piss or shit, and she won’t even eat anything. All she does is sit, stare, and occasionally try to get you to speak to her so she can rip your insides out. Really, the only thing we need to do is dust her room every once in a while.”

“So then, where to now?” I knew I’d probably regret asking, but it’s not like he was going to hide it from me.

“Now that the rookie haz- I mean, heh heh, now that the test is over, we’re going back to the control room to pick up Lloyd and our equipment. The two of us are going to show you what being a keeper is all about,” Ahmad smirked, sending a chill undulating through my body. I didn’t like how he kept doing that. It felt like he was up to something mischievous.

After once again passing through multiple doors, we found ourselves back in the control room. Greg stood in the corner talking with Lloyd, dressed in his signature fishing attire. Apparently, he’d finally decided to roll out of bed.

“Hey! There he is! Mason, glad to see you back,” Greg boomed as he approached us.

“Yep, right on time, too,” I said, a smile beginning to inch across my face.

“Hey, cut me some slack. This job ain’t easy. Now, I think I gave you some papers or something yesterday.”

“Oh yeah! I’ve got them right here,” I replied, producing a crumpled wad of sheets from my back pocket.

I watched Greg’s expression falter as a pang of guilt stabbed my chest like an icepick. “Oh. Thanks, I guess,” he said, pinching the disheveled mess as if it was a dirty diaper.

“I’ll just put this to the side for now. Ahmad, did you show him the thing?” Greg asked, shooting him a wink.

What the hell, Greg! He was in on it this whole time? That’s strike one, you dirty bastard.

“Yep, and he passed with flying colors. Lloyd and I were just about to show him how to feed Occulus, weren’t we, Lloyd?”

Lloyd sighed, joining the group. “Yeah. Yeah, we were.”

“Mr. Calloway, feel free to come watch. We might even let Mason feed him his meal.”

“Ya know what? I’ll take you up on that! My workload isn’t too bad today, and I know how much Lloyd loves Occulus.”

I could see Trina snickering out of my peripheral vision. Apparently, Lloyd saw her too, because he didn’t look happy.

“Shut up, Trina. Keep it up and I’ll substitute you for Occulus’s breakfast today,” he spat, scowling at her.

“I didn’t even say anything! You just look for reasons to get pissed at me,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest.

“I don’t look for reasons to get pissed at you. You give me reasons to get pissed at you,” Llloyd said, his perturbed demeanor melting into a sly smirk.

I could see a grin tugging at the corners of Alanna’s lips. “Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!” Trina shouted, glaring disapprovingly at her.

“No, we’re all supposed to be on the same side.”

“Alanna’s right,” Greg interjected, “We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. No more bickering, okay? And Trina, stop instigating this before I put you in time-out again.”

“That’s not fair! Lloyd started it!”

“Trina,” Greg replied, shooting her a no-nonsense stare.

She shifted her gaze to the floor. “Fine. I’ll be good.”

“Thank you. Now, is everyone ready?”

“Mason’s not,” Ahmad chimed in, “Here, take this.” He handed me what appeared to be a cattle prod with buttons on the handle.

“It works like this,” he said, distancing himself from the group. “The bottom button is low voltage, the middle one is high voltage, and the top one… well, we don’t use that unless something seriously goes wrong.” He demonstrated, pressing each of the respective buttons. I could hear a zapping sound steadily increase as he flipped through them.

“Got it. Is that all I need?”

“For now, yes. We’ll need to pay a visit to the meat locker first.”

I nodded. The meat locker? I guess I should’ve known they’d have one of those with how massive some of the creatures were. I mean, Alice is a wendigo. They only eat human flesh, right? That must mean…

Ahmad and Greg lead the charge, while Lloyd and I lagged behind. I decided to take that opportunity to become acquainted with him and subtly squeeze some info out of him.

“So, uh, about the meat locker… Do some of these things eat human flesh?”

Lloyd pursed his lips and glanced up at me. “They sure do. And it’s our lucky day, because Occulus is one of them.”

Great. No one told me I’d have to handle corpses in addition to all this freaky shit. Thanks for filling me in on that, Greg.

“What exactly is Occulus? And why do you love it so much?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. I just hope you don’t have arachnophobia,” he replied stoically.

Arachno- what? Come on Lloyd, you can tell I’m not the brightest crayon in the box. Help a guy out here. Oh well. I guess I’d better wait and see for myself.

Soon we found ourselves standing at the end of the hallway in the West Wing. A large metal door stood before us. Ahmad grinned at me. I really wished he’d stop doing that.

“Mason, be prepared. Oculus’s diet is… peculiar to put it lightly.”

“Yep, sorry to burst your bubble, but Lloyd already spilled the beans. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

Ahmad’s smile faded into a dissatisfied frown. “Alright, have it your way,” he muttered, reaching for the door handle.

Once Ahmad pulled the door open, we were assaulted by a rush of cold air. I followed the group inside what appeared to be a giant refrigerator. Shelves upon shelves were lined with strange concoctions and containers filled with an assortment of different foods. The further inside we went, the stranger the items became.

A dead deer, rabbit paws, squid tentacles. And then I saw it. Once the group finally came to a halt, my stomach began to churn and I started to feel lightheaded. Because lying on the shelf before me was a beheaded human cadaver. Its skin was pale, but still… It looked fresh.

“Wh-where did that come from? Like, who sends these here?” I asked, dumbstruck. Though Lloyd had given me plenty of warning, it was still a shock to the system. I mean, what kind of fucked up organization keeps corpses on hand? (Before you say it, yeah, I know. That’s called a morgue, Mason. Hate to break it to ya, but this place ain’t a damn morgue. At least, I don’t think it is…)

Greg clasped me on the shoulder, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. “Ever wonder what happens to people who donate their bodies to science? Well, now you know.”

“So… the government supplies them?”

“Yep, they sure do,” Ahmad said, wheeling a dolly over to the shelf. “We just got a fresh shipment yesterday. Anything older than a week or so usually goes into that freezer at the end of the fridge. Waiting for these things to thaw is a pain in the ass, so be glad we don’t need to today.”

“So, um…. What do they do with the heads?” I asked sheepishly.

“Not sure, but my guess is that they dispose of them elsewhere out of respect for the donor. Ya know, on account what the bodies are being fed to,” Ahmad replied, hoisting the headless carcass onto the dolly.

“That makes sense. It’s still pretty fucked up, though.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be desensitized to it in no time! It might seem screwed up now, but hey, these creatures gotta eat,” Greg bellowed, playfully slapping me on the back.

“Alright. Let’s get going. I don’t want to have to spend any more time with Occulus than necessary.”

I nodded, following Lloyd and the others out the door with Ahmad pushing the corpse as he walked. My heart pounded against my chest like a jackhammer as we passed each enclosure. I glanced up at the screen above Clarissa’s room as we went. She was sitting motionless in her rocking chair, that demented smile still plastered on her face. What a creep show.

Finally, we approached a door with a nameplate beside it that read Occulus. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know. I glanced up at the screen that projected Occulus’s habitat. It seemed to be modeled after a rainforest. Trees shielded the ground from view, limiting my field of vision. I thought I wouldn’t have any luck. But, when my eyes drifted to the corner of the screen, I saw it.

I could feel all the color draining from my face. A thick, massive web sat in the corner of the room. And in the center of that web? The biggest damn spider I’d ever seen. The thing was gargantuan. Though I was yet to see it up close, I could still gauge its size just from the recording. I was beginning to sympathize with Lloyd hard. I fucking hate spiders.

“Here. Take these,” Greg said, handing me a trash bag, disposable gloves, and a trowel.

“What? Why do I need these? And where’d you get this stuff from?” I asked, perplexed.

“You thought I just wore this raincoat for show? It’s got some big pockets. Perfect for storing things! Believe it or not, spiders shit just like every other living creature. Someone’s gotta clean it up, and it ain’t gonna be me,” he shrugged, grinning mischievously.

Spider shit? Really? That is the last thing I expected to hear.

“Hey Mason, come here for a sec,” Ahmad said, freeing me from my staring match with Greg.

“Watch this.”

Ahmad pressed an orange button on the keypad beside the door. Purple mist began to waft down from the ceiling. My eyes stayed glued on Occulus. The beast stood, then began to sway back and forth, before ultimately collapsing back onto its web. Then, the mist was sucked away as quickly as it had appeared.

“What was that? Did you kill it?”

Lloyd scoffed. “Of course not. That would take a miracle. The mist only puts the thing to sleep. Once we get the go-ahead, we’ll have to head in, dump its meal, and clean the place as quickly as possible. We’ll only have about fifteen minutes before it wakes up, and we do not want to be in there when it does.”

“Fifteen minutes? They couldn’t have given us a little more time?”

“That’s the government for you. They can afford millions in payroll and bribes to keep this on the down-low, but this is where they decide to cut corners. Bunch of stingy assholes if you ask me.” I could sense a deep-seated rage bubbling beneath Lloyd’s words. It was one that I could definitely relate to.

“Fuck ‘em. I’m with you on that.” Truth be told, Lloyd was really starting to grow on me. I didn’t know much about him, but he seemed like a pretty down-to-earth guy once you got to know him.

“You two quit flirting and get over here. We got the green light,” Ahmad said, pointing to a literal green light illuminated on the keypad. Oh, the irony.

We silently trudged over to him and waited with baited breath as the door flew open. My jaw fell to the floor once we stepped inside.

Somehow, they had managed to create an exact replica of a tropical rainforest. Trees extended high into the air, blocking out most of the light, and creating an eerie atmosphere. Of course, there were no animals, or Occulus probably would have hunted them down the first chance it got. The only other noticeable difference was that the entire habitat was cloaked in spiderwebs.

Walking through them made my skin crawl.

“Mason, you dump the body near Occulus’s web, then come back and help us. Oh yeah, and don’t get lost,” Ahmad ordered.

“Aye aye, Captain,” I said, saluting him as he disappeared into the brush. He glanced back only briefly, rolling his eyes at my antics.

Seriously, Ahmad? You’re making me handle a dead body on my first day. How did you expect me to react?

I dropped my things at the entrance, and begrudgingly did as I was told, carefully dragging the dolly behind me so as not to accidentally drop the headless cadaver onto the ground. Honestly, it wasn’t an easy task. I had to pull the thing through dirt, which made the whole ordeal even more laborious.

After what had to have been about five minutes, I finally reached my destination. I felt a sudden surge of adrenaline when I laid eyes upon the thing. Up close, Occulus was so, so much more terrifying.

It was easily the size of two of me put together. Its gargantuan black exoskeleton shimmered in the light like a sleek new paint job on a luxury sports car. Eight massive, hairy legs dangled from their owner’s web, each one sporting a razor-sharp, claw-like appendage. But the worst part was its face.

Eight beady eyes seemed to be locked onto me, piercing my objectively tiny frame with their unseeing, yet intense gaze. And those fangs. Each one was easily the size of my forearm. What I assumed to be either venom or saliva dripped to the ground from their pin-point tips, the mystery liquid pooling in the dirt beneath the web.

My hands trembled as I dumped Occulus’s meal from the dolly. My hazy vision stayed glued to the monstrosity lying before me, searching for any reason to book it out of there if need be - though, if that thing was to attack, I wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in Hell at outrunning it.

I slowly backed away, dragging the dolly with me. Right when I thought I was going to win our sickening staring match, I noticed something that made me fear for my life. It lasted less than a second, but I swear I saw one of Occulus’s legs twitch.

I didn’t stick around to disprove my theory. I sprinted back to the entrance as quickly as my legs would carry me. I didn’t care if I got yelled at for abandoning the dolly. I needed to get my ass out of there.

I was nearly halfway back to the door when it happened. My lungs burned, and my legs begged me to stop, but after what would happen next, a nauseating concoction of adrenaline and dread overtook me, fueling me to pick up the pace. Greg’s panicked voice crackled over an intercom, shattering the eerie silence like a sledgehammer.

Everyone get out of there NOW! Occulus is awake. I repeat: OCCULUS IS AWAKE.

I don’t know what made me do it. I should have just kept running, but no. I glanced back only once, and I immediately regretted it. I peered over my shoulder just in time to see Occulus leap down from its web and bolt into the trees. It was unnaturally fast. Faster than any creature of that size should have been.

I turned back with tears in my eyes. I prayed that somehow we would all make it out of there safely. That Occulus would ultimately fail in its demented game of hide and seek. But I had a sinking feeling that my prayers would fall on deaf ears.

I could see the door, my salvation. It was so close. I was mere feet from it. My eyes wandered to the brush only for a moment. The trees were moving. That thing was so powerful that they struggled to withstand its wrath.

That was all the motivation I needed. I flew through the open doorway and collapsed onto the cool linoleum. Greg released a noticeable sigh of relief, yet fear was still etched into his features.

“Th-the others. Where are th-they?” I coughed, desperately trying to catch my breath.

“Lloyd and Ahmad are still in there. All we can do now is hope with all our might that they find us before it finds them.

4 Comments
2024/03/28
22:00 UTC

1

The Devil Lives On Satin Lane [Part One]

My windshield wipers tried and failed to give me a clear line of sight as my tires plowed through the standing water on the road. I considered myself lucky that the dash only had a few lights on. The interior of my ‘99 Accord had a habit of lighting up like a Christmas tree whenever the road gave way under my tires. I was half surprised to see the interstate empty on a Saturday, but chalked it up to the storm keeping people home. After several minutes of driving in near silence, the radio went from the usual static to a talk radio show. At least I was fairly certain it was talk radio as the storm drowned out the host's exact words in a scrambled mess. I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror as I brushed a few errant dusty-blonde strands from my forehead. My laptop bag sat idly in the passenger seat next to me. I kept finding myself looking at it instead of attempting to look through the wall of slush on my windshield.

Because I was late registering for classes, I had two options for an English course. Dissecting Russian Literature or Literature of Horror. Neither sounded like an amazing option. But, I decided that despite my hatred of all things Horror; I would tough it out for a semester and take my course credit. For our final assignment, we were tasked with interviewing someone on The Closest Your Life Has Come To A Horror Story–Professor Sloan’s words, not mine–and turning their story into a narrative. Most people had chosen their roommates or friends for this assignment. I didn’t have that luxury. Annie had practically moved out of our house before the year started back. Leaving me to pay the rent myself while I looked for someone to take her still-decorated room. Looking back, I could have used someone else. I should have used someone else. But I didn’t. Instead, my car was aimed down I-75 back to the small corner of Tennessee where I had grown up. The small corner I promised myself to leave behind and never come back to.

However, when dreams fade, so do those oaths that went from set in stone to scribbled on scratch paper. In the back seat–as opposed to the water-logged trunk–sat an ancient and equally decrepit hardback clamshell suitcase I had found at Goodwill for a whopping four dollars. Inside I had packed a week of clothes, my best guess for how long I would be gone. I didn’t plan on spending my entire week at home, instead, I would take a few days to get the story I needed before taking the long way back to campus. Stretching a nine-hour drive into a four or five-day one.

I pulled onto the final dirt road at around three in the afternoon. Judging by the sky, it was near dark. The rain had let up enough on the last half hour of the drive to allow me to listen to the full articulation of the man on the radio.

“I am your host Chris Boyd, and you are listening to Ready Set Rock on 98.9.” He said in the most over-the-top voice he could muster, “This next one goes out to all of those who would rather spend this rainy day in Boston.” In less than a moment, Chris was gone, his voice replaced with the opening notes to More Than A Feeling.

Eventually, the slight haze broke through enough for me to see my father’s home. My home. The same small, one-story farmhouse that the McMurtry family had lived in since before the constitution was amended. I nosed the front of my car down the mile-long driveway and killed the headlights before pulling to a dead stop. Before stepping out, I pulled my hoodie over my head and cinched the drawstring. The front of the house was adorned with a wrap-around wooden porch stained a dark chestnut brown.

Before I raised my fist to knock, I heard the deadbolt unlatch before the ever-familiar sound of the hinges creeping open, revealing Josiah McMurtry on the drier side of the threshold.

“Hey Cass!” he reached out to hug me and I didn’t fight it. His warm welcome made me feel bad for not calling more often. It wasn’t his fault I left, he had done everything in his power to try and make things right, make things better.

“You’re soaked, come in and I’ll grab you a towel.” He said before disappearing behind the door frame. I stepped inside and was hit with the distinct smell of nostalgia. The one that hit me with a thousand different memories all somehow intangibly linked together by this one smell. One I couldn’t describe on its own. I stood looking around the entryway in silence. Staring at the framed family photos dotted across the eggshell white walls. All of them depicted a bright and happy family. It felt ironic to me how fake they seemed. There were only two people left who could ever tell you just how fake those smiles behind the glass were. How much arguing had led up to the click of the shudder? How many nights did I lay awake trying to ignore the shouting matches through the same paper-thin white walls these pictures now clung to?

“Here,” my father said, carrying a faded purple beach towel, “it’s the first one I grabbed.” I took it with a quiet thanks before unfolding it. Staring back at me was the unmistakable image of a cartoon Barbie standing in front of whatever the latest version of the Dreamhouse had been when it was first printed. I draped it over my head and began to scrub out as much water as possible while blindly charting the hallway as if I had just walked it yesterday and not three years ago.

When I regained my vision, I was greeted with the sight of the family room. The same worn leather sofa that had sat against the wall, under the painting of the mountainscape, since before I was born. Pulled out from its normal position in the corner beside the couch, my father sat in his equally worn black leather recliner. He motioned for me to sit with the same grin on his face that hadn’t faded since the front door.

“This is for some project for school, right?” he said as I placed the towel onto the cushion next to me. Over the next few hours, I told him the premise of the assignment in exchange for a hot meal and the latest in his life. Once the rain died down, I grabbed my suitcase as well as my laptop from the now-musty Accord and lugged it up to my bedroom. Still painted the same disgusting yellow that my mother had painted when I was still too young to remember the ocean blue that stained the drywall. My shelves were still adorned with various childhood photos in handmade wooden frames. Also on the shelves were various medals and trophies ranging from soccer to dance competitions. I almost laughed to myself when I realized how few of them were first-place awards.

I sat the laptop on the particle board desk that was jutted against the wall just below the window that let the morning sun in to wake me up for school. It occurred to me that only a handful of years ago, the now barren desktop had been cluttered with projects and the family word processor I used to write my papers and stories on. The sight of it empty formed a small pit in my stomach. A pit that was small but screamed at me that I wasn’t taking in enough of every day. That time was slipping through the gaps between my fingers and I was too dumb to realize how much I had already lost despite the fact I was still only a junior in college. I shoved the thought aside and sat down at the desk and opened my laptop. I scrolled and clicked on a new project in Microsoft Word. When the window popped up, my mind seemed to walk away while staring at the blinking cursor. For one of the first times in my life, I could not come up with anything to write. Words refused to enter my conscious thought, and my fingers stayed frozen on the keys. I typed as many iterations of the same line over and over again. Hoping against hope that one of them would feel right. After the eighth or ninth version of:

“Josiah McMurtry dutifully served as an officer to the Cramer County police force.”

I stood up from the desk and turned around. I had read something once that said if you changed your physical point of view, you could beat writer's block. I stood staring at my closet door only for no words to surface. I did my best to concentrate on the paint that was as old as myself. I tried to focus on the way the handle used to feel in my palms when I would get ready every morning for school. The way I refused to open it the day of the funeral. How heavy it had seemed that morning even though it was still just a door. I did the best I could to block out those thoughts and go back to focusing on my project but nothing. Words still failed me.

Ruling out staring at the same blank page for another hour, I pulled out my phone and double-tapped the screen. Instead of the familiar warm glow of my background, the screen stays black. I cursed when I realized the battery was dead before shoving it back into my pocket. After checking both my suitcase and laptop bag, I realized that I left my charger still plugged into the port next to my bed. I made a mental note to myself to buy one in the morning before turning back to the laptop on the desk. The screen still displayed the blank page punctuated with the blinking cursor. I rolled the idea of trying to brute-force my way through the opening, just picking a first line and going from there. Eventually I came to the decision that I would sooner or later trash the pages and closed the screen.

I walked to the bathroom just down the hall, grabbed a towel, and started the shower. When I stepped in, I let the water fall across my face and hair. Eyes closed and not moving. Enjoying a small amount of peace. Life hadn’t been chaotic, at least not recently. But something told me to enjoy this. Like something gently nudging against an unlocked door and I listened. I shut my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I may not have known it then, but that was the last peaceful moment I would have for a long time.

After my shower I shut the water off and stepped out, grabbing a towel to dry myself for the second time that night. When I walked back to my room, I dropped the towel on the floor and began to dig inside the still open suitcase on the bed. In less than a moment my head snapped up, my attention pulling my head along with an invisible string. My eyes met the closet door again. Only now, it was open. The dusty and inky blackness spilling out onto my bedroom floor. I froze, still hunched over with my hands encased in several different colors and textures of fabric.

I tried to rationalize with myself for what felt like hours when in reality it couldn’t have been more than a minute. I cautiously stepped closer to the closet, taking hold of the edge of the door when it was in reach. Now that I was closer, I could see the pull cord dangling from the ceiling. I grabbed it and with one swift motion the darkness was gone, replaced with a blinding light emanating from the same naked light bulb I hadn’t changed since middle school.

Let there be light.

I was almost shocked when I saw absolutely nothing. I almost wanted there to be something lurking within the shadows. Instead, I was met with a face full of clothes that I hadn’t seen since I left and boxes of things I had grown out of over the years sitting on the closet floor. From toys to clothes to phones, all of it was stored in sixteen-by-twelve moving boxes. Looking down at the corrugated cardboard flaps, I was hit by, and subsequently swept away with a wave of nostalgia. I knelt down and opened the closest box to me.

Again, I almost wanted something to jump out at me. I almost wanted something to prove my fears were justified, something to tell me that I’m not crazy and that I hadn’t left the door open and just forgotten. But I found none of that. Instead, sitting on top of a mountain of miscellaneous items from fabric to childhood toys, sat a small handheld gray radio. Almost like clockwork, more memories came flooding in. I believe that everyone is hit with an almost deja vu level of nostalgia every once in a while. Almost like the morning alarm you forget you set the night before, rudely ripping you from sleep. But since I had first set foot inside the front door, it had happened at least three times now. The radio I now tossed between my fingers was the same one my mother had gifted me when I asked for an iPod. The same radio I took on every family trip and listened to every St. Louis game I could with my dad. Mike Claiborne’s voice is still etched into my memory. It only occurred to me at that moment, that so many memories and dreams can be tangentially linked to one small object. I stood to my feet, radio in hand. I flipped it over and popped off the battery cover to reveal the empty chamber. Two double-A slots. I grabbed the electric toothbrush from my bag and took out the two matching batteries before placing them into the slots and sliding the cover back of the radio. I took a deep breath, extended the antenna, and flipped the power switch.

When the radio crackled to life, it gave me the same emotion as the first time I had turned it on. All of it still feels like yesterday. Even now. I turned the dial until I hit 98.9. Chris Boyd was in the middle of a segment called how many questions. A Who Wants To Be A Millionaire style game where Chris asks questions of varying difficulty to “one lucky caller” as he dubbed them. They could choose the next song for every one they got right.

“Alright, Julie, to break the station record of nine consecutive questions; What was the name of the bassist on the Foo Fighters first album? You have ten seconds starting now.” Chris said. It had been so long since I had heard his voice, it was almost calming. You never know how much you miss someone until some piece of them slithers back into your life.

“Oh! I know this one!” Julie shouted, “It was the Nirvana guy!”

“Need you to be a little more specific on that,” you could hear the smile forming on his face, “Five seconds, Julie.”

“Novoselic!” she proudly shouted into the phone. Only to call it back less than a second later with a wait no!

“I’m sorry Julie but that is not correct. The answer we were looking for was Dave Grohl.”

“Dammit I knew it when I said it.”

“That’s okay though, Julie. Because you just tied the station record for nine questions! I will patch you through to my producer so you can make your selections.” With a thanks and the click of a button just in range for the microphone to pick up, Julie was gone. I placed the radio on the nightstand and laid on the bed with my eyes shut. I let the music become background noise as my thoughts began to take over the active portion of my brain. Questions I either couldn’t answer or didn’t want to answer. Questions I had been routinely pushing out of my head since the day we buried my mother’s empty casket. I opened my eyes and shut the radio off.

Easier to get to sleep, I rationalized whilst standing up to turn off the lights. I shut the closet door and climbed back into bed. In less than 2 minutes, a blanket of darkness grabbed me and pulled me under into unconsciousness. I saw flashes of memories, some I had no recollection of. Almost as if they had been pushed away so I couldn’t see them. But I wasn’t in them. First it was a faceless woman, suspended in the air by a rope with one end tied around her wrists and the other wrapped around the branch of a large oak tree deep in the forest. I didn’t recognize any of this. I was a passive observer in my own dreams. The next flash was similar. The same faceless woman tied down to a large rock, wrists and ankles bound together with seven formless figures standing over her. The flashes continued in this pattern until I was ripped from these reveries by the sound of my radio going off in the darkness.

I bolted upright in my bed. The lyrics of the song on full blast almost physically cut through the darkness. I groped my hand across the sheets for my phone, when I found it I frantically tapped on the screen for some sort of light to protect me but it was still dead. With this reminder, I was able to focus on what the radio was playing and who was singing. Roy Orbison was in the middle of telling me about a girl he couldn’t get out of his head.

I close my eyes, and then I drift away, He sang. His words echoing across the still room. I could see a silver fragment of the moon poking through the linen curtains. It gave me enough light to not break my shins as I inched toward the open closet that the sound was emanating from.

Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you, Orbison continued.

My fingers curled around the crown molding of the door frame like they were solely responsible for me not flying away. I reluctantly stretched my free hand into the darkness. Letting my blind fingers wrap around the painted plastic case of my radio, feeling the buzzing in my fingertips as my grip tightened around the grill of the speaker. I pulled it back to my chest as fast as I could out of an innate and child-like fear that something was waiting to reach out and grab me. I fumbled the radio in my hands until I finally found the power switch. I clicked it into the off position and my room fell silent again. The only noise that filled my ears was the erratic sound of myself hyperventilating. Still standing in front of the open closet, the radio still being held by my paper-white knuckles, I began to retrace everything I could remember before falling asleep.

I went through the box

I pulled out the radio

I shut the door and listened to “How Many Questions”

I shut the radio off and went to sleep.

None of it made any rational sense and I began to think that something may have actually been in the closet waiting for me. I began to feel a pit forming in my stomach as a wave of nausea passed over me. I needed to get out of this house. At least for a few hours and let my brain rack for some sort of rational explanation. I backed away slowly and cautiously closed the closet door. Dropping the radio on the bed, I pulled on the same jeans and hoodie I had been wearing, I grabbed my keys and was down the stairs and out of the front door in less than a heartbeat. The rain had subsided to a slight drizzle by now. It wasn’t until the gaudy green LED’s of my car’s dashboard sputtered to life in tandem with the engine did I know what time it was.

12:24 AM

By my math I had gotten two or so hours of sleep. Maybe more, maybe less. I put the car in reverse and carefully backed out of the driveway, watching the shadows that lay just beyond the reach of the car lights for movement. I reached the end of the driveway and spun the front tires out onto the road before shifting back into drive. My eyes darted back and forth from the radio to the road as I fiddled with the dial. I always enjoyed driving in silence from time to time, but now just the thought of it seemed physically painful.

“And that is the end of my broadcast night, Kemp Creek.” Chris was saying, the static finally having given way to actual sound, “Coming up next is the early morning host, Peyton Bryant. I will see you all tomorrow night.” Chris’s voice clicked away as a small, copyright free, filler track took his place. I could imagine him standing up from his chair and handing over the headphones to the next host with some remarks before leaving the booth. It was a little after one when I pulled into the lot of the only building I could find with the lights still on. The illuminated pylon sign in the parking lot proudly proclaimed that the diner was open twenty-four hours a day.

The worn bell at the top of the doorframe chimed as I stepped inside. None of the three workers inside acknowledged my presence as I took a seat at the counter. Immediately I was handed a menu without a word from the sole waitress in the restaurant before she walked away to finish what she had been doing. I ran my fingers across the glossy laminated cover before catching a glimpse of my reflection from the incandescent light. I looked like I had seen a ghost. My hair unkempt with several clumps jutting out from my head, the look almost reminding me of puppets without strings. I stood up from the counter and made my way to the back of the restaurant. As I walked underneath the bright red RESTROOM sign, I heard the bell chime at the front door.

The bathroom was dark when I first opened the door, I felt my heart leap up in my chest. I had gotten rid of my nightlight when I was a child but seeing the dark bathroom made me wish I still had it with me. My fingers found the switch on the wall and popped it upwards. The grimey bulb above flickered on and after a second or two, the room was filled with a formerly white light. The dirt and germs that have caked onto the exposed bulb over the years has given everything a dirty yellow tint. I let the door slam shut behind me and stepped up to the mirror. Taking a few deep breaths to steady myself, I grabbed the handle for the cold water and pulled it towards my stomach. The sink sputtered as air was forced out of the line. I let the water pool in my cupped hands before shutting my eyes and pressing my hands to my face. My eyes stayed glued shut as my lungs filled with air. I slowly let the breath out through pursed lips.

Whilst making eye contact with the mirror, I wet my fingertips and ran them through my hair to regain some semblance of physical composure. After another quick breath, I left the room, hesitating a moment to debate turning the light off again before I left. In either a moment of anxiety or some other emotion I cannot name, I let the door close on the still bright room. When I turned the corner and the counter came back into view, I was partially surprised to see a man sitting only a few seats down from where I had been, idly sipping coffee from a ceramic mug while scrolling on his phone. It was almost surprising to see someone who wasn’t being forced to work the night-shift here, but then again, I was there too. I took back my perch atop the spinning stool decorated to keep up with the faux-fifties aesthetic that continued to fade with each passing day. Every storm chipping away at the painted exterior that no one will get around to repairing. The ripped upholstery of the booths that look more like a free couch on craigslist than something people pay to sit on. When the waitress circled back around, I flagged her down and ordered a coffee of my own. Cream, two sugars, same as always. After the waitress walked away, I could feel the man next to me glancing in my direction, trying to figure out if he should say something or go back to scrolling on his phone.

“Cassie?” he said, his voice accented with recent familiarity. I couldn’t place him until I looked over. I finally connected the dots when I saw his full face rather than the obscured version in my peripherals. Chris Boyd stared back at me, but not the one I had remembered. He looked like he had aged ten years over the course of three. His face had thinned out, hair had gotten fuller and it looks like he is finally able to grow the beard he always wanted.

“When did you get back?” he asked, cutting through both the silence and useless small talk he knew was coming if he didn’t.

“Today. Or yesterday, I guess.” What do you say to someone with whom you’ve imagined this exact scenario at least a hundred times? The waitress brought back my coffee and asked if I was going to order anything. Out of college instinct, I patted for my wallet to see how much I could splurge. Nothing. All of my pockets were empty. Shit. I told her that I didn’t know yet and she was off again to wipe down the same tables as before. I didn’t know if this was to look busy or if the vinyl-topped tables really needed that much attention.

We went back and forth trading stories filled with half truths to make us look better than we actually did. I filled him in on my current roommate and rent problems and he told me about life at the radio station and how he came into it. After dropping out after his second semester at Western Kentucky, he had found himself living on his parents couch not doing much.

“I tried to get Jason and Sam back together to try and get an actual record out. But by now they couldn’t give less of a shit.” he said, forcing a chuckle through a possibly equally forced smile. “Once they shot me down, I figured I could get rid of my guitar and CDs. Make a little extra cash to live on until I could find a cheap place to stay for the time being, you know?”

That was it.

My mind began to flutter in and out. Sparks of colorful memories in which I didn’t know what was happening. It was almost a mirror of my dream, only now I was watching the current moment through a haze. Completely detached. My breathing quickened as the flashes became less and less frequent. In the interim, my body was numbed and floating in a sea of ink. Both present and not. Somewhere between living and dead.

In less than a heartbeat, the ink was gone. Replaced by pure white as if I were stuck in a snowstorm. I tried to clench my eyes shut but it did nothing. In fact it may have intensified it as ringing started in my ears. Small at first. Barely recognizable as a whisper until it grew in volume exponentially by the second. Eventually I did my best to put my hands over my ears even though I couldn’t feel it. Eventually it all crescendoed into one large symphony of pain and noise until it all snapped back to that inky blackness. Only now I could feel my hands pressed firmly against my ears as my eyes clenched tight enough to cause my face to ache. But I could still hear noise, not ringing. scraping. Tires. Tires scraping and rolling atop pavement as an engine hummed along with them. I snapped my eyes open and found myself behind the wheel of my Accord. Unable to remember ever stepping foot off of my stool at the counter.

My chest tightened as I began to lose control of my breathing again. I swerved the car onto the shoulder of the desolate road and began to do the breathing exercises taught to me by Dr. Fleming.

In and out, one…two…three.

When I regained control of myself and was able to slowly open my eyes, I caught a glimpse of the sun rising just beyond the horizon. My eyes snapped to the LED clock in the dash, I almost lost control of myself again and let the panic re-consume me as I read the time.

6:02 AM

1 Comment
2024/03/28
21:18 UTC

91

My boyfriend talks to someone who isn't there. One day something spoke back.

When I first noticed that my boyfriend was talking to himself, I didn’t think much of it. Even I do it sometimes. I think most people do. He would do it so quietly I can’t even say for how long it had been going on. Maybe he had always done it. His lips moved rapidly, and his voice was barely a whisper so for a while I thought he might be quietly humming.

He would look down while doing it, while scrolling his phone, or doing chores around the house. Maybe it was a compulsion. Like a tic or even Tourette’s and I was trying to think of the kindest way to bring it up without it seeming like I was judging him.

It all came to a head on Saturday. I was in the living room mindlessly scrolling on my phone while David was in the kitchen making us some food.

Suddenly he ran into the room and stopped at my feet with a wild look in his eye.

“Stop it!” he did not scream but his voice was raised, like he was disciplining an unruly child.

I dropped my phone on my face because I wasn’t expecting him to bark a command at me like that.

“What? What I’m not doing anything,” I snapped back, I had no idea why he was reprimanding me for being on my phone.

But his eyes weren’t directed at me, he was looking directly behind me at something over my shoulder. I glanced back but nothing was there. I kept looking between my boyfriend and the empty space behind me trying to make sense of what was happening.

He blinked rapidly and looked down at me, he seemed agitated.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head and rubbed his temples.

“I thought I saw something behind you,” he answered slowly, still shaking his head.

I sat up and snapped at him.

“And what was it? There’s nothing there? You scared me running in here like that,” I admonished him.

He kept shaking his head and backed away into the kitchen. I went back to scrolling on my phone. But I kept shooting glances at David and back behind me. It had spooked me. For the rest of the morning his whole mood seemed off. He was jumpy and he kept fidgeting with his hands, something he only does when he’s upset.

As noon rolled around, I suggested getting out of the apartment and getting lunch somewhere. David quickly agreed. Getting out of the house did us both good. It seemed to calm him down and I was getting cabin fever being stuck inside for so long. Walking back to the apartment we were holding hands, and I was leaning into him.

“So, are you okay? You seemed so jumpy this morning. Do you think you saw a shadow or something?” I asked, trying to keep everything light.

He looked at me cautiously, as if he was weighing what he was about to say.

“I think you’re right; I think I saw a shadow or something. Or maybe I was still dreaming,” he smiled but the smile did not reach his eyes.

I decided to drop it. I honestly thought he was embarrassed. He had gotten scared over nothing and was worried about my reaction.

That night I woke up to the sound of David talking. He was whispering but the gentle drone of his voice had woken me up. I lay there listening, I had no intention of getting up or saying anything to him while I was still half awake. Once he stopped mumbling to himself, I would go back to sleep.

During the day I could never make out what he was saying, but tonight I could hear him clearly even though it was just above a whisper.

“I’m not going to do that to her. And you’re not allowed to touch her either. You promised me. You promised me that this time would be different,” his whispers were harsh and insistent.

I almost said something. At this point I thought he might not even be awake, maybe he was talking in his sleep. That’s when I heard a voice answering him.

It was distinct and separate. My heart started pounding even as I tried to rationalize what I was hearing. This new voice, lower and softer than Davids wasn’t like anything I had heard before. I couldn’t make out the words just the tone of it as it spoke. I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. But it sounded angry.

David shifted in the bed and reached over to touch my back. I didn’t move, just lay there still pretending to be asleep.

“You’re wrong. She’s still sleeping. She can’t hear anything we’re saying,” David rasped at the voice.

The voice answered back. I still couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded both insistent and scathing.

“Whatever. I’m done for tonight. I’m exhausted. You can talk to me tomorrow when I wake up,” he hissed, and he lay back down beside me.

All was silent in the bedroom. Minutes passed and David’s breathing slowed, and he started to lightly snore. He was asleep. But I couldn’t join him. I felt my pounding heart just now settling down into a steady rhythm. I wanted to push myself off the bed and inspect the bedroom. But I didn’t. I just lay there too afraid to get up and see what else might be in the room with us.

Eventually I did fall asleep, though it was more like passing out than actual sleep. When my eyes opened, I saw the morning light streaming into the bedroom from the window. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and looked around the room. There was nothing strange in the room with me. Just a pile of dirty laundry that was begging to be done.

I rubbed my eyes, feeling a headache starting behind them. In the light of day, I could convince myself that I had just dreamed everything or hallucinated. Just then David popped his head into the room and gave me a huge smile.

“You slept in super late. Are you just that tired?” He asked walking into the room and sitting down next to me. He had a cup of coffee in his hand and passed it to me. I took it gently and sipped. The warmth from the liquid was lifting my spirits.

“I didn’t sleep well last late. I think I was having a nightmare,” I explained, sipping at the coffee.

David furrowed his brow and rubbed my back.

“Poor thing. You never have nightmares, do you want to tell me what it was about,” he asked still rubbing my back.

I shrugged and kept sipping my coffee, wondering if I should confront him about last night or play it off as some kind of waking nightmare.

“No, it’s fading now. I can’t even remember what it was about,” I stood up as I spoke. I was getting hungry, and I hoped that David had saved me some breakfast.

He hadn’t, but that’s just because he hadn’t made anything yet. He had been waiting for me to wake up before he started on making something.

I volunteered to make us some food. Mostly because I was craving waffles and David sucks at making them. I started searching through the cabinets and fridge for what I needed.

As I was busying myself with breakfast I glanced up and saw David staring fixedly at the corner of the living room. His lips were moving rapidly, and I knew that he was talking to himself again. I looked away. It was too early for this. I was hungry, and I needed some more coffee in me before I could deal with any kind of crazy this morning.

As soon as I poured out the flour and milk David appeared beside me, causing me to jump a little. I snapped at him because he scared me.

“Jesus David, you really gotta stop sneaking up on me like that,” I hissed. I was already irritated from lack of sleep and now he had to startle me too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes darting from me and back to the living room. “But I thought we could go out to brunch instead.”

I shook my head. “I already poured out the milk and flour, I don’t want it to go to waste.”

He licked his lips before speaking again.

“Please? It’ll be my treat. I just can’t be in the apartment right now.” He looked upset as he spoke to me.

I set aside the poor half-finished waffle mix and sighed.

“Okay, lets go out and get some brunch. I could use a cappuccino and a mimosa anyway," I agreed.

David kept hovering over me as I got dressed as quickly as I could. I didn’t have time to brush my teeth before he rushed me out the door. He practically shoved me out into the hallway.

Usually, I’m all for a brunch date but he was acting so erratic, and I was bouncing between being irritated and concerned.

As we sat and ate our breakfast, I decided I needed to bring everything up. Something was worrying him and the more I thought about the last night the more this pit of worry was forming in my stomach. I think I just wanted him to tell me that everything was alright. That I had dreamed everything, and this was something normal I was blowing out of proportion.

“Last night I woke for a little while. I thought I heard you talking to someone.” I tried to say it as nonchalantly as I could.

David coughed on his eggs benedict and gave me a horrified expression.

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t talking to anyone last night,” He looked at me wide eyed. He was a terrible liar.

“Babe it’s okay. If you were dreaming, or if you have some kind of tik or Tourette’s it’s okay. I’m not here judging you. I’m just telling you that I’ve noticed. And I think I was dreaming through part of it anyway, cause I thought I heard something answering you back.” I reached out trying to hold his hand but he snatched it away.

“You had a nightmare last night. I wasn’t talking last night. I was asleep the whole time.” He was sweating as he spoke, and his eyes were darting around like he was looking for someone.

I sighed and went back to my breakfast. David sat his fork down and was looking everywhere except for me, his breakfast forgotten. I hadn’t meant for this to happen. Maybe talking about this in a public setting was too much for him.

After we paid the bill we were walking home when David grabbed my arm and forced me to face him. His eyes had a glassy and panicked look to them. I felt a stab of panic and placed my hand on his chest, feeling his heart pounding.

“Honey are you okay? You look like you’re getting sick.” I moved my hand to his forehead, wanting to take his temperature when he pushed my hand away.

“I think I should go back to my apartment for today. I think I need to be alone for awhile,” He stammered backing away from me.

“Okay. But, if you’re sick if you come back with me I can take care of you,” I pleaded.

He shook his head.

“No, I think I really just need to have some time to myself.” He turned and walked away, leaving me staring after him on the sidewalk. Both our apartments were in walking distance. One of the perks of living in a city. He was always at my place so often we practically lived together, it felt unnatural going back home alone.

I texted him throughout the day but I got no answer. I tried calling but it went to voice mail. Any irritation I felt for him was gone and replaced with pure concern. As the evening wore on I was preparing to go over to his place to confront him when he finally called me back.

“David? Are you okay? You haven’t messaged me back all day, I was getting worried! I was getting ready to come over to your place.” I said in a rush.

“No! Don’t come over here. It’s not safe,” he spoke in a low whisper. I almost couldn’t hear him.

“What do you mean it’s not safe? Safe for who? You or me?” my voice rising in alarm.

“For you,” he sputtered.

“Why? You’re not threatening to hurt me, are you? Or is someone else threatening to hurt me,” I was shouting over the phone. This was so out of character for him I didn’t know what to think.

“We need to break up,” he hissed back at me.

“You need to stay away from me. You need to stay safe,” he sounded like he was crying. And with that the call ended.

I stared at my phone is disbelief. I know he did not just break up with me over the phone. I called back. Then again and again. Straight to voice mail. I sent text messages and messages on WhatsApp but got no reply.

I spent the rest of the evening crying and only fell asleep after I took a sleeping pill just because I knew I needed the rest. Every message I sent to David was ignored. After a few days I stopped trying. I had gotten the message loud and clear, and I wasn’t going to throw myself at someone who wanted to push me away.

After a few more days had passed I started gathering up all the things he had left at my apartment in a box to leave at his place. I cried while doing it. Breaking up was always hard, but I had thought our relationship was going well.

Dropping off the box was harder than I had expected. I sent him a text letting him know his stuff was outside his door. At this point I was certain I was blocked, but in case he wasn’t I wanted to give him a heads up. I lingered outside his door for several minutes. Part of me wanted to knock and see if he was home. Finally, I just turned and walked away. If he wanted to talk to me, he knew where I lived. And he had my number. Come to think of it I still needed to get my apartment key back from him.

That night I was laying on my couch half watching a movie while I scrolled through my phone. I was deleting all the pictures of me and David.

“Hello there Amber,” a soft voice purred from somewhere behind me.

I gasped and leapt off the couch, clutching my phone to my chest. It sounded like someone was right beside my ear. But there was nothing. My eyes darted to the TV screen. Maybe I had heard it from there? But no one in the movie I was watching was named Amber. My heart was pounding as I tried to rationalize what I had heard. Immediately I thought of David, and his weird tik, and the voice I had heard that night.

I ended up staying awake most of the night. I was scared. I didn’t want to be. What I was feeling was irrational but that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. I got up to leave the apartment, but I ended up just sitting back down again. Where was I going to go? It was the middle of the night, and besides a few all-night diners everything was closed. I didn’t relish the thought of sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool sipping coffee waiting till morning.

Staying home seemed like the best option. I even thought about messaging David, but I stopped myself. He wasn’t going to answer me anyway.

I stay on that couch till the first rays of light started to peak through the blinds. I smiled. The sunshine calmed my nerves and I felt myself finally relaxing and drifting off to an exhausted sleep. As I closed my eyes and curled into the warmth of the sofa, I felt a hand gently pressing onto my back, the hint of claws digging thought the fabric of my shirt.

“Don’t go to sleep yet Amber, we have so much to talk about,” the voice whispered.

8 Comments
2024/03/28
20:33 UTC

7

My chauffeur keeps driving into the fire

There was a man behind the turnstiles.

A plain-looking man, tidy, lean, with a languid expression across his face. He waited amongst the flood of professionals scurrying through the lobby in all directions. Had it not been for his crisp suit and flat cap he may have faded into the background, lost in the flurry of activity and the din of the lunch-hour traffic.

I wouldn’t have noticed him, had it not been for the sign he was holding with my name on it.

“How long has he stood there?” I asked.

Judith popped her head up from the classified ads and replied, rather disinterested, “Oh, just about an hour now, surely.” I had known the head of security for years, but could never picture her laying herself on the line for the safety of others. She rarely left her stool. And her co-worker was a new face, but he seemed more of a boy than a man.

There was no reason to suspect this man of anything other than jamming up my Monday afternoon. But still…something felt off about the man, and I was not the type for surprises.

I took him in a moment longer. He greeted me from afar with the tilt of his hat.

“Can we not send him away?” I asked Judith, dialling my voice down to a polite whisper.

“We’ve tried,” she responded, “short of ushering his ass to the curb there’s really nothing we can do.” She glanced back at her partner playing on his phone and looked up at me with an abrupt confidence. “We’ve got no problem doing that though. Just give us the word.” She returned to her paper, casually turning the page.

I managed to fight off a chuckle, but a rogue smirk emerged.

“He’s adamant he was sent to get you,” she mentioned tauntingly. “Says he can’t leave until he sees you.”

I sighed, muttering under my breath. “I really don’t have time for this shit, Jude.” Not with the mountain of emails flooding my inbox. Not with the back-to-back conference calls and meetings. The news had hit last week, but the aftermath had a cascading effect that seemed to be endless. It meant a lot of late nights and splitting headaches.

The gates beeped as I swiped my card and walked through. I stormed the desk from the other side.“If I’m not back by 1:30 PM, please give Stella a ring.”

Judith mumbled something back in the vague spirit of yes. The boy didn’t even look up from his phone.

“Mr. Mooney?” Tucking the sign underneath his arm, he graciously held out his hand.

“Can we not send him away?” I asked Judith, dialing my voice down to a polite whisper.

“Splendid,” he replied, turning for the exit. “We’re rather late. It shouldn’t be a problem if we leave now.”

“Hold on a second, will you?”

The man’s forehead bunched up.

“Who sent you?” I asked.

The thin smile was wiped from his face. Stroking his bottom lip, he seemed to ponder a response, but no words were offered in return.

“Who sent you?” I repeated.“It’s a simple question, really. My assistant has no memory of an appointment over lunch hour and my calendar remains empty. Quite frankly, I’m inclined to send you on your way.”

More stroking, his fingers now migrating to his chin. After another pause, he spoke softly, “We really must be going, sir.” For a second, I detected a hint of fear.

“And where would we be going?”

His mouth opened, albeit brief, before regretfully clamping shut. More silence. Averted eyes. I scoffed and left him in his place. I made it down the hall and halfway up the lobby stairs, the smells of the food court on the tip of my nose, before I felt a firm grip on my shoulders.

His words were sheltered under his brown leather glove, but his voice was brash and urgent. “Shall we step outside, sir? So we can talk?”

I studied the man as lunchgoers continued to pass. Appalled by his sudden use of force, but intrigued by the veil of secrecy, I stepped out into the brisk wind with him. The sounds of the city followed us to the polished limousine. Snow fell delicately from the cloud-filled skies.“This better be good, or so help me God.”

He leaned against the vehicle with slumped shoulders, and I could feel it in his gaze.

It was the look of a man just trying to do his job.

“It’s Mr. Walter Whaylen, sir,” he whispered. The breeze nearly blew the hat right off his head.

Walter Whaylen, you dirty dog. The name stirred up some unforeseen butterflies in my stomach. Amid a potential sales process, competitors would do just about anything to sweeten the deal; the line between “gift” and “bribe” were blurred, which didn’t bother me in the slightest. I had fought tooth and nail to rise to my position, there should be a little whipped cream at the top for executives, as far as I was concerned. That was how negotiations worked.

But Walter Whaylen was an unlikely buyer. Somewhat of a mystical entity, known for being a cutthroat and ruthless bastard in his consolidation approach; it was a name often feared, and a face rarely seen. A powerhouse in the asset management territory, but entirely absent in the insurance space, from what I could remember. But maybe that was the point. Everyone needed life insurance. And I welcomed the challenge with open arms. I had been known to be a shrewd, stubborn bastard myself.

“It was meant to be a surprise, sir,” the man added, nervously. “So, please…no mention, will you?”

“Of course. My lips are sealed.”

There was a sudden breath of relief from the man. “Come along, then,” he urged, holding the door open. “We mustn't keep him waiting.”

I slid into the back seat, as the last gust of winter air and city racket swept into the vehicle. The smooth heated leather welcomed my frigid fingers. The door shut with an empathetic thud.

The engine hummed as he turned the key. Then a grin poked up at me from the rearview mirror.

“You’re riding in the T4 S-Class,” he said, his pale eyes glimmering with pride. He continued to rattle off the extensive upgrades the vehicle offered. Bulletproof windows. A complimentary bar, stocked as generously as a nightclub. Shelving units stored with snacks and beverages. Everything one could wish for. The glee seemed to ooze out of the man in this environment where everything seemed to dazzle, and he was in control.

I caught a glimpse of him searching my reflection in the mirror, looking for some sign of acknowledgment or recognition. My eyes were largely fixed on my phone. An email regarding the Woodworth estate had just popped up. Another requesting updated powerpoints for the upcoming board meeting. I told him it was all very nice and tended to my work.

I hate to admit it, but I had become accustomed to certain luxuries. It was where we were going that got my juices flowing. Lunch at a Michelin restaurant? Box seats for a home game? Greg had stories of hush-hush underground strip clubs. What kind of man was Walter Whaylen?

“You know, the president hasn’t ridden in something like this,” he noted, sharply, pulling the vehicle into motion. “The president, Mr. Mooney.”

The man’s smile vanished as he placed his finger on the button. The privacy screen vibrated upward.

***

In the end, it was a phone call that woke me. I wiped the trail of drool from my cheek and patted the damp collar of my dress shirt. How long had I been out? I panicked. For the first time in a long time I had dreamed—the bleary visions left vague wisps of something dark, something sinister, the details of which eluded my memory but left me with a groggy mind and pounding heart.

The heat was turned up to an uncomfortable level. Sweat pooled up in dark stains around my pits, beads dripping down my brow. But most of all, I felt disconnected. I clawed at my pockets, the ringer still dancing its merry jingle. I gawked in horror when I realized where it was coming from.

The tune sailed back to me from the front seat.

The eyes of the driver met mine, gleaming in the rearview. The look was far from dull now, it was something frightening, a look ablaze with something…something I didn’t quite trust.

“Nice nap, Mr. Mooney?”

The ringer died.

“Yes…thank you,” I mumbled back, still stunned by the strange predicament. With the privacy screen lowered a crack, I could just make out the hazy beams of the headlights chopping through an otherwise crippling darkness. The road was rocky, bobbing the vehicle from side to side as the gravel and lack of street signs sent me into a flurry of distress.

How long had we been driving?

“We’re getting close now. Don’t worry.”

“Where the hell are you taking me?” I probed.

…And why was it so dark?

The tint was impossible to see through now, but what I could make out around me left me wary. Strange greys, flickers of discolored shadows, splashes of faint light dancing behind the shaded windows.

And the suffocating blackness up ahead.

“Well, Ken—” the driver started. The car suddenly lurched to the left, steamrolling through something solid. “The truth of the matter is we’re almost there. But you’ll need to be making a decision.”

“Give me back my phone,” I ordered. “I’ll dial Walter Whaylen directly. Wait till he hears about this wild goose chase you’ve put me through. You need to stop this. Now.”

“There’s no stopping here, sir,” the man laughed, madly. His eyes were wide and alert, both hands gripping the wheel with tense wrists. “No, you wouldn’t want that at all.” It was as if the flat road had disappeared, the car was now bumping and jerking its way down a tiny hill of moguls.

He reached over his shoulder and lazily tossed back my phone. It toppled backward, inches from my lap. “It won’t do you much good, but here.”

Scrolling past the emails and missed calls, the worrisome text messages from Stella and my wife, I found myself in tears.

“Tell me what you want?” I begged. “If it’s money, you can have it. Just let me go...Please...”

“It’s not what I want,” the man said, “it’s what he wants. And please, consult whoever you need to make your decision. It’s a big one, after all. And Mr. Whaylen drives a pretty hard bargain.”

My hand shot to the door handle. It didn’t bulge. It burned. I recoiled from the touch, the skin on my palm raw and searing with pain. Something guttural escaped from inside me, whimpers mixed with moans of dread.

We were heading down an unsteady decline. It felt like a cruel ride, the roller coaster creeping inch by inch before the inevitable drop.

“Where the fuck are you taking me—” I yelped, searching for a name and realizing there was none to speak of—no name tag clipped to his lappel. No company logo. No identification.

“Who are you?” I trembled.

“Names,” he shook his head, “names like Walter Whaylen, Mr. Mooney…These things are just labels. Pseudonyms,. Something to serve the higher calling. What you need to be concerned with is your decision.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I sneered.

“Are you willing to sell?” he smiled, a nasty, conniving grin. “He wants everything.”

I kicked at the window, my feet pounding against the glass like a tantruming little boy. Each stomp bounced back, the scent of burnt rubber in the air. “Let me out!”

“Or we can keep driving. You choose.”

“Let me the fuck out!” I screamed, emptying my lungs in a shrill shriek that dissipated into a fit of sobs.

“We’re about to hit the tunnel now,” the man warned. “I’ll need an answer...and quickly.”’

The darkness gave way to haunting flickers of light off in the distance. As we approached closer, I could see the glowing eyes. Millions of cloudy beads, their ghoulish skeletons and the thump and whump of the vehicle running over their outstretched gnarled hands. Their flesh slipped off their bones like goop. An arc of flames steadily approached, plumes of brimstone and clouds of souls whisking around the entrance in billows of demented faces. They floated towards the vehicle as the rusty gate slowly swung open. More bodies approached the vehicle, bringing their choruses of wails. There was scratching at the windows now, on the rooftop, the undercarriage. The creatures clung on, clawing desperately to get in.

The man placed his sunglasses on and took a heavy breath. He made one final glance in my direction and shrugged:

“Suit yourself.”

Then we passed through the gate.

***

There was the phone in my palm again. The sunlight, the sounds of the city pouring in before the door slammed shut.

 This time, I noticed the light dusting of snow that trickled in from my suit. The flakes sparkled as they fell before melting away into nothing by the heat of the seat warmers. The simple beauty almost brought tears to my eyes.

The driver's eyes stared back at me in the rearview, flashing with eagerness. “You’re riding in the T4 S-Class,” he continued…a chill sweeping through me. My eyes followed every feature, in order, highlighted with great enthusiasm by the man, and I could do nothing but merely blink. Blink in the hopes that everything would rinse away, that I would be back in the corner office with the drab walls, where nothing seemed to stop, but at least it all made sense.

The driver kept talking while I escaped into my phone. There was the Woodworth estate email. The board meeting request. Every word had been memorized to the punctuation marks. But there was a new notification that leaped forward on the screen. 

Have you come to a decision?

I lunged at the driver through the gap in the compartment. My body wedged into the gap, my hands wildly clawing at his back.

Always just out of reach.

“Mr. Mooney!” the man growled. “What has gotten into you? Get back, for God’s sake, sir. Please!”

 My fingertips slipped against the waxy twill of his coat. His chest lay flat against the steering wheel, his index finger placed firmly on the button. The swipes were futile, but the effort gave me a sad semblance of control.

The screen rose, the pressure constricting my midriff against the thick sheet of glass and the roof. It forced the air out of my lungs, my teeth gnashed and snarling. 

It kept rising, the car still moving. 

My head began to swim in flashes of dancing lights and stars. A fierce bolt of pain shot through my midsection as something cracked.

 “Sit back, Mr. Mooney,” the driver advised.  “We’ll be there, soon enough.”

***

I awoke to a phone call sailing in from the front seat. 

Mr. Mooney’s eyes were bright and wide with a shimmer of that woeful, impending doom that he seemed to enjoy.

They jumped playfully from the rearview and back to the darkness up ahead. 

The grin slowly came back to his face.

 “Nice nap, Mr. Mooney?"

0 Comments
2024/03/28
20:08 UTC

43

I delivered propane to remote areas. Then I met the Korhonens, who were a very bad idea.

I used to have a small business delivering propane gas to customers who lived up north, away from civilization. These were a mix of people with cottages, those living off-grid and what you might call exiles from the daily grind.

My deliveries were split between my regulars and those to whom I delivered only once.

The Korhonens were the latter.

When they called me up one July day, I didn't think anything of it. We set a delivery date a week into August and chatted a bit over the phone.

They struck me as a normal couple: childless, in their 50s, expats from Finland. Their only real instruction was that if I couldn't complete the delivery by sundown, I should return in the morning instead.

On that August day, I would have easily made it to their place by noon if not for a spot of trouble with my truck that made me double back to town for repairs. By the time the truck was in working order it was late in the afternoon, but I thought I would risk it anyway. I called en route but nobody picked up, which isn't particularly strange given the poor cell reception around here, and kept driving, feeling guilty that any potential delay would be my fault because of the truck.

The Korhonens lived quite deep in the bush, in an area I wasn't used to delivering to, and the way was longer than it had looked on the map.

When I arrived at their property gate it was already evening, and further darkness seemed to be drifting in on the unseasonably cold breeze. I tried their phone again (no answer), then called out into the wild: no response. I had the code to the gate and could see a building down the gravel driveway, so I opened it and drove through. Nothing caught my eye except for a line of small white stones encircling the homestead—including across the driveway—but my truck had no issue getting over it.

The building looked like it was in the midst of repairs (again, not unusual) and had a clearly defined older section, a newer add-on and an attached metal shed. I parked the truck, got out and knocked on the front door. No one responded.

The sun was sinking below the trees by now, but the propane tanks were easily reached and I decided to fill them despite the Korhonens’ instructions because I didn't see a good reason to leave—only to come back tomorrow. It was while backing my truck towards the tanks that I heard the first bang.

It was followed promptly by another, and a third-fourth-fifth-sixth…

Then they ended.

I stopped the truck and identified the source of the banging as somewhere inside the house. I knocked on its front door again, harder than before; again, nobody answered, but this time the door itself swung open. It apparently hadn't been locked.

I stepped inside. There was a sterility and a stillness there, the eerie coziness of a morgue after hours. Things were neat. The neatness was unsettling. “Hello,” I said to no one in particular. Perhaps it was an animal doing the banging, I thought. That seemed the most reasonable explanation, as I scanned the Korhonens’ bookshelf (John Muir, Wendell Barry, Pentti Linkola) and the banging resumed, followed by silence, followed by a voice weakly saying, “Help me.”

The voice chilled me. I asked, Who's there?

“Ahti Korhonen,” the voice said—I still didn't know from where.—“Their son.” They'd told me they didn't have children.

Where are you?

“In the shed. Help me, please.”

I found the door to the shed padlocked, but I had bolt cutters in my truck. I told the boy to wait while I ran to get them. Heart: beating. Then I came back, cut through the padlock and found myself face-to-face with a dirty, emaciated child, pot-bellied, with shadows under his eyes, his hair cut sickly short and skin that looked as pale as clouds.

He pleaded with me to take him out of there—to save him…

I asked him to follow me, but he said he was too weak to walk, so I picked him up and began carrying him to my truck. All the while my mind was processing the best course of action. I would have called the police but I didn't have cell reception.

When we were a few dozen steps from the truck, Ahti Korhonen suddenly cried out, and when I asked what was the matter he begged me to save his sister: “There's a key hidden by the gate. They keep her underground. Please. Let me show you."

So instead of putting him in the truck, I turned and carried him up the gravel driveway towards the gate, feeling his tears on my back. But the moment we crossed the boundary of white stones, he pushed away from me, dropped to the ground and in some combination of the movements of a child and a wild dog ran into the woods. I yelled after him to wait, gazing into the depths defended by the grey trees, but saw nothing but darkness, and when I looked up I realized that night had fallen.

After grabbing a flashlight from the glove compartment of my truck, I pressed ahead into the woods where I thought the boy had gone, but I couldn't find him.

I'm not sure for how long I tried, or when I gave up, but it was while making my way back to the Korhonen homestead that I came across a clearing—and, in the middle of it, there he was!

It was a moonless night.

Dark.

But for some reason I could see him unnaturally well, as if he himself were emitting light: not a white light but one as the darkness itself, black and shining, penetrating the nightworld with its un- .

A rumbling began somewhere far, far away.

And a wind.

And as the rumbling grew, the wind intensified and Ahti Korhonen shone ever and ever-more intensely, his small head becoming a kind of anti-beacon, and in the skies, and between trees, over me began to pass—first only a few, then more, and soon a multitude—of moths in all variations of the darkest colours imaginable, some as small as fingernails, others the size of birds, and I dropped to my knees, then fell onto my chest, and the moths converged; they converged on Ahti Korhonen, on his blindingly dark and shining head, covering it, soaking up his infinitely black light, and while they did so and while I lay at the edge of the clearing the most terrible, vile and violent scenes played in my mind, thefts and betrayals, murders and abuses and tortures, brief-but-vivid glimpses of such horrordeeds. Most of the people involved I did not know, but some I did… some of them I knew…

—then they scattered.

It was as if Ahti Korhonen had grown and grown and exploded into a rain of moths, which disappeared into the depths of the forest in all directions, leaving me in utter and lonely silence on my chest on the cold, damp earth.

I eventually got back to the homestead and into my truck. I drove away. The minute I regained cell reception, I called the police to report what had happened.

They investigated but found no one imprisoned there, no signs of wrongdoing and no evidence the Korhonens had ever had a child, named Ahti or otherwise.

But in the weeks, months and years following the day on which I'd met Ahti Korhonen, some of the evil things I saw—I can confirm that they’ve come true. I do not doubt that everything I saw has or will soon come to pass. All that suffering…

I no longer deliver propane.

I still live in the area.

To the best of my knowledge, the Korhonens are no longer resident on their property. But I went by once, a few months ago, and the place was still kept and clean, and the repairs were in a more advanced state than before. Just before I left, I swear to you I heard a banging.

4 Comments
2024/03/28
20:06 UTC

6

In The Flayed Fields

March 3rd, 01:12 - Our unit has hit a wall here in France, we were supposed to assist the forces here in repelling the Germans but we weren't prepared for their assault, yesterday they wiped out more than half of the other brits in our troupe. Squadron leader Lieutenant Fawkes was among the number injured by heavy artillery fire. I had to drag his half-torn body out of the ditch he lay in. He handed me his scrapbook as he was being carried off to the emergency tents, the shrapnel

protruding from his lacerated arm had nearly torn up my hand in the process, adrenaline is a hell of a thing. Until he recovers I will try to keep these pages alive. My name is

Private William Greene of the Royal Scots infantry and I've been fighting this war since the beginning. Formerly a professor, I had no proclivity for violence or blind

willingness to be sent to my death. I do however, believe in people, I have seen many a graduating student walk out of my doors to brave the world for themselves, knowing full

well that this is likely where they ended up, I stand by my principles and I'm doing the same thing I always have, fighting for a better future. At least, I hope so.

March 5th, 19:23 - It wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to think I'm starting to go slightly deaf, the bombardments keep me awake most hours of the night and the pressure from German

infantry means we can't rest during the day either. Private Wilkins tells me that what little sleep he does get is plagued by nightmares of fleshy things wriggling in the barbed

wire so close to where we rest our heads. I think he could tell by my reaction the thought of such a thing disturbed me, so instead he resorted to calling me a feardie boy, we

had a good laugh then after. Wilkins always has a way of lightening the mood, I've known him since we got into a verbal scrap at the enlistment office over my own lack of

enthusiasm concerning the heightened nationalism in our country leading to more and more violence. We've since come to understand one another, cultivated a sort of friendship

even, he's simple minded and brash but headstrong and I've rarely seen him shaken by the atrocities we've since witnessed.

March 23rd, 04:45 - It appears the Lieutenant's sacrifice was for naught, the brass has decided to move us away from the front lines here and toward Belgium, where the trenches have been dug. I've heard stories of the war efforts in Belgium, the so called 'Dodengang' or 'Trench of Death' is our destination. Mayhap the journey will give us a chance to rest peacefully, when I

find myself restless I've discovered a habit of looking through the old entries in this here scrapbook. Our Fawkes was quite the artist, each page is filled corner to corner with

rather lush depictions of exotic flora from nigh across the world. Take for instance the Rafflesia or 'Corpse Flower', despite being called this, it is in fact a parasite that feeds on

dead trees while releasing a sickly sweet smell to lure flies to carry it's spores, while I find these pages to be of great entertainment during my restless nights, I have found nary a

trace of journal keeping before mine own. I can't help but feel my entries inferior, Apologies Lieutenant Fawkes, I have no artistic talent of my own,

my written entries will have to suffice.

April 1st, 12:56 - We arrived in Belgium after a 3 hour journey by truck on which Wilkins seemed to achieve some short lived rest, he woke shortly before we arrived at the trenches in a cold sweat. I had asked what he dreamed of but he refused to tell me and has since been lost in his thoughts, so much so, that he did not snap out of his delusions even when the enemy

artillery had blown to smithereens the truck in front of us, causing our driver to swerve out of the way and back on to the dirt road, I had thought for sure we were bound to topple

into a ditch the way I was nearly forced onto my feet caused by the erratic driving. Nevertheless we made it safely to the trench, I wish the same could be said for our unlucky

escort, poor sods. By the time we had sunk our feet into the veritable swamp of mud and damp wood that was the Dodengang, Wilkins seemed to be back to his usual, hotheaded

self, trading his rationed food for cigarettes with some of the other infantry stationed there. I was by far more interested in seeing where we would bunk so that I could call it a

night, we had been introduced to Officer Waylin who was to be responsible for us during our time here, there are rumors he was sent in to replace the Officer before him, who

would send the men on 'strategic' rushes of the enemy trench ultimately leading to major avoidable losses. I approached Waylin and upon seeing my halfhearted stand to

attention and lacking enthusiasm, he understandably dismissed me to get some sleep.

April 3rd, 04:13 - I'm beginning to understand why we have been so hastily ripped from our comfy defense of France, the fight here is a desperate one. Some men tell tales of watching their brothers in arms peek over the top of the trenches only to hear the distinctive sound of engineered rancor and find their skulls have become one with the mud and disease to which we

have now become accustomed. More worryingly so are tales of the fog, some say they have seen the very bodies of the fallen act, unbecoming, of those who surely are dead upon

the fog's presence. Officer Waylin seems to frown upon such storytelling, often interrupting these superstitious yarn-spinnings with one of his apparent famous speeches about

'letting fear win' or 'surrendering before trying' which to his credit does seem to light a fire in the hearts of men, more so Wilkins, who has since come to most certainly venerate

the man, espousing his words of bravery to anyone unlucky enough to which he shares a bunk space with.

April 9th, 19:12 - Today was my first experience of the dread fog that had captured the imagination of those few infantry, even those most hardened who would stare down enemy machinations and surely not hesitate to pull the trigger so long as he who donned the fatigues wore the wrong colors, were faintly quelled by it's aura. One who remained poised was of course Officer Waylin, who decided this was in fact a situation to be taken advantage of, rallying a few of the nearest troops and laying out his plan. They were to rush the enemy using

the fog as cover to cross No Man's Land uninhibited, Wilkins had almost volunteered to be one of those who would brave fate and venture toward the enemy line, before he could

pitch his idea to the Officer however I took grip of his shoulder tightly, he shook me off but it was too late, someone else had eagerly stepped up to try their luck at becoming a

hero. "What do you think you're doing Greene? Get a hold of yourself man, this is war" He half whispered, noticeably annoyed at not having been at the front of the line to prove

himself to his new hero. To be truthful, I'm not sure why I did it either, Wilkins and I have all but accepted our fates in this living hell of a world man has created, mayhap

the hysteria surrounding the oozing mist had set my mind awry for but a moment but it felt like a few seconds of instinct in which I would not willingly let him venture into

what many have taken to thinking of as the primordial unknown itself.

April 11th, 12:01 - Those men never came back. Those few on watch had said they heard nothing overnight, no shots had rung out over that long stretch of blood and barbed wire meaning they certainly couldn't have been included in a gunfight. Waylin believes the Germans are up to something but I know how his men are superstitious and would rather blame the

ordeal on the supposed shapes in the mist that so many of them claim to have been witness to. Many would even ignore the fog's presence all together and avoid looking past the

sandbags, having their eyes trained on the ground as they passed through the outdoor sections of the trench, refusing to face the fog and have it stare back at them. Despite

many of us feeling this way, there have been a few reported accounts of infantrymen in a trance attempting to climb the walls, I would normally have passed this up as mere

storytelling if it had not been for my own experience. I had been assigned to the day watch, fighting my own battle with ostensible awareness when a stranger took hold of my

leg, needless to say jolting me well into lucidity. When I had turned around to face him, he was moving past me, into the battlefield almost as if he were sleepwalking. He was

making for the fog, I leapt up in a panic once I realized his intent and tackled him to the ground, once more placing my trepidation in another, it took another two infantry to

drag him off the field and back to safety.

Despite risking punishment, I passed my rifle to another man and visited the bunker of the fellow who had attempted to rush off, arriving at his dugout, he was restrained by several of our boys, it seemed as if they were causing him pain just by holding him down, he had been screaming all the while “that mist is behind my eyes, it’s moving towards my head” The ramblings of a sleep deprived soldier no doubt, or at least, that’s what the others say, I heard them chuckling amongst each other at his dramatic outburst.

April 14th, 10:11 - Once again a restful sleep escapes me, I awoke to find a surprisingly fearless rodent perched on the end of my bunk, standing on his hind legs. If I were so inclined towards

madness as some of our brothers appear to be, I would say it seemed like the creature was regarding me with a sort of intelligence, unmoving and calculated, as if it was waiting

for me to do something. Were it not for Wilkin's fevered awakening I would have thought it a night terror, the rat soon scurried off at the unexpected noise and I had asked Wilkins

what the fuss was this time. He slumped back in the folding bed that barely fit his large frame and breathed a sigh of relief, I asked him once more if he had experienced another

nightmare but he seemed not to be fully lucid and falling back into sleep, or so I assumed, before becoming unconscious once more he whispered fervently something I couldn't

fully understand, it sounded like "Too far in" I must have fallen asleep myself shortly after.

April 15th, 10:03 - It is an uncanny feeling in a place of such constant bombardment to feel nothing but the wind blowing through the trenches. Such was this morning when I awoke to a strange silence, not a semblance of shouting, artillery or gunfire to be heard. My first instinct was to wake Wilkins from his slumber as we often do for one another, I more often than him,

however I found his bunk to be empty. Upon exiting our dugout I found my vision to be drastically obscured by the rolling fog which had engulfed the surrounding landscape,

a few men were gathered by the sandbags leading out where the fog was thickest, among them was Officer Waylin who didn't seem to care at all that I had

forgotten to stand at attention and instead addressed me as Private Greene before informing me of the situation. While I was sleeping, the fog had rolled in thicker than ever before,

Waylin saw this as an opportunity to send a small unit across No Man's Land, this time to do some small reconnaissance of the enemy's bunker, Wilkins had apparently approached

the group and requested to join the operation, the officer had the right mind to deny him as he looked to be affected by delirium however Wilkins had insisted that he had simply

not slept well the previous night, Officer Waylin had decided to let the private do what he willed and they haven't been in contact with any of them since. I do feel regret at not

being able to stop him once more going over but in the end, it was his own choice, he's a braver man than I. What’s more, I visited the bunker of that wailing man from the previous day, strangely, naught but his standards remained in his bunk, drenched in water. We are only given one uniform.

April 16th, 10:31 - The fog has not yet cleared at present and the stagnancy of the battle ensues. The men seem to be hallucinating things, disembodied faces seeming familiar to

them in an uncanny way, remaining in the corners of one's peripherals and never fully in sight. One man by the name of Lance Sergeant Monet had apparently just gone mad

had taken off without a word straight into the maw of the fog, even leaving his rifle behind. no one had attempted to give chase, still sends a shiver up my spine to imagine what

urge would drive a man to avoid his sense of danger to do such a thing, I cannot ponder. I find myself unnerved by the intensity of the silence more than anything.

April 17th, 09:58 - Last night I awoke once more, the first time I had slept for such a duration in so long, when I pried my eyes open I happened to spy something I still cannot explain, something that still disturbs me so as I write; I had been observing my surroundings in the dark as I usually do upon waking at night, everyone else sharing the bunker was out cold.

Twenty or so minutes must have passed when I chanced to gaze at the form of an entity studying me well before I had noticed it's presence, had an animal happened to

invade our bunker? No, an animal could not remain so still as this thing had so effortlessly blended into its surroundings as if it had been there the entire time. As I thought

about it more and more, the being frightened me with increasing intensity, I thought my best chance was to reach for my gun. As I slowly began to move my arm toward the

edge of my bed, the true peril of my situation struck me, the abomination edged slowly towards me as I turned my body, I stopped and so too did the thing, I rested my arm once

more by my side and the thing retreated to where it had been where I first glimpsed it. Every move I made, it would advance on me and judging by its stride, it would certainly

reach me before I reached for my rifle. Adrenaline coursed through my being as all I could do was remain still and observe it as it observed me. I remember slowly losing

consciousness while desperately trying to keep my eyes locked on the entity, the way it walked toward me whenever I made any kind of movement, flowing like water in the shape

of an unnatural being before retreating into the background once more and locking itself into place, once more before I began to slip back into my dreams I noticed it moving

slowly, not towards me, instead, it appeared to be mimicking my own breathing. The collective anxiety seems to have affected me somewhat, is it that, or am I simply becoming

akin to those plagued by hauntings of the imagination?

April 18th, 10:46 - Still no action from our enemy, Officer Waylin seems to be distraught by his failings to gather intel or at least have a single squad come back after being sent out into the fray. Despite the ominous call of the gray mist warding me away from entry, lately I'm beginning to feel the unknown voyage is better than staying here in the Dodengang overlong,

rations are running out and some of the more short-tempered types have begun lashing out amongst their fellow men. What's worse still is that some of the French boys have been

turning up eviscerated on their very beds, everything below their necks splayed and bloody while their heads remain a perfectly kept visage of their terror, why the consistency?

I'm not sure, but I wonder if I nearly shared the same fate by being privy to the intruder in our bunker. I no longer believe these happenings to be that of human creation, even as

one who has witnessed the cruelty of mine own kind. I choose not to think of this too often, nevertheless, tensions are high, It's driving us all to grow distant from one another.

Perhaps it would be better to go to my fate than stay here and have death be an eventuality.

April 20th, 15:32 - This morning I approached Officer Waylin with my plan, I was to join the next survey team and make a break for the enemy trenches, where in my mind they would welcome us as temporary allies against the very mist itself, worst case scenario they would take us prisoners and reveal the fog was of their own making. Either way we would be free from the

torment and I may even be able to see Wilkins again. Waylin had been so beaten down by recent losses and mounting problems that I must have looked like a knight in shining

armor, I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth after he so proudly held my shoulder and thanked me for my bravery. No sooner than he let go of me did I become covered in his

blood, the aggressor a fellow brit with his eyes rolled back into his head. He let off another shot that grazed my neck and I made for the wall, one shot after another things were

escalating and soon the whole trench was engaged in combat with one another, every man for himself. In all the chaos I must have been the only one to notice the fog was creeping

closer to where the fighting was, I had run twenty or so yards from the pit and could only hear the shots and violence become drowned out by the wailing of the fog that now surrounded

me. Oddly enough, while the air here is filled with stillness, a strange discomposure overcomes me as I venture further.

April, 16:09 - While I was stationed in the Dodengang I had never the chance to see for myself the slaughter wrought upon the battlefield until now, I could not see far in any direction,

consequently my eyes are forced downward to the bodies that lay under my boots. I've been wandering for so long that I had almost become insensitive to the nature of this place,

the idea that I could dismiss those that were once alive as part of the ground beneath my feet frightened me as I thought of what I would become. I knelt down beside one of the

fallen, a German boy, couldn't have been more than twenty years old I thought, when I was torn from my depression, replaced with rising alarm when I realized the lad was still

breathing, in fact, they were all still breathing, further yet, they all seemed to be moving ever so slightly. As if they were molten rock, slowly the corpses began to merge with one

each losing their own individuality in a spectacle I was too frozen to flee from, they began to moan in a choir of uncomforting harmony as their bodies were unwillingly welded to one another,

the very floor beneath my feet now moving to give way to a growing pit in the middle of the field, those inside the maw of the pit now screaming bloody murder. I tried to snap out

of it, the shrieking and wailing kept getting louder, more voices in the throng. My primal instinct had all but sparked enough for me to take off in a sprint, no longer caring for the

moans of those my boots trampled in my dreaded haze, as I was escaping I felt it in my heart, I knew, something was birthed from that pit of hell, I felt its eyes on me as I made for

safety, the same gaze I had received when I had impeded Wilkin's attempt to go over the wall and yet, the same stare I remember from a few nights ago. I ran for what must have

been half an hour until I could no longer breathe, things are still once more and the bodies no longer weep as I step over them, I don't recall No Man's Land being this long

of a stretch.

April, 19:33 - It is as I feared, they too have been swallowed whole by the fog, what's strange is the lack of bodies, the area around the enemy trench is completely clear, just the mist and mud that engulf my vision. I suppose I must be thankful to have stayed my course, the land has become twisted and I no longer recognize it as it once was. I decided to head into one of the bunkers to investigate, there's not much else I can do and I feel as though I am seen out here in the open, it is not the feeling of staring down the barrel of a rifle, instead, it feels as if there is hot breath around my neck.

April, 20:25 -After some more hours of wandering I stumbled across an odd tarp draped over a hole, upon further investigation it seems to be a tunnel under the trenches themselves, the fog

does appear to be present underground. I have naught to illuminate my way, it seems however that there is light emanating from within this cavern. As I write, I'm coming up

to the end of the tunnel, I see what looks like an excavation site, so this is where all the bodies were. As I descend I notice the runes carved and etched into the stone walls

with such nonsensical detail that it almost hurts to strain a look at; and from a gargantuan hole in the old sandstone seeps the very fog that plagued us, over the dead bodies of

countless infantry, ours and theirs alike, Wilkins is among them, I found him, dead like all the others. It is darker than ever I thought possible beyond that hole, the light itself

seems to be swallowed whole. There is an odd writhing noise from within, I hesitate to intrude into the dark where whatever animal this is stirs, however, I could have sworn I heard a

familiar voice by the entrance to the tunnel.

As I write now, standing at the precipice toward the breathing abyss I feel eyes on the back of my head, the voices that speak to me from behind are that of Waylin, Fawkes, Wilkins and.. My mother, back home. They speak to me casually but I dare not turn, the voices they speak to me in are so grossly wrong, as if they do not fully grasp the complexity of human speech, as I try to ignore, they grow impatient, the voices manufactured to ease me are slipping and giving way to deep gurgles, perhaps sensing I am too far in to flee, the unhinging of jaws sound and sockets filled with nothing fill my mind, as vision is the vestige of a species of prey.

I feel something akin to warmth on the back of my neck, wrong limbs in the shape of hands push me forward into the hole in the wall, their excited trembling and grasping is beginning to hurt, I can no longer write steadily.

1 Comment
2024/03/28
20:03 UTC

29

KNOCK... KNOCK... once you hear it, you have only one minute to get outside [Part 1]

It’s fucking freezing.

It’s fucking freezing.

It’s fucking freezing.

I repeat to myself on loop as I wait for the bus to arrive at Mt. Prospect. I’ve endured many cold winters in the Chicago suburbs, but this was by far the coldest that I could remember. I hug my purse close to my body, as if cheap lip balm and a compact mirror could radiate warmth.

It's hard to believe that it’s already been six months since I returned to the place where I grew up. At the ripe age of 33, my life has officially come full circle.

My hands burrow into my jean pockets, seeking warmth. I pull out a cheap disposable lighter that I contemplate flicking on but I resist the urge. I have carried it with me for the past 16 years, and yet, I have never used it—not even this morning, on the coldest day of my life.

The bus finally arrives, seven minutes late. I offer the driver a half-hearted smile. In minus 25-degree temperature, those seven minutes feel like a lifetime, buddy.

As the bus fills up, everyone sits in silence, honoring the unspoken agreement that nobody actually wants to be here. This pact doesn’t last long...

In the back, an elderly lady starts to yell. At first, it seems like she’s just rambling to herself. Nothing this bus hasn’t seen before.

The lady frantically yanks on the stop cord. Her yelling turns into shrieks. Within seconds the shrieks turn into a BLOOD CURDLING SCREAM. This catches everyone’s attention.

The bus driver remains stoic. God bless him. The last thing we need is this bus going any slower. The lady stumbles into the aisle, asking if we hear the noise. The knocking.

“STOP THE BUS!!!” she screams repeatedly.

With a desperate cry, she continues to tug on the stop cord. “YOU HAVE TO STOP THE BUS! PLEASE!” she hopelessly shouts at the bus driver. Her mouth quivers with fear.

“IT’S GOING TO KILL ME!”

The woman stumbles towards the front, digging her nails into each seat cushion she passes. Other people on the bus begin to lock eyes with each other. But not her. Never her. The last thing you want is to lock eyes with a crazy person.

She howls in agony. She says the knocking is getting louder. Unbearable. She pleads... “YOU HAVE TO STOP THE BUS. I NEED TO GET OUTSIDE!!!”

The bus driver steps off the gas, monitoring the situation. The woman starts to convulse. This gets a few people’s attention, including mine.

I whip around and look her dead in the eye. That’s when I realize she’s not crazy. Something truly terrifying is happening to her. I don’t know what, and I certainly can’t explain it, but the look on her face did not resemble that of a deranged person. Something was haunting her.

I yell at the driver to stop and then reach for the lady’s hand. “Everything is going to be alright,” I tell her, but my voice trembles. Her face becomes translucent as veins bulge like leeches trapped inside. Her nails dig into my arm as she clenches it.

“It’s too late. Once you hear it, you only have one minute...” She tells me in a gurgly voice like she’s halfway possessed. “One minute to what?!” I ask as the bus comes to a halt.

Her nails dig deeper into my skin. Drawing blood. “One minute to what???” I repeat.

“Get outside,” she says with one final breath.

She collapses to the ground. I don’t let go. I know she’s gone but I can’t let her go. I squeeze her hand and try to will her back to life. Tears flood down my cheek, but there’s nothing I can do.

It’s not until the paramedics arrive that I finally let go. I watch them take her off the bus. I swear, the second her body feels the outdoor air, there’s a moment of tranquility that passes over her. Again, I can’t explain it, and I have no idea why she needed to go outside. But she finally did.

It just happened to be a half-hour too late.

***

As soon as I get home, I grab my running shoes and take off. I need to clear my mind.

I hop the side fence of the football stadium, just like Alexis and I used to do. Back then, we’d smoke before practice. I know, stoners don’t typically run track. But hey, why should that stop us from living our best adolescent life?

After sneaking on, I walk past the Track and Field record board. There I was—Delaney Stevens, Girls’ 400-meter champ. Set records my freshman year. Check. Sophomore year. Check. Junior year. Check.

Don’t ask me what happened my senior year.

Next on the list was Alexis Carlson, Girls’ 1-mile champ. But more importantly, the best friend I ever had. The only person who truly understood me. We set this stadium on fire our first three years.

Again, don’t ask what happened our senior year.

I take off my jacket. It’s still fucking freezing. The news is right; this is the coldest winter we’ve had in a century.

First period. No gym. The only time the track is completely empty. My sanctuary.

I try to warm up, but I can’t focus. I can’t stop thinking about the lady on the bus ...A minute to get outside? …But only if she hears a noise? …I don’t know. I need to focus on something else.

I dig my feet into the turf and press start on my watch…

Hitting your thirties means realizing your body is no longer indestructible. That’s why I still run. To test my limits. As I round the first turn, I look at the time… 14.09 seconds

I yearn for the legs of my youth. Back when I set our school’s 400-meter record. 51.26 seconds. Pre-bionic leg. Before I had a screw in my knee and an anchor in my heel. The cold doesn’t help ease the pain. I fight through it... 29.52 seconds

I start to envision a packed stadium. My parents, if they were still here. Alexis. Coach Smith, who used to despise us. But then again, what coach enjoys finding his best runners high out of their minds during third period? You get away with a lot when you’re talented... 46.31 seconds

Homestretch. Can I still break a minute? My lungs feel like a balloon ready to pop. My reconstructed leg is a stride away from deteriorating. I cross the finish line and stop my watch...

59.57 seconds. I still got it.

I catch my breath and look up for a brief second. My eyes widen as I see something strange… A kid barrels out of a classroom door like a bolt of lightning. He stumbles outside, flushed white. Gasping for air. Letting out a piercing scream.

The panicked look on his face is familiar but I shrug it off. I take off my shoes and do some light stretching. As I grab my bag to leave, I hear a voice—

“Delaney? Delaney Stevens?”

I turn around and see a man standing with a visor. A fucking visor. How lame?

“I’m in the presence of greatness! Didn’t know you moved back.”

Yeah, nobody knows. That’s the point of moving back to your hometown. You don’t boast about it. You just pray you don’t run into anyone you know. Guess my luck ran out. He smiles at me—

“Ryan Rubino. We ran together. I was a senior when you—”

Of course. I had the BIGGEST crush on you my freshman year. I don’t say that, obviously. Gotta play it cool. Which isn’t hard when you’re talking to a guy wearing a fucking visor. I interrupt him, “Yeah, I remember. You ended up playing football at Wisconsin, right?”

He nods proudly. He then tells me that he’s the new gym teacher and track coach. He says it with a giant smile. Like he’s out here saving lives. But then again, who am I to judge?

We chat for a bit. Small talk, mostly. I try to keep it that way with everyone. Commitment’s never been my friend. Before I leave he asks me why I hopped the fence. He says I could have entered through the front like everyone else. I lie and tell him it’s an old tradition.

It’s easier than telling him the truth.

***

I knew it was just a matter of time before I ran into someone I went to school with. Buffalo Grove isn’t that big. Population of 42,794. I guess if we’re getting technical, it’s 42,792 now. I don’t think the census authorities took into account my parents passing away last month.

I walk through the snow-covered streets. A winter wonderland. Too bad I hate it here. Free rent is free rent though. Even if it’s a shitty outdated house. Guess that’s the reward you get for taking care of your sick parents. ALS took my mom, Parkinson’s my dad. Apparently, they were just an “Alzheimer’s” away from scratching off the neurodegenerative disease lottery ticket.

I ascend the steps of my childhood home. I used to think moving back wouldn’t be bad. Nostalgia and familiarity never hurt anyone. But man, nothing fun happens out here. Prior to the bus incident, the craziest thing that happened this month was the police finding a naked dude passed out in his front yard. Kudos to him. At least someone here was trying to have some fun.

When I enter my house I hear a rattling noise. I turn to my living room to see the culprit… an oxygen mask knocks against a tank. Next to the tank is a hospital bed and wheelchair—the remnants of hospice. I should probably call someone to finally pick it all up. That’s tomorrow's problem, I tell myself. For the tenth time this week.

I turn the shower on. As I strip out of my clothes, I notice a giant gash on my arm. The lady on the bus did some damage. Apparently, she’s the only octogenarian without rheumatoid arthritis. I clean the cut and hop into the shower. The warm water feels amazing. Unfortunately, the moment doesn’t last long…

I hear a light tapping on the front door. I pop my head out... Tap tap. Hopefully it’s just the Amazon guy. I run my fingers through my hair, trying to get rid of all the conditioner when— TAP TAP. I hear it again. I continue to ignore it; I’m not letting a delivery guy ruin my shower.

I let the warm water tickle my back but… OW FUCK!! The water starts to burn my skin. Piping hot. I quickly turn the water off and grab my robe.

KNOCK KNOCK.

Talk about one needy Amazon guy. I tighten my robe and run downstairs. I fling the door open but… nobody is there. No packages or anything. I step outside to look around. Whatever, I slam the door and get ready.

Before I head to work, I pop into the grocery store. As I’m about to step inside, I turn and see a woman racing out of a salon. Mid-haircut. The highlighting foils shake loose as she screams bloody murder. The sound pierces through the shopping center. It takes me a moment to catch my breath. Shit, this cold snap is making people go crazy.

There’s other Jewel-Oscos closer but I like this one. This particular one is where Alexis and I got caught stealing a copy of Maxim. The erotica heist took place the day after Alexis told me she wasn’t into guys. I told her she was lucky; the world caters to those trying to see a pair of tits.

As I peruse down the aisles, I reach into my pant pocket and take out the disposable lighter. Just holding it comforts me. It was the last thing Alexis ever gave me. Trivial yet priceless… isn’t that the microcosm of a good friendship? As I make my way to the check-out, I pass a woman. Jayme Fisher’s mom. She gives me a dirty look. Been getting that a lot since I’ve moved back.

Probably because I killed my best friend.

***

I finally stumble into work. A minute before noon That’s the perk about having your own consulting business; they don’t have to know you spent the morning playing hooky. The client that I’m currently working for is on the 18th floor of the Franklin Center.

To be honest, I haven’t been fully engaged in work lately. Taking six months off to care for your parents will do that to you. I sit at my desk and stare out the window. At least I have a great view of downtown. And for the most part, I do enjoy what I do. Especially since most gigs only last a few months. There’s a subtle beauty in leaving right before anyone really gets to know you.

Even though I’m supposed to be working on a marketing deck, my mind goes elsewhere. I continue to think about the lady on the bus. I mean, burying your parents is one thing. Watching someone beg for mercy before a torturous death is another.

At least after work, I have a distraction. A date with a rando that I matched with. And yes, this goes against the whole commitment-phobe thing, but I’m bored as hell and praying this guy is just looking for a casual fling. At least his ten different shirtless photos suggest it.

I arrive at Prairie House Tavern and search for a “James Heald, 37. Lawyer. But looking for a partner in crime. Let’s due process and then do each other” Jesus, I just remember those lines from his bio. I can already tell this date is going to be a dud.

At least I know all the exits here. That’s my M.O. If I know a date isn’t going well, I just pretend to go to the bathroom and book it. I arrive at the table and sit down. James Heald, Esq tells me about growing up in Skokie and how he loves the Bears. My mind is elsewhere…

I can’t get the image of the old lady out of my head. Her translucent skin. The harrowing screams. It’s been one hell of a day. As Flannel Boy continues to rattle off the Chicago Bears roster, I cover the gash on my arm with my sleeve and focus back onto the conversation.

“-- Collins?” he asks. Shit, I didn’t hear a single word just now. I perk up and confidently say “Yeah. We gotta replace him at left tackle.” Phew, I totally played that off. James looks at me like I just killed one of his six cats. He responds “No, Tom Collins. Do you want one too?” I then notice the waiter standing next to us. Yeah, this date isn’t gonna have a happy ending.

I tell James that I don’t drink anymore. Haven’t since the drunk driving accident. I don’t tell him that, of course. Although that information is just a quick Google search away. As if guys actually background check their dates. Before the drinks come I tell James I need to run to the bathroom.

I walk home with a smile. At the moment, he probably thinks I suffer from the world's worst case of IBS or that I've left him. Boys can be naive; I'd bet on the former.

I boil water and grab a bag of ramen. The hot chili one. Alexis and I used to live off of this. It wasn't until our junior year that we realized spicy foods and working out can lead to major acid reflux. You live and learn.

I grab my phone and turn on some mid-2000s emo. You know, some Taking Back Sunday. A little My Chem. Dashboard. The kind of music Alexis and I would rock out to before track meets. I grab a spatula, ready to lip-sync when—

Tap tap.

I turn down the music, not sure if I actually heard someone at the door.

TAP TAP.

My head jolts towards the back door. Wait, which side of the house is it coming from?

TAP TAP… TAP TAP…

Now it feels like the noise is coming from upstairs. Is it the pipes?

KNOCK… KNOCK…

The walls shake. Is someone in my fucking house??

The lights start to flicker. Or maybe it’s just my vision going in and out. I’m not sure. All I know is that my heart is racing. I start to see shadows dancing on the walls.

KNOCK… KNOCK… KNOCK… KNOCK…

Fuck. That’s not the knock of a delivery guy. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. My eyes widen— the lady on the bus!

I then realize, whatever was haunting her… IS NOW HAUNTING ME!!

I book it towards the front door but I crash into the hospice bed. My whole reality is disoriented.

The knocking intensifies. The water from the stove boils over. KRSH!! The windows shatter.

I try to tune everything out. I just need to get outside. The room starts to spin. I don’t know how much time I have left but I know 60 seconds ain’t much.

All of the sudden, I feel a figure standing behind me. I don’t know what the fuck it is but it ain’t human. It breathes on the back of my neck, taunting me.

KNOCK… KNOCK… KNOCK… KNOCK… KNOCK… KNOCK… KNOCK…

I tumble through the living room, trying to find an escape.

THUMP! A fallen tree crashes into my living room. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. As I try to dash away, I slam into the oxygen tank. Suddenly, it feels like my entire house is crushing me. The shadowy figure continues to lurk behind me. With all my might, I barrel through whatever door is in front of me, and I—

Land on a fresh pile of snow. I’m alive. I’m fucking alive.

The ice jolts me awake. I see someone shoveling snow across the street. My neighbor. I turn to him and ask if he sees it…whatever the fuck was in my house.

He shakes his head like I’m crazy.

2 Comments
2024/03/28
19:16 UTC

13

Fungi

In Virinian mythology, the universe has lasted over ninety cycles of life, a large canvas for Virinia and Her pantheon.

In the early cycles, She birthed a Son, Vega, the embodiment of flora and fauna. A joyful man, a God ruling over nature, earth, fertility, health, and fungi. One with an everlasting, bountiful garden; The No End Grove.

Now His Groves unrecognizable. Lurking in the shadows His court follows you. The garden became a dangerous swamp, stinking of rot and death and sex. Visitors become tenants. Instead of flora and fauna and health and love, He’s death, the reaper, venom, and plague, among others.

But He's still fungi.

His name changed from watering the fields to reaping the dead, and His kindly head of snakes became an angry hoard of serpents.

The libraries and mythologies say that He ends the world when Virinia must restart Her canvas. That He inflicts a horrible plague upon humankind. First, a small cold. Then strep throat. Following the oh so bad strep, your hives burst into open sores and holes so deep you can poke fat. The fever and chills and sweating get worse. Your heart hammers. You become deluded, and your mobility becomes impaired by your clouded vision. You possess such bad intrusive thoughts that you start to harm yourself and others even worse. The sun becomes perpetually red in our vision, and we hallucinate as bad as a schizophrenic.

I'm writing this because I have holes in my skin. I can pull out my own fat with tweezers if I wanted to. I can give myself liposuction if I wanted to. I'm writing this because another patient gave me a phone before her death. I'm writing this because this is what I've been told before death. I’m posting this here, to warn you. Before my Euthanasia.

My little towns being infected. Not by Vega’s “plague” like the ancient mythologies or like what They say. But by His fungus. His Hell for us, for our end times. The fungi that diseases us is in full bloom.

I thought it was just a cold I could fight off. When it progressed to strep, I went to a doctor. I got my meds for it and quarantined. It lasted three months of just strep.

Until I woke up with the holes and realized I was finally being laid off. By both work and life. I checked into a hospital.

They took me away. Put me under anesthesia, and I woke up 13 hours away. In a strange facility. They're called the "FIF", or whatever. Everyday they've been pulling out muscle and fat through the tiny holes in my body, testing it and testing it and testing it. They're going to kill me. I'm surprised they haven't already.

They don't know why the Red Sun fungus is acting up here. It's nowhere near the end of the cycle; otherwise everyone would have it. They're scared. Our governments in all of the world know, I'm sure of it. They're covering things up. They don't want an uproar. But I'm in a room with thirty four other people just like me. Some in early stages, some in the late stages. We're being experimented on, and I can only hope it can save the rest of you. I can't stand the pain.

I'm fucking scared. Real fucking scared.

This phones dying soon, so please. Remember.

If you have these holes, just kill yourself. It's the only way to stop it.

Love, Bian

2 Comments
2024/03/28
18:25 UTC

19

I Got a Strange Letter in the Mail

A few days ago, I got a letter in the mail. My name and address were scrawled on the envelope in large, shaky, capital letters. There was no return address. I brought it into my house with the rest of my mail and opened it. Inside, there was a small piece of paper, about the size of a credit card, that simply said, “HELLO.” It was written with those same shaky, capital letters that adorned the envelope. I turned the paper over and found nothing written on the back. The envelope was empty too. This random piece of paper with one word was all that was there and I had no idea who sent it or why.

I shrugged it off, chalking it up to being one of those handwritten church letters I’d sometimes get, and just left it on my counter with the rest of the junk mail I was too lazy to throw out. I then sat on my couch and watched TV for a while before going to bed, the letter completely forgotten at this point.

After a decent night’s sleep, I clumsily felt around my end table, trying to grab my phone and check the time. Instead, my hand brushed against a piece of paper. I didn’t remember having any papers there, so out of curiosity I grabbed it, figuring it’d be a random receipt or something.

It was not a receipt. It was a credit card sized piece of paper with the word “HELLO” written on it in shaky, capital letters. I was confused. I could’ve sworn I left that on the counter last night. Clutching the paper, I went to my pile of junk mail. I found the envelope there, but not the paper.

Alright, so this is the same piece of paper, but I still had no idea how it got into my room. As I was trying to figure that out, my cat, Craig, rubbed up against my leg and meowed. I took a quick glance at his food bowl, and saw that, as I expected, the bottom was visible. Craig is never this affectionate unless he was hungry.

“Alright, I’ll feed you,” I said, petting Craig’s head. As I poured some food in Craig’s bowl, I figured that maybe Craig knocked the paper down and the AC or something blew it into my room. At the moment, that made the most sense, so I went with that explanation. As Craig chowed down, I turned the piece of paper over in my hand. It was just a small piece of paper with one word on it. What was the point of it? And who sent it?

After considering these questions for a moment, I crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it out. Honestly, I didn’t care that much, and I had better things to do with my time than unravel this mystery. As if on cue, my phone reminded me of one of those better things: a date I had tonight with my boyfriend, George. We hadn’t been going out for too long, but I really liked him and was excited to see him again. We were going to have dinner together at an upscale restaurant tonight, and I still needed to get everything ready.

I got my car washed and cleaned inside and out, picked up some flowers, and then got myself ready. I met George at the restaurant. I gave him the flowers (which made him blush) and then we had a very nice, if expensive, dinner.

After dinner, we got into my car and started making out. Soft, quick kisses soon turned long, passionate, and intense. George started pushing me against the driver side door while kissing me. As he was adjusting himself, he accidentally put his hand into one of my car’s cupholders. I heard a slight crinkling of paper.

What the hell? I know I cleaned out my car and I know for a fact there were no random wrappers, receipts, or napkins in this car. George seemed to sense my confusion and stopped.

“Everything ok?” he asked between heavy breaths.

“Yeah,” I said. “I just don’t know how there’s a piece of paper in here. I swear, I cleaned this out before we met up tonight.”

George chuckled. “It’s fine, babe,” he said, picking it up. “You probably just missed something. It happened. It’s probably just…some…receipt…”

George’s voice trailed off as he read it.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You tell me,” he answered, giving me the paper. Written on the small, credit card sized paper was a phone number with the name “DYLAN” written in handwriting I was all too familiar with. I stared at it blankly. Did this Hello guy break into my car just to put this here? There was no sign of a break-in. Did George do this? Is this some joke? What the hell was going on?

“So,” he said, his arms crossed. “Who’s Dylan?”

“I…I have no idea,” I stammered.

“Then how come you have his number?”

George looked genuinely upset. I don’t think he was behind this.

“Ok,” I said, trying to figure out how to explain this. “So, uh…”

George gave me a look that said, “Come on, get to it already.”

“Alright, so I got this letter in the mail from someone I do not know and it had a piece of paper that only said ‘HELLO’ and then the paper somehow got into my room and then I thought Craig moved it there somehow and threw it out and now the person behind that piece of paper somehow put this one in my car because it has the same writing style,” I said in a rush.

George took a second to take it all in. “That’s…certainly an explanation,” he said.

“It’s the truth, I swear,” I said.

“Alright.”

“You believe me?”

George shrugged. “It’s an insane explanation, but I’m willing to go with it for now.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I said.

We both sat silently for a moment before I asked, “So…wanna pick up where we left off?”

George shook his head. “Not really in the mood anymore, sorry. I should probably get home, actually.”

George gave me a quick peck goodbye, and then went back to his car. Meanwhile, I sat in my car staring at the piece of paper. I racked my brains, trying to figure out if I knew anyone named Dylan. I think I had a friend in elementary school named Dylan. Or was it Declan? Considering he used to put crayons up his nose, I doubt he was clever enough to pull off something like this.

I really didn’t want to look into this further. I wanted to move on with my life and focus on other things. But this…whatever this is seems to want my attention. And they did give me a way to contact them.

I dialed the number from the paper into my phone. It rang a couple of times, and then someone picked up.

“Hello?” I said.

“He-llo.” The voice at the other end sounded artificial, like one of those text-to-speech programs. It stressed each syllable like they were separate words.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“He-llo,” the voice repeated.

“How do you know me?”

“He-llo.”

And with that, the call dropped. I tried calling again but got a “This number is no longer in service” message. Annoyed, I decided to Google the number and the name Dylan. It led me to someone named Dylan Rogers. A little more Googling led me to discover that Dylan was recently found dead in his home. No one knows who did it and the case is still ongoing.

The only lead cops have is that Dylan was found holding a credit card sized piece of paper in his hand, but it was too covered in blood to make out anything on it.

This information rattled around in my head as I drove home. I had no idea what to do with it. Do I call the cops?

“Hello, 911? Yes, I keep getting pieces of paper that say ‘Hello’ on them except for one that had a name and a phone number that belonged to a dead guy. Why, no, I haven’t had anything to drink? Why do you ask?”

Yeah, that’d go great.

A part of me wanted to call George and tell him about this, but I decided against it. It’d just look like me trying to add onto an already ridiculous excuse. I wasn’t sure who to tell about this. My friends were all busy and my family disowned me after I came out. I was basically on my own.

I decided I’d investigate this more when I got home, maybe even submit my situation as a tip in the Dylan Rogers case. I just knew I had to do something.

After a very stressful drive, I finally got home. As soon as I walked inside, I noticed something felt…off. I turned on the lights.

“Hello?” I called out. “Anyone there?”

Nothing. Dead quiet. I slowly made my way from my living room into my kitchen. I could see Craig’s silhouette lying on the floor of the kitchen, probably sleeping. As I stepped into the kitchen, my foot slipped on something. I grabbed a counter for balance. What the hell did I slip on? I know my floors were clean when I left.

I turned on the kitchen lights and discovered two things.

First, Craig wasn’t sleeping. He was dead. His throat had been brutally sliced open. His eyes were still open, stuck in abject terror.

Second, I know what I slipped in.

Craig’s blood.

The blood itself wasn’t splattered randomly on the floor. No, it was used to write out a message on the floor. It was a simple message, only being one word, written in large, shaky, capital letters:

“HELLO”

2 Comments
2024/03/28
17:46 UTC

13

prophetproject.zip

This was supposed to be confidential information, but at this point, I simply don't care anymore. I'm a student at Picomonte University. Never heard of it, right? Yeah, that's part of what happened too. Apparently, all the records of the University, its existence, students, etc. were lost in a fire a few months ago. After receiving an email notifying about some students who would go there to help restore whatever was possible, I grabbed my car and drove there, hoping to find some old friends.

However, to my surprise, when I arrived there, I found none of my old friends, nor any support group helping. All that remained in place of the campus was an empty plain, with a faint smell of carbon in the air, almost diluted. I almost gave up and turned back, but before that, I noticed a small heap of charred debris that seemed to have escaped total destruction. Among them, I spotted a partially melted metallic object. Curious, I approached and retrieved it from the ground.

It was a drive from one of the computers. I believe it's now the only trace that Picomonte ever existed, besides my memory. I took it home and asked an acquaintance of mine, a computer technician, to help me restore the files that were there. After a few hours of hard work, I received the compiled first part of the files in my email, with a promise that he would send the rest soon.

The moment I read the title, it was as if a whirlwind of previously inaccessible memories flooded my mind, while the name "prophetproject.zip" blinked on my screen. A tremor ran through my body, from my back to the tips of my trembling fingers over the keyboard.

To introduce you, the "Prophet Project" was a research developed by the psychology team in conjunction with the philosophy of religion class (of which I was a part). The proposal was to gather people who reported having experienced contact with something "divine". We managed to gather a wide variety of religious individuals, from various beliefs, however, in the end, we ended up selecting 3 to continue the study. Here's a brief introduction to their profiles (obviously sensitive data is pseudonyms):

Subject A - Codename: "Angel"

Origin: Christianity, Catholic faith

Description: Middle-aged woman, retired teacher. Reports having visions of an angel who guides and advises her in times of difficulty. Believes that her visions are divine messages of protection and guidance.

Subject B - Codename: "Oracle"

Origin: Spiritualism, mystical practices

Description: Young man, student of occultism. Claims to have access to visions and premonitions during states of meditative trance. His interpretation of the visions is largely guided by symbols and archetypes present in tarot and astrology.

Subject C - Codename: "Seer"

Origin: Hinduism, Vedic traditions

Description: Elderly woman, immigrant from India, where she has practiced Hindu faith since birth. Describes experiences of ecstasy and union with the divine during her spiritual practices. Believes that her visions are insights into the ultimate nature of reality.

---

It's strange, however, that as I read, despite remembering them and even their real names, the image of their faces doesn't come to mind, just slightly recognizable features, blurred, I don't know, my head hurts just thinking about it. Well, I won't interrupt anymore for now, here's the transcription of an audio recorded in the first session with Subject A, where things started to get strange:

[Session 1 - Subject A - 05/02/2021]

Researcher: Good morning, Subject A. How are you feeling today?

Subject A: Good morning. I'm fine, thank you.

Researcher: Great. Could you tell us what brought you here so that it's recorded?

Subject A: Of course. As far as I can remember, I've always had experiences with my angel. He is my protector, assigned to me, and I was chosen by God to be able to see him. He appears sometimes to bring some instruction or safety alert, sometimes he tells me about avoiding a path I usually take or other similar guidance.

Researcher: Perfect! Let's start by reviewing your recent experiences. Have you had any visions in the last few days?

Subject A: Yes, I had a vision last night. I saw the angel again. He told me to have courage, that a challenge is coming, but that I am protected.

Researcher: Interesting. And how do you feel about these visions? Do they worry you?

Subject A: No, quite the opposite. I feel blessed to have these visions. They bring me comfort and guidance in times of uncertainty.

Researcher: I see. Please put on this device here, we're going to measure some brain activities during exposure to the mentioned figure. For the record, I will display to patient A an image of an angel in the foreground, with a celestial background.

[Sound of equipment being turned on]

Researcher: Okay, I'm projecting the images. What are you seeing now?

Subject A: I see a bright light, so intense... It's like...divine

[Sound of machine recording brain activity]

Researcher: We're capturing patterns...There seems to be a significant response in the temporal lobe region.

Subject A: The angel is telling me something now... He says that...

[Sound of static]

Researcher: What's happening? We lost connection with the sensors.

[More static]

Researcher [shouting]: Subject A, are you okay?

[Silence]

Researcher: Subject A?

[Sound of increasing static]

[Recording ends]

---

[Section 5 - Subject C - 07/25/2021]

Researcher: Good morning, Subject C. How have you been feeling since the last session?

Subject C: I've been feeling at peace, as always.

Researcher: Excellent. Before we proceed, I'd like to review your recent experiences. Have there been any new visions or insights you'd like to share?

Subject C: Yes, I had a very powerful vision during my morning meditations. I saw the dance of Shiva. I felt transported beyond the stars, to a place of pure consciousness.

Researcher: Fascinating. How did you feel during this experience?

Subject C: I felt uplifted, it was a deeply transformative experience... There's something important about to happen.

Researcher: I have no doubt. Let's continue with the analysis of brain activity. Please, let's proceed as usual, okay? You can grab the device next to you.

[Sound of equipment being turned on]

[Here there's a later insertion by the researcher, saying that after the initial encounters, he would now display a completely black screen, without any image, in order to understand how the patient would react to it]

Researcher: The image is being projected. What do you see now?

Subject C: I see... the Lord ... as a river of energy flowing through the universe.

[Sound of machine recording brain activity]

Researcher: Interesting... we're detecting even more intense activity patterns than before. There seems to be an unusual synchronization in various areas of the brain... The imaging formation field is also active.

Subject C: I'm feeling... different... as if... Shiva is calling me...

Researcher: Subject C, are you feeling okay?

[The sound of the device continues]

Researcher: Subject C?

[Noises in the background, something breaking]

[Subject C screams]

[A wet sound is heard followed by a scream from the researcher]

Researcher: What the hell is this? Security!

[Shortly after, people enter the room and seem to try to restrain Subject C]

[Recording Ends]

While playing that last audio, a bad feeling took over me. Something is wrong... That sound... it was disturbing. Almost instinctively, I lifted my shirt, revealing a scar that I didn't remember having... Slowly, something started to take shape, memories, images, the smell of blood... was I the researcher in that recording? Damn, something is really off.

I opened the email that had called me for the community meeting at the university, which to my surprise turned out to be senderless. I tried searching for Picomonte on the internet but without success, it seems like the virtual clues simply vanished. I remembered, however, something very peculiar: In my city, at the local library, we have a copy of Soren Kierkegaard's work "Fear and Trembling", translated by our class. I used to go there to gaze upon the beautifully produced edition that I had helped to produce, and that, obviously, had the seal and some information in the preface mentioning the University.

I decided to rush to the library, hoping that at least my mind would calm down when I saw that blue crest again. I entered the place hastily, trying to keep quiet. It wasn't crowded, maybe 4 or 5 people scattered around besides the librarian. I ran my hand along the shelf (which I had already memorized), but, to my dismay, I didn't find the book. I started to search but there was no sign. I was about to ask the lady at the reception when I heard a child's voice:

"Look mommy, an angel!"

Upon hearing those words, my heart froze. I turned slowly to see who was speaking and found a child pointing to an empty spot next to me. The memories of what I had heard earlier came rushing back like a punch, a sensation of panic engulfed me as I stared at nothing, unsure of what to expect. Was I paranoid?

"Where?" her mother asked, bending down.

"Right there, next to the man," she said pointing at me.

Now I was sweating, wondering what that meant. Her mother turned to me.

"Sorry, she's been talking a lot about angels lately," and turned to the child, "Must be the man's guardian angel."

"No problem, Kids and their vivid imagination," I muttered, forcing a smile. But inside, something was twisting, as if reality was crumbling around me.

I left the library hastily, feeling as if I were being watched by unseen eyes. I entered the building's lobby and went to the elevator, feeling uncomfortable as I watched the doors close. The sensation of claustrophobia was palpable, as if the walls were closing in around me. I tried to distract myself by watching the numbers go up: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6... The number continued to repeat in a loop and a shiver ran down my spine. The elevator seemed to be stuck in an endless cycle, showing no sign of stopping. My fingers trembled as I pressed the emergency button incessantly, but nothing happened.

That's when I saw it. A reflection in the elevator mirror, a quick and fleeting movement, like when someone uses a watch or cellphone in the sun, and the glare of the reflection hits your eyes directly, you know? My eyes widened in panic as I tried to discern what it was, but before I could react, the light disappeared.

I was alone in the elevator, but I didn't feel alone. An indescribable weight hung over me, filling the air with a sense of oppression. I was being watched, I knew it. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as a sound that I don't know what it is, but my gut tells me it was some kind of laughter, echoed through the four metal walls.

The elevator finally stopped, the doors opening slowly, revealing a dark and deserted hallway ahead of me. I hesitated for a moment, my heart pounding wildly in my chest, before taking a hesitant step forward. I started to walk towards my apartment, the air becoming heavier, as if it were getting hard to breathe. My head began to throb with a sharp pain, and a feeling of nausea began to wash over me.

The further I walked, the longer the hallway seemed to get, it was like walking infinitely, the yellow light from the lamps only added to the discomfort and pain, until all of it dissipated, not by relief, but by fear. I heard the elevator chime, and its doors opening, slowly. The moment I turned to look, a blurry figure emerged. I don't think I can even describe it. My muscles tensed as I stepped back, unable to look away from the apparition advancing towards me.

"Who... who's there?" my voice came out as a trembling whisper, lost in the vacuum of the empty hallway.

The creature didn't respond, only continued to approach slowly, as if relishing in my fear. I could feel its presence weighing down on me, pressing me down like an anchor. Its voice echoed in my mind, whispering unintelligible words that seemed to mock me.

Without thinking, I turned around and started to run down the hallway, my legs moving frantically as I struggled to escape from that presence. With each step, the hallway seemed to stretch even further, as if it were distorting to keep me prisoner. Finally, when my strength was nearly depleted and my vision began to blur, I spotted the door to my apartment in the distance. With one last desperate effort, I ran towards it and threw myself inside, locking it behind me with trembling hands.

I leaned against the door, panting, as the sensation of imminent danger still pulsed in my mind. I looked around my apartment, half expecting to find the creature there with me, but the space was empty and silent. I looked through the peephole and saw nothing. The intercom rang, making me jump back. It was Tobias, the doorman.

"Mr. Rob, I was watching the cameras here and... are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm... fine," I replied, my voice trembling. "Thank you, Tobias."

"Oh, okay, just ask not to slam the door, and in case you and your friend are going to have a party or something, don't make noise after 8pm."

"All be- Friend?"

"Yeah, that redhead guy who came in with you."

A wave of confusion and panic swept over my body. I had entered the building alone. I hadn't brought anyone with me. "Tobias, I came in alone," I murmured, my voice trembling.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "If you need anything, let me know," he said before hanging up.

I don't know what the hell is going on, and the only thing I can cling to is that there is something playing with my sanity, and if its intention was to scare me, it worked very well. If any of you have information about Picomonte and can share it, I appreciate it. Meanwhile, I continue here, locked in my apartment, just waiting for it to get tired of me, or decide to end me once and for all.

0 Comments
2024/03/28
17:35 UTC

39

I'm Going To Jail Because My Boss Eats People

What can I say? I'm the employee of a horrifying shapeshifting monster but it's just the way it is and there's nothing we can do about it.

And it was all working fine until Sharon was eaten. Sharon was too obvious and now the whole cover-up will be blown.

You'll hear it in the news so I might as well tell you now. Yeah we knew Dwayne was a monster, like a real one. We think he might have come from space, but it doesn’t really matter now.

He would eat customers, that much is true. For the most part, only old elderly ones that came alone at night. But those weren't the ones we were worried about.

It was the high-risk customers (once every four months or so) that we had to be vigilant about. It always happened around his own system of "holidays."

What were his holidays? Well let me explain:

June 7th: Stomp Day

Stomp Day was Stomp Day. You arrived at 8:00 a.m. sharp and were paid A LOT of money to stay for the next 14 hours (instead of 8). At about a dozen different times throughout the day, you’d stomp the ground as hard as you could.

The idea was to hide it. Like: “sorry I was carrying this big load of plywood, and so I accidentally STOMPED as I almost lost balance!”

Or you could just stomp on a pallet jack to prevent “swerving.”

You’d be surprised at how many discreet ways you can stomp right by a person’s face and get away with it.

The purpose of the stomping was to make customers flinch, which had something to do with building up a certain level of unease in the store. At the end of the day, the employee who could get the most flinches was awarded 3 months pay, and an all-black Rubik's Cube ( I'll get to that later.)

The hardest part was that you were competing with everyone else, and you were only allotted seven tries at specific time stamps in the day (or time-stomps as we called them.)

Everyone’s time-stomps were different, mine were 8:21, 9:00, 10:37, 11:40, 21:32, 21:33, 21:34. It was easiest just to set alarms on your phone (I always brought a spare battery for my dying iPhone 10.)

Anyway, if you could get someone really startled, Dwayne would show up and be very apologetic and tell the customer they can get a free DeWalt power drill from the back. He would take them into the loading bay, and into that room none of us were allowed in (you’ll see it on the news.)

And then well, the customer would be gone forever.

But trust me, no one noticed. It’s why we were able to get away with it for so long. Dwayne had some intuitive way of choosing single, fairly antisocial people (usually homeowners?) So when they disappeared, it took a while for friends and family to catch on, and the police never had any leads.

October 14th: Saint Quelber’s Cleaning Day

Before you go asking who Saint Quelber is—we have no fucking clue.

I should explain that Dwayne definitely does not speak English as his first language. I’d love to get some linguist or geneticist to tell me where he could possibly be from.

Apparently, Quelber is some priest? An angel? Maybe Dwayne’s mother? For whatever reason, Dwayne settled on the name “Saint Quelber” and we just rolled with it.

There wasn’t any hard start to this holiday, you could book any kind of 6 or 8 hour shift, but if you were working on Saint Quelber’s, you’d better bring a bandana or N95 mask.

Dwayne would basically fumigate the entire store with some chemical I can only describe as minty bleach. We would put up signs throughout the store that said we are having a “cleaning day.” Customers seemed to put up with it.

Everyone just grabbed a courtesy Covid mask from the front, and did their shopping as usual. But the closer you got to the back of the store, the stronger that minty bleach smell got.

I should mention it wasn’t like a hazy smoke or anything, it was completely translucent. More of a mist.

If you were working on this day, you had to carry a rag in your backpocket and clean any stains you spotted on the floor or shelves. The substance in the air basically made any stain come out instantly.

Yeah I hated to think what it might have done to my eyes and skin, but I never had any adverse reactions (thank God.)

Inevitably, some customer with asthma or a cold or something would have a coughing fit, and start spewing up phlegm. If the customer met Dwayne’s criteria, he would graciously offer them the employee washroom in the back where they could go “clean themselves up”.

And then … yup you guessed it … he would eat them.

But listen, we knew he ate people, I’m not pretending we didn’t. We’re definitely guilty of that. We just never directly killed anyone ourselves. We were at worst, accessories to murder, or coerced into compliance.

In fact, I know it seems like we only enabled his behavior (which is true) but we were kind of forced to play along. It'll make more sense when I explain the next holiday.

March 24th: Annual Graduation

If you want to work at Dwayne’s depot, you have to sign a year-long contract. It was very explicit.

Dwayne always explained to new employees that he’s sick of high turnover, so he would guarantee you a customer service job (fairly well paying) as long as you committed to a year.

Obviously the law states you can give your two week’s notice at any job and leave, but Dwayne makes you sign an incredibly sophisticated contract that supposedly “circumvents” this law.

As you’d imagine, this deters a lot of people, which is totally fine. Dwayne only seeks the committed.

And so he filters out applicants until he gets someone who is desperate for a stable, decent-paying job with little experience. EG: High school dropouts like me.

Anyway, after a year of work, you are allowed to quit, but only on graduation day, which is generally 365 days after you started.

On your graduation, Dwayne invites all the employees into the loading bay, and he sings you a song which is unlike anything you've ever heard, and is genuinely impossible to describe.

Afterwards he gives you a white rubber band with a certain number of tally marks (which I think corresponds to how many people you helped him eat that year.)

And then you can either move on with your life, keep working part-time at Dwayne’s, or commit to another full year with a triple wage increase.

We all told Sharon to wait. Just hold out until her graduation on March 27th. Once she got her first white rubber band, she could leave.

I'll admit to that in court. Listen, I'm being super upfront about all of this.

But she couldn't, She was a week away from her graduation when she snapped. Apparently she had snuck into Dwayne's room and saw something. Probably the eating process.

On the day of her meltdown, I was at the opposite end of the depot when she grabbed a megaphone (which we sell in aisle 30 for about $80.)

I heard the buzzy click of the megaphone turning on, and then I heard Sharon’s hysterical shouts.

“We work for a monster!”

“People have died here!”

Etc. Etc.

I rushed over to shut her up of course, as did two other employees, but she refused to be subdued.

Very soon, Dwayne showed up, wiping his mouth and demanding to know what was going on. She tossed the megaphone at him and ran.

And so, Dwayne chased her into the parking lot. The open air customer parking lot in BROAD DAYLIGHT—in front of like twenty people.

Dwayne caught her by the hair and shrieked an unfathomable sound. Like a space-lion roar or something. He pulled one of those black Rubik's Cubes out from his pocket and basically like … sucked Sharon into it?

Customers freaked out. Cars sped away. It was a fucking scene.

We all stared with our jaws dropped, not knowing what to do. Wayne just stared back and said, “what are you looking at? Get back to work.”

The reason I think that Sharon was eaten was because the black cubes were how Dwayne ‘stored’ his prey.

And yes, before you ask, I do have two of them. They were awarded to me on some very successful Stomp Days. No, I have not opened them, I have no clue how they work. And yes, I will be giving them to the police.

Honestly, it may not sound like my hands were tied, but my hands were tied!

Where else was I supposed to work? I don't have a degree, and don't qualify for anything in finance, STEM, healthcare or whatever. I applied to every other place in my neighborhood. I could only land a job at Dwayne's.

Obviously I should go to jail, and I will, but I can't possibly deserve more than 18 months? Like 2 years tops with good behavior?

Thanks to Dwayne, I’ve been able to afford the crazy high rent in this city, pay for food, and now I have enough to pay for school too.

I'm just writing this all out here so you can see my side of the story. Before the news media spins everything out of control.

Anyway, please DM me if you know a good lawyer.

After this all blows over, I'm going to medical school with a goal to save at least 254 lives. 254 because that’s how many tally marks I counted on my white rubber bands.

Peace and love y'all

-Monique K.

6 Comments
2024/03/28
17:32 UTC

2

The whispering child

Babysitting was a familiar hustle for me, a college student always seeking to bolster my meager finances. When I came across an advertisement seeking a sitter for a little girl named Emily, I thought it would be just another routine job. Little did I know, it would turn out to be a night that would etch itself into the darkest corners of my memory, forever haunting my nightmares.

The house where Emily lived was perched on the edge of a dense forest, its weathered facade looming ominously against the backdrop of the encroaching night. As I approached, a shiver of apprehension ran down my spine, but I chalked it up to the chilly evening air. The parents seemed hurried as they handed me a hastily scrawled list of instructions before disappearing into the night, leaving me alone with Emily and an unsettling sense of foreboding that hung in the air like a heavy fog.

Emily, with her cherubic face framed by golden curls and big, innocent blue eyes, greeted me with a shy smile. Yet, there was something about her demeanor that set my nerves on edge, a subtle shift in her gaze that left me feeling as though I was being watched by unseen eyes. Suppressing a shiver, I pushed aside my misgivings, determined to carry out my duties as best I could.

As the evening wore on, Emily's behavior grew increasingly peculiar. She would often drift into a trance-like state, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance, her lips moving as though engaged in whispered conversation with invisible companions. I tried to engage her in activities, but her responses were vague and disjointed, leaving me with a growing sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness.

As darkness descended like a suffocating blanket, Emily suggested we play a game of hide and seek. Reluctantly, I agreed, hoping to distract myself from the mounting sense of dread that threatened to consume me. I counted to ten, my heart hammering in my chest as the shadows seemed to deepen with each passing moment, casting the house into a murky abyss of darkness and uncertainty.

When I finished counting, I set out in search of Emily, calling out her name into the oppressive silence that enveloped the house. But she remained elusive, her giggles echoing through the halls like the spectral whispers of unseen phantoms. With each passing moment, the darkness seemed to constrict around me, pressing in from all sides as I stumbled blindly through the labyrinthine corridors in search of the elusive child.

Finally, I found Emily standing in the corner of the basement, her back turned towards me as she stared into the darkness with unseeing eyes. Relief flooded through me until she spoke in a voice that was not her own—a voice that sent a chill racing down my spine and turned my blood to ice.

“Come play with us," she whispered, her words dripping with malice. Suddenly, the room was filled with ghostly apparitions of children, their pallid faces twisted into grotesque caricatures of joy as they danced and cavorted in the flickering shadows.

Panic seized me as I recoiled from the ghastly spectacle before me, my mind struggling to comprehend the nightmare unfolding in the depths of the basement. Desperate to escape, I turned to flee, but the door slammed shut with a deafening finality, sealing my fate within the suffocating embrace of the darkness.

Hours passed like an eternity as I huddled in shadows, the whispers of the ghostly children echoing through the recesses of my mind like a relentless drumbeat of dread. I knew then that I was not babysitting a child, but something far more sinister—a vessel for the restless spirits that lurked within this accursed house.

When morning finally broke, casting its feeble light into the depths of the basement, I emerged—a hollow shell of my former self, haunted by the memory of that harrowing night spent in the company of Emily and the tormented souls that dwelled within her.

To this day, the echoes of dread linger in the corners of my mind, a chilling reminder of the horrors that lurk just beyond the veil of reality. And as I gaze into the darkness, I pray that no one else will ever experience the terror that awaits within the walls of Emily's house in the woods.

0 Comments
2024/03/28
17:22 UTC

1

The Day The Forest Woke Up (Part 2)

Part One

The first thing that registered as I finally regained consciousness some time later was a steady beeping, emanating from behind me. I cracked an eye open and immediately regretted it, the bright white lighting in the room making my head spin. I groaned and tried to sit up, only to gasp in pain and fall right back onto the bed. “Wait, bed? The last thing I remember is running from… something…” I thought slowly, my brain feeling like mush. “Mom was there…” my eyes suddenly shot open, grogginess forgotten as I struggled to try and sit up again. “MOM!” I yelled instinctively, terrifying scenarios involving my mother running from the beast in the woods flooding my mind.

Suddenly, a hand gripped my arm tightly. I let out a sigh of relief as I saw my mother’s concerned face just inches away from my own. “I’m right here, I’m right here” she murmured, gently easing me back into the soft pillows behind me. “I… I’m glad you’re here” I sighed quietly, unsure how to explain my outburst. She seemed to be on the verge of asking, but she seemed to think better of it as a nurse walked through the open door.

“I see someone’s awake!” The nurse said cheerfully, smiling as she walked over. They began taking my vitals as I looked back over at my mother. She looked worried, but seemed to be trying to appear stoic and put together. I knew her better than that, of course, and recognized how freaked out she actually was. I also knew I was going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do when we were alone again.

I sighed, letting my head fall back onto the pillows. I had tuned out the nurse’s small talk, but I snapped back to attention when I heard her say, “It’s very strange, I would expect someone who was lost in the woods for two weeks to be in much worse shape than you’re currently in.” She shrugged and moved her stethoscope to better listen to my heartbeat, occasionally asking me to take a deep breath.

“Hang on, what do you mean two weeks? I was gone for like two hours, max” I objected, confusion obvious on my face. My mother crossed her arms, a strange look flickering across her face for just a moment, before it cleared once again. The nurse gave my mother a pointed look, and began packing her equipment away. “Seems you two have a bit of catching up to do. I’ll be coming in to check on him periodically now that he’s awake. Use the call button if you need anything” She added, before strolling away.

“Two weeks?” I asked quietly, looking up at my mother, searching her face for answers. “It only felt like hours, there’s no way I was gone for that long!” I protested, shaking my head lightly. She looked down at me with a small frown, sighing. “On move in day…” She began, “We had been so busy unpacking that we didn’t notice you were gone until it got dark out. That was when we started calling for you, looking around the house to see if you had decided to hide out somewhere. We tried your phone too, of course, but couldn’t get through.” She looked away and surreptitiously wiped a tear away before continuing.

“Once we realized you weren’t in the house, we started to look around the property, calling your name and running around like a couple of crazy idiots” She laughed softly, her eyes glassy as she recalled the memory. “When we still couldn’t find you, we knew something was wrong. We couldn’t do much in the dark anyway, so we called the police and reported you missing.” She continued. “They sent a couple of deputies that same night to take our statements, but there wasn’t much to be done in the dark.

The deputies weren’t very helpful when they came by again that morning but we made do, and by the end of the day we had managed to search every inch of the property with no sign of you. We started up where we had left off and began combing through the rest of the property and heading into the trees”. She paused and looked down. “The police assumed that you had run off, they said it was because you were unhappy about the move; they said they had seen this before.” She shrugged and continued on.

“Your father and I were unconvinced. I specifically remembered watching you walk into the trees, and I just knew that that was where you were, somewhere. Eventually word got out and we had volunteers showing up, offering to help us search the woods. We kept at it, searching day in and day out for as long as the light allowed. We had… nearly lost hope when we finally found you…” She trailed off, her voice barely louder than a whisper as her eyes filled with tears. She wiped her eyes and let out a breath, shaking her head. “I’m just glad you’re back, is all” She chuckled, smiling sadly.

I looked up at my mother, noting the tired look in her eyes and the disheveled state of her hair and clothes. “I don’t know what happened… I was just exploring for a bit, looking around in the trees, and then the birds went crazy, and I just took off, I started running and… I ended up lost.” I shrugged apologetically. “I stopped near a creek to get my bearings and got the strangest feeling, as if there was something out there watching.” I shuddered at the memory, even now unsettled by the way it had felt. “Anyway. I decided to head back the way I came, and ended up eventually finding the trail I had been following again.” I continued, before being cut off by my mother. “You left the trail?” She asked sharply, her features serious. “Well, yeah. I thought I saw something in the bushes, but it was just a rock.” I replied, unsettled. She paled, but she recovered quickly, putting her mask back in place. “And then?” She asked, prompting me to continue.

“I followed the trail back in the general direction of the trail. I was fine initially, but then something big started chasing me.” I said, keeping the red eyes and strange behavior the beast had exhibited to myself. “Naturally, that's when I ran, as fast as I could, and finally managed to get out of the trees. Just as I did though, I felt…” my words died in my throat as I twisted around, reaching over my shoulder in an attempt to feel for the wound on my back. My breath caught as I felt thick bandages covering the upper part of my back. “You lost a lot of blood.” My mother said quietly. “It was lucky we found you when we did, otherwise you likely would have bled out.” She added. “The police are saying that it was a bear, but there was nothing nearby, no evidence of bears in the area.” She looked away, staring out into the hallway.

I glanced over at the window, and started violently when I saw two glowing red orbs, suspended just outside the glass. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, my heart pounding in my chest as the machines beeped warnings behind me. Nothing. There was nothing there. “What? What is it?” My mother cried, following my gaze. I shook my head and kept quiet, looking down at my hands, which were trembling slightly in my lap. “I thought I saw… never mind.” I sighed, shaking my head.

My mother looked like she wanted to press me for more information, but said nothing. “Is there anything to eat? I’m starving, " I said, trying to break the tension. “Yeah, of course. I’ll go find something for you in the cafeteria”. She said, heading to the door. She stopped and looked back at me, a worried look on her face. “Be right back” She called, before leaving. I sighed and dropped my facade, glaring at the window again, as if daring the apparition to appear again. “Must be going crazy,” I muttered to myself. My mother returned a bit later and wordlessly handed me a tray laden with a sandwich, fresh fruit, and a pudding cup. “Yum!” I chimed, immediately digging in. After demolishing the food, I sighed in contentment, suddenly feeling groggy and tired again. “I think I’ll take a nap” I yawned, rolling over and almost instantly falling asleep.

The next day, I was seen by the doctor, the same one who examined my wound initially, it seemed. They replaced my bandages, commenting on how well the wound was mending itself. “Very curious, really” He said, before giving me a once over, checking all my vitals and deciding that I was free to go home. I had already gotten tired of the fluorescent lighting and the over reflective floor, so naturally I was glad to be leaving. I was even more glad to finally be getting out of the stupid hospital gown I had woken up in and into the change of clothes my mother had brought me.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I walked through the front doors of the hospital, taking in the sunshine and the breeze with a smile on my face. I let my mother lead me away from the sprawling four story building and towards the car without a second thought, ecstatic to be heading home. I looked around and recognized the area; I had seen all of this through my window. On a whim, I glanced back at the building, wondering if I could identify which room was mine. A sense of dread flooded through me as I looked up at the windows facing me and noticed what looked like claw marks gauged into the brick on either side of the window. I rushed to get into the car, looking down at my hands and doing my best to stop them from shaking, my mind reeling as I remembered the eyes from last night. I had assumed it was a hallucination at the time. After all, there was no way that anything could climb a completely sheer wall all the way up to the fourth floor window, right?

A few hours and a silent, tense car ride later and I was finally alone in my room, still in shambles and with half unpacked boxes everywhere. I sighed and flopped down on my bed, thinking about the last few days. I couldn’t believe what everyone was saying, about how I had been gone for two whole weeks. I know that I would have noticed if fourteen days and nights had passed in the woods, but everyone around me seemed convinced. Maybe it was some kind of group delusion, or something. I sighed and shrugged it off. At least it was over.

Suddenly I heard the door open down the hall, and unfamiliar voices filtered through my door. I surreptitiously opened the door and looked down the hall to see two cops standing there, talking to my mother. “Figured you would want this back, now that he’s finally back” One of them said. “We’ve got no more need for evidence now that the case is closed,” the other one added. They handed her a box, which my mother promptly placed on the dining table before walking them out and heading back into the kitchen.

Gripped by morbid curiosity, I walked down the hall and peeked into the unassuming cardboard box. Inside was everything I had on me the night I came out of the woods, all individually sealed in evidence bags. I reached down and picked up the bags containing my shirt and jeans, examining the clothes closely. My shirt, of course, had been torn to shreds in the back, whereas my jeans were intact but bloodstained. A thought came to me, and I felt around until I noticed a hard lump in the pocket of my jeans through the bag. I opened the evidence bag and reached into the pocket, pulling out the stone I had found in the forest.

Now that I could see it better, I noticed that the stone was strangely smooth, as if it had been polished. It was jet black and surprisingly heavy for its size. Its reflective surface was mesmerizing, my distorted reflection rippling as I moved the stone back and forth to examine it better. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the stone. It felt like a vortex, pulling my gaze to it and inexorably drawing my attention.

I jumped as I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder, and quickly slipped the rock into my pocket as I turned to face him. “I see they brought your stuff back” He said, looking over at the box on the table. “The police called earlier and said they would be stopping by, slipped my mind completely.” He continued, before meeting my gaze. The corners of his lips twitched into a small half smile as he looked me over. “I’m glad you’re back. Good to see that you’re up and walking around, too. It's good to see you’re feeling better.” He finished, clearing his throat. “Anyway, your mom says that dinner’s almost ready. Clear this stuff off so I can set the table, would you son?” He asked. “Sure thing dad” I responded, gripping the box and heading back to my room.

Dinner was uneventful, mainly small talk and expressions of relief and gratitude about my safe return. I spoke quietly and as little as I could, still preoccupied about what I had seen at the hospital. There had to be some explanation, that’s what I told myself, some other reason for the marks on the wall. There was no way it was… whatever the thing in the woods was. There was no way. But then I thought back to the eyes again and my confidence wavered. I’ll admit, I was rattled, to say the least. I was suddenly torn from my thoughts when my mother spoke up. “Did you hear that?” She asked, listening intently.

My father and I stilled, listening as well, and suddenly a solid thump was heard. Then another, and another, and another. My father stood and flicked the curtain to the side, looking out the window for anything suspicious. “Nothing,” He said. “It’s probably hail. I heard that it’s common in the area, and I saw on the news that there was supposed to be a cold front coming in” He shrugged dismissively, closing the curtain and taking his seat again.

I excused myself and made my way back to my room. It had been one day since I woke up and was already tired of the constant “thank god you’re back” and “you must have been so scared” comments. I rolled my eyes and sighed. With trepidation, I looked over at the dark window, half expecting to see those demonic red eyes staring back at me. Nothing. I could, however, still hear a constant, rhythmic thumping from outside. I paid little attention to it as I got ready for bed, shutting the lights off before slipping under the covers and falling asleep in minutes.

1 Comment
2024/03/28
16:47 UTC

270

I hated his face the first time I saw him. I feared it for many years. Then I learned the truth.

I hated his face the first time I saw him.

Patchy beard.
Double chin.
Scraggly hair that probably was never washed.

He told us to get down on the ground and put our hands behind our backs. I was so scared that I almost threw up on the new rug. I swallowed it down because I knew Dad would make me clean it up when he was gone. My mom was lying on the floor right next to me. She was so quiet I couldn’t even hear her breathe. I closed my eyes and pretended that the soft rug pressed against my face was the one in my grandparent's house, far away from there.

“Don’t move a single inch or you will regret it for the rest of your life!” the man shouted almost nervously. He had a small black handgun that he carried by his side.

My Dad calmly directed the man down the hallway to our bedrooms, where all our valuables were stored. They left us for about ten minutes before the man returned with an armful of stuff. I did not dare to move from my position but I caught a glimpse of his face. All I saw was hatred painted on his eyes, lips, and nose. I became furious when I realized what he had stolen from me.

Luxury watch.
5,000 dollars cash.
My Xbox.

The man slammed the front door behind him and I immediately started crying. My mother wrapped her arms around my sobbing face and assured me that everything will be okay. She promised that Santa would buy me a new Xbox for Christmas. My Dad stood silently in front of us, anxiously running his hand through his receding hair. I turned to my Dad looking for something in his face; some sense of empathy or fear but there was nothing. His face was empty.

These days my father’s face is dead. It’s been 30 years since that man came to our house. The strong, successful man that my father once was is now a lost memory. The doctor said yesterday that his Alzheimer's is reaching its final stage. The only thing left on my Dad’s face is the drool my mother has to wipe off every 15 minutes. I remember my own friends would not want to come over because they were afraid of my dad. As the manager of a large agricultural manufacturing company, my Dad oversaw more than 200 employees. I can hardly imagine what those poor souls had to go through. Sometimes I felt like I was one of his employees too. Always trying to impress him, to be like him, but never feeling like I could. That night I truly couldn't believe that my Dad allowed a fat burglar to push my mother and I to the ground and take my Xbox.

Any day I could wake up and Dad might be gone. Honestly, I don’t really care. This family died a long time ago when that man first broke into our house. There are some things that I refuse to forget.

Can’t brush his own teeth.
Can’t wipe his own ass.
Can’t apologize for what he did to me.

The second time I saw his face I almost shit myself.
I was helping my mom clean up the aftermath of my ninth birthday party in the kitchen when I heard a knock. My mom looked a little uneasy, as she left the scattered wrapping paper on the table and walked towards the door. I peered over into the hallway, curious about who would be at our house this late at night. My grandfather, whom I was deeply close to, had recently passed away and Grandma would frequently visit the house if she needed help changing her oil or fixing the TV. I assumed it was her, so you can imagine my surprise when my mom opened the door to him.

I was absolutely petrified. The man stared me down and the room fell silent. I soon remembered everything I hated about his face. Why couldn't he shave his disgusting neckbeard or take care of his poorly aging skin? My mom left the room to get my father, and I sat silently looking down at the table, afraid to maintain eye contact with him. I could hear his footsteps approaching me when my parents emerged into the kitchen.

“Sir, we keep all the money in the safe next to our bedroom. There is nothing you would want here,” my dad pleaded.

“No,” the man replied, putting his handgun back in his belt.

He lightly grabbed my arm and told me to stand up. He looked at the wrapping paper scattered across the kitchen floor.

He stared at me again. He saw the fear frozen on my face.

“Is it your birthday today boy?”

"Yes, it is,” I replied. My face scrunched up and tears started rolling down my cheek. I don’t think I ever cried that hard in my life. It almost felt good, like I had nothing to hide from anymore. The tears felt like a bloody nose that not even a hundred tissues could clean up. My dad used to make me feel so embarrassed every time I cried but that night he looked ashamed.

At the time, I cared about two things in life: baseball and video games. The man took everything I got from my birthday party. The same routine. All of us down on the ground; this time our faces on the hardwood floor. My mom breathed loudly this time, hiding her own muffled tears.

Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2.
A pack of baseball cards containing the 2009 World Series championship team.
Halo:Reach

Fuck, that one hurt the most. I was really looking forward to playing that game. I heard footsteps leaving the kitchen, and the deafening sound of the front door being slammed. I slowly stood up and saw the imprint of my tears on the hardwood floor. A pathetic little puddle.

My dad gave me the same schtick he gave last time. Blah blah blah we will call the police, blah blah blah we will get you more baseball cards, blah blah blah don’t go around school telling people about this. I nodded in agreement until all of his words became a hum of nothingness. At least there was something on his face this time. Shame. A lot of it.

After that night, I only cared about one thing in life and it wasn’t baseball or video games. The only thing that brought me joy was thinking about everything I would do to his face the next time I saw him, if only I was strong enough. I became obsessed.

Before bed
Bored in class
In the shower

I thought about what his face would look like if I had my aluminum baseball bat with me that night. Or if I had a bucket of boiling water that I could throw at him. The hatred that grew inside me for this man’s face grew alongside my fear. I remember one night I was thinking about his face too much and I peed in my water glass because I was too afraid to go to the bathroom. I felt like the second I left my bed, a thousand of his faces would hover into my room and swallow me like a piece of candy. So every night I would dream about killing his face and his face killing me.

For the next four years, the man would show up periodically to our house. Always the same procedure. Face on the ground and saying goodbye to at least one of my possessions. My father always complaining afterwards about how the police are incompetent at their jobs. He told me that he and mom were building a case against the man, so I needed to stay quiet for him to be prosecuted.

Great, so I need to get robbed 50 times before I can feel safe peeing again.

Since I began expecting his arrival, I started hiding my most valuable belongings under the clothes in my dresser. My grandfather had given me his lucky coin before he died and I kept it buried under a mountain of socks. When I felt scared, I would hold onto the coin. Sometimes I would even sleep with it. I never dared to bring the coin with me anywhere because I was terrified of losing it. Every time the man left our house, I would rush into my room to check on the coin and make sure it was still there.

During this time, things at home started to get worse. I was practically never happy and lived in a constant state of paranoia. I would hear my parents screaming at each other through the thin wall that separated our bedrooms. Life became a waiting game for when the man would come next.

I lost everything I cared about.
I lost feeling normal.
I lost my sense of self.

The last time I saw his face everything changed.

I thought it would just be like every other time. The same scraggly hair, patchy beard, and double chin. He would exchange a few words with my father and leave shortly after with thousands of dollars worth of valuables. My family was rich; I do admit that. But I was starting to feel like throwing all this money down the drain was not the best strategy for preserving our generational wealth. I learned not to gain attachments to anything. Frustration and confusion had been building inside of me as I grew older. I knew something was not right.

That night the man did not press our faces against the floor. By then, I was 13 years old and had started taking up jiu jitsu after school. I was tired of feeling weak so I thought I should do something about it.

Instead of going to my parent’s bedroom where all the money was kept, the man entered my room. This was not completely unusual as he would sometimes rummage through my stuff looking for anything important. I would always leave a decoy item out in the open to ensure that he never saw the secret buried under my socks. It was interesting seeing him go through my stuff. I was surprised he had become so comfortable in our house that he did not feel a need to force us to the ground anymore. I saw his face looking intently at every corner of my room, searching for another chance to ruin my day. God how I hated his face.

My heart sank when he opened the sock drawer in my dresser. I prayed that he would not find it but sure enough the man was holding my grandfather’s lucky coin to the light. In that moment, I was overcome with an overwhelming sense of fury. I wanted to burn his fucking face to ash. All of those years of loss and fear had amounted to this. My parents stood next to me, nervously watching the scene unfold. I saw fear in their faces. But they were not afraid of the man. They were afraid of me.

When the man left our house that night, I made the split second decision to chase after him. My father tried to restrain me so I punched him square in the jaw. My mother cried out my name as I darted out the door and sprinted towards the disappearing figure in the darkness. The man was walking towards his car so I snuck around the back to block him from driving away.

He saw me.
He heard me.
He knew me.

I was expecting the man to grab my arm like he did on my ninth birthday. I thought he would point his gun at me and press my face against the concrete road.

But he ran. The man made a sharp right turn into a large grassy field a few blocks from my home. He was not very fast and over the years, I had gotten stronger. I felt the warm summer breeze blow against my face. The nights were so pretty there; the stars and moon looked like holes poked in the sky. Too bad I was always too afraid to leave my bed. That night, running through the grass, I felt alive for the first time. Everything was silent except for the sound of cicadas, footsteps, and heavy breathing. I was catching up on him. That night I wanted to fuck up his face so bad that he would need facial reconstruction surgery.

With a loud thud, the man collapsed to the ground about thirty feet in front of me. It was clear that he was not much of a long distance runner. I slowed down and began walking towards him.

My heart beating out of my chest.
My lungs gasping for air.
My face painted with fantasies of revenge.

I approached the man who was lying down on the grass trying to catch his breath. He attempted to reach for his handgun but I quickly pinned his arm down. I reached into his belt and pulled out the gun. Examining it closely, I realized that it wasn’t even real. I had seen this type of gun before at my friend’s place. It was a fucking BB gun.

I started to laugh.

“So this entire time, you were robbing my house with a BB gun?”

The man remained silent.

“Answer my questions or I swear to God, I will make sure you regret it for the rest of your life,” I stated plainly.

Maybe it was the moon. Maybe it was my face. But the man started crying. An explosion of tears that beat whatever I displayed on my ninth birthday. Here was the man that I had feared my entire life, crying like a newborn baby.

“I think we must end our time together dear boy,” the man said. “There is something you need to know.”

I listened intently waiting for an answer. It seemed difficult for him to speak through all his tears. At this point, I was more concerned about finding my grandfather’s coin than whatever bullshit he was about to spew. But my priorities soon changed.

“I am not a thief. At least, not usually.”

He paused. The crying was beginning to stop.

“I actually worked for your father in the factory for many years. I don’t know what you think about him, boy, but he is a bad man. Even worse than me.”

“I find it hard to believe that there is anyone on this Earth worse than you,” I said.

Even at this age, I didn’t really care what he had to say about my Dad. I didn’t like him much either. But my hatred for his face had grown so strong, even through his tears, there was nothing I hated more.

“Your father abused his employees,” the man continued. “He had no empathy for us or our families. One day your father and I got into an argument about taking time off for holiday. I hadn’t seen my kids for Christmas for the past five years. Things escalated and he hit me.”

His face was lit up by the stars. I sat next to him, releasing his arm from my grip. The grass was damp and vast. The two of us sat together in the darkness, wondering how life brought us here. I knew my father got angry but I never knew it was this bad.

“I had evidence to prove what he had done to me and put him away for a long time. He apologized over and over again but it meant nothing. I wanted him to fully understand the consequences of his actions.”

Blackened eye.
Dislocated shoulder.
Broken wrist.

“But I didn’t want to waste years of my life in court. So we made a deal. He gave me a large sum of money in small increments if I promised to never say anything. I think your dad knew that he had everything to lose. I agreed but under one condition.”

I think I had an idea on what this condition may be. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin. I snatched it from his hand before he had the opportunity to give it to me.

“I knew how much this meant to you. Your father told me about it. That is why I took it,” the man said.

“I rarely got to see my children when I worked for your father. I wanted him to know how this felt. At first, I only planned on visiting your house once. But I became addicted to that look on your face. That sense of fear. I felt powerful for the first time in my life.”

It felt like every emotion I ever felt was buzzing in my ears. In the man’s still teary eyes, I saw the vague reflection of my face and was deeply saddened by what it had become.

“I am sorry, boy. I never wanted it to come to this. Now both of us have nothing. And it’s all my fault,” the man said.

His torrent of crying returned. I put my arm around his shoulder and comforted him. I really didn’t know what to say. Thinking back, I wish I had said something. I wish I told him that I didn’t hate his face anymore. I stood up and left him there. None of this mattered. I followed the moon home under the leaves, blowing in the beautiful summer wind.

17 Comments
2024/03/28
15:50 UTC

32

The girl I'm babysitting is not what I thought PART 2

Part 1 here https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1bnlpra/the_girl_im_babysitting_is_not_what_i_thought/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

They say, « We fear the unknown”. Well in my situation, I’m not so sure. Maybe I liked it better when I didn’t know what was happening, at least there was room for speculation. Now that I know, I can’t escape the reality of my situation, and it may be more terrifying. Let's rewind a few hours…

After accepting the mom’s request to babysit Claire again tonight, I decided to do some digging on this family online, see if I could find anything suspicious about them. All I found was the parent’s Facebook and the mother’s LinkedIn, and everything was so clean. They looked perfectly normal. The father was working for some sort of computer company, and the mother worked as a museum curator. No real trace of Claire, except one photo on the dad’s Facebook and her name registered in a website about some school running race where she apparently finished in second place.

Later, I got on my way to the house. The walk was incredibly hard for me, everyone smelled so, “delicious” I guess. I took a few detours to avoid crowded streets but eventually, I got there. I knocked and the mother opened to me. She thanked me to be so fast to answer and told me all the basic things. Then, Claire came down the stairs. She was nothing like the last time I saw her. She looked shy again, embarrassed even, and a little scared. I almost felt compassion for her, when the image of her bloody mouth flashed in my head and put me back on my guard. The parents kissed her goodbye and left.

There was an awkward silence again as we were standing in the hallway, just like the previous night, but I was really not in the mood.

“Why don’t we go to the living room?” I said, with the most serious and bossy tone I could.

“Huh, yes” She answered, her voice sounded a bit sad, and afraid. I decided to stay serious, but not aggressive, she seemed more scared than I was, she wasn’t even making eye contact.

We walked to the living room when I felt some sort of vertigo taking over me. My legs felt weak all of sudden and I violently fell on the floor. My vision was switching from blurry to clear every second and I felt chills in all my body. I couldn’t get up, it was terrifying, my body was just not responding to me anymore. I saw Claire slowly approaching me, she looked concerned, but my instinct made me scream to her to stay away from me. She ran and left my view for a moment, I can’t remember how long, but I was feeling worse and worse with each second.

Eventually, I smelled the same kind of scent that had the delivery guy earlier that day. I couldn’t see shit but I felt some sort of straw touching my lips. My body reacted faster than my brain could think, and I started to suck whatever was in what was touching my lips (go ahead and laugh, I know how it sounds). As I was drinking and ingesting it, I started feeling better, my eyes were working again, and my muscles started responding. When my vision was back to perfect, I saw Claire sitting on the floor next to me, holding a blood bag like you see in hospitals in one hand, and the tube I had between my lips in the other. I wish I could say that I was surprised, horrified and that I stopped drinking immediately, but that didn’t happen. Deep down, I knew from the start what I was ingesting before I could see it, and even though a part of me was absolutely disgusted by it, I couldn’t stop, it was just too good. With every sip, I felt better.

After maybe two minutes, the bag was empty, and I was back on my feet. There was another awkward silence, but this time, I was the one embarrassed. We walked to the living room, and both sat on the opposites sides the sofa. She was looking at me, but this time, I was the one that couldn’t make eye contacts.

After some time, I started the conversation, trying to ignore what just happened.

“Do you remember what happened last night Claire?” I asked, calmly.

“I’m sorry, … No, nothing.” She said. She did seem sorry.

“How is that possible? We talked, you were there! And if you don’t remember, what are you sorry about?!” I was already getting angrier, which seemed to scare her.

“It wasn’t me, you have to believe me, please! I only remember eating lasagna, and then, I was in my bed” Her eyes were filled with tears, so I forced myself to go easier.

“Ok, Claire, I believe you, but then who was it?”

“It was the mean man, not me.”

“Who is the mean man? What did he do to me?” I was trying my best to stay calm.

“I don’t know who he is exactly, he won’t tell me.” She stayed silent for a few seconds. “From what I’m seeing, she did to you the same thing she did to me.”

“What do you see? What did he do to you? Do you think you could explain everything to me Claire, I need to understand?”

She stayed silent for a moment.

“You want me to tell you everything that happened to me?” She asked.

“Yes, please, I need to understand, okay? Maybe I can even help you, you know?”

“Okay, I can tell you. But promise me you won’t be mad, or scared.”

“I promise”

She had a moment of reflection. Then she explained it to me. I’ll write you this as if she was the one writing, it’s easier. Here’s her story, narrated from her point of view…

Okay, so, it started 2 years ago. I was at my mom’s history museum because I didn’t have school that day. While she was doing paperwork, she told me to go take a walk around so she could focus. I wandered for an hour or so, there was almost nobody and it was pretty boring. Then I arrived at a dark hall full of old paintings and statues of some dead people, I didn’t know who they were, I don’t read the description. I was half into the hall when I heard something moving behind me. I turned around and saw a young man sitting on the floor. He was looking at me and smiling.

“Well, hi there” he said.

“Hello” I answered, a bit creeped out. He wasn’t there when I passed.

“What are you doing wandering around on your own? Where are your parents?”

“My mom is working in her office, so she told me to take a walk.”

“And how do you like it so far little lady?” He was very formal but also nice, so I was getting a bit more comfortable.

“It’s a bit boring.” I answered honestly.

“Is that so? Well, I guess I agree, all these guys are indeed, pretty boring.” He said, with a little laugh.

“You know all of them?” I asked.

“Well, yes, some even personally, and they weren’t less boring alive, let me tell you that” He laughed, and I did too.

“What do you mean personally? They’re medieval kings.” I asked this like some sort of joke.

“Yes, well let’s just say I’ve been around for a little while.”

“How long?” I asked this playfully, thinking he was making things on the spot.

“584 years.” He answered immediately.

“That’s long. Are you a dead ghost?”

He laughed.

“Isn’t the whole point of a ghost to be dead little lady?” He said with a little smile.

“Right, are you a ghost then?”

“Sure, I’m a ghost”

“So that’s why you’re here? You’re haunting this place because it’s where your statue is or something, and you can’t leave?” At that moment, I thought I was playing a game.

“Well, I didn’t know I was dealing with a specialist!” He said.

“I’m not a specialist, ha ha, I just watch a lot of cartoons about ghosts.”

“Well, whatever cartoons are, you know your stuff, I’m impressed little lady.”

“But if you’re haunting this museum, why are you not on any of the paintings or statues?” I was trying to beat who I thought was a visitor, and to make him admit that he was not a ghost by proving that his story didn’t make sense.

“Well, you know, people tend to forget me, probably because I was never that much of an attention seeker, not as much as all these other guys for sure. But someone must have remembered me because I am mentioned briefly in one small book in the private reserve of the museum. I never got to thank the person that included me in this book, without them, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Okay, then what’s your name? Maybe I know you, from history class.” I asked him.

“You won’t know me, but I didn’t introduce myself, my name is Vesel, and you are?”

“I’m Claire.”

“Very glad to meet you, Claire.”

“Okay, then, if you’re a ghost, why aren’t all the people in the paintings haunting this place too?” I was sure that I won, that he will admit he wasn’t a ghost.

“Well, I’m a little different you see.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Why don’t I show you Claire?”

“Show me what?”

“What’s special about me.”

“How?”

“I won’t ruin the surprise, come to me.”

I walked towards where he was.

“Now sit in front of me Claire.” He asked politely.

I sat down.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now Claire, give me your hands, and close your eyes, will you?”

I did it, I gave him my hands, and closed my eyes, just like he said.

There was a silence.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

Then, my hand started hurting me very hard, it was so painful, I screamed. I opened my eyes and saw him, biting my left hand. He was holding it very tightly and was sucking all the blood that was coming out of it, it was terrifying. I screamed for help while desperately trying to get away from him. After some very long seconds, he stopped and let go of my hand. I wanted to run away from him, but my whole body was hurting, and I couldn’t even scream, I was lying on the floor, helpless. He stood up and looked at me.

“I understand you more now little lady. You are more interesting than I thought. Ignored by your parents that didn’t want you, ashamed of not being good enough compared to their friend’s children, no friends because girls think you’re too manly and boys think you’re weird. So much despair at such a young age, I can only dream of what I could do with you. I’m going to keep you Claire, but don’t worry, I’ll help you to start, I know you’re still young. I’ll see you soon little lady”.

After that he walked away. A few seconds later, I was not feeling any pain anymore, and the bite was almost completely invisible.

A colleague of my mom arrived, alerted by my screams, and saw me on the floor. He gave me some water and asked me what happened. I explained everything to him, but he didn’t believe me. When my mom joined us, I was crying, and she took me back to her office. I tried to explain what happened to her too, but she told me that she had to work, and that this was a museum, not a place to play games, especially if it included disturbing workers and embarrassing her. She made me sit in her office in silence for the rest of the day.

When we got back home, I ate the meal, then went straight to bed, my mom didn’t want me around after “what I did”.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Not only because I was terrified of what happened earlier, but also simply because I was not tired one bit. I was constantly moving in my bed trying to find a position in which I could sleep. Then, around midnight, I saw him. Vesel was in my mirror.

“Well, hi there, I was wondering when you would see me. Before you do anything stupid little lady, just know that your parents can’t see me, so I would advise you not to call them, unless you want them to be even more upset with you.” He had the same formal yet nice tone as earlier.

“What are you doing here? Don’t approach me!” I said, trying to be intimidating.

“Ha ha, don’t worry Claire, there’s a reason why I’m in your mirror. You were right, I can’t really leave the museum on my own. I can only manifest myself to you, I couldn’t harm you directly, and I have no intention to do so.”

“Why are you here?” I asked, petrified.

“Just checking on you little lady. By now you should start to feel hungry, don’t you? Yes, I can feel it. Did you drink anything already?”

“What do you mean drink?”

“You did not? It’s normal after all, it’s only been a few hours.” He said.

“What did you do to me? Why do I feel like this?”

“You feel “thirsty” little lady, it’s only normal. You see Claire, all I did was make you as special as I am. Now, usually, when I do this, I let the person ruin their own life themselves, they always do, and then, I take pleasure in seeing them suffer through centuries of remorse. But I thought about it, and with you I will make an exception. Your life isn’t as long and special as the people I usually target already, I just thought that the prospect of trapping you in such a young body would be interesting, but ruining your everyday life now wouldn’t have a big enough impact. SO, here’s what I’m going to do: for everything related to your thirst, I will handle it for you, so you don’t get caught, and during that time, I will think about what I could do with you. Do you understand?”

“Am I a vampire?” I asked, feeling a bit stupid.

He sighed.

“That word isn’t really appropriate, there are so many things associated to this definition that aren’t true, you think I fear a stupid cross, or even garlic. Or that I die in the sun? If it makes it easier for you, sure, you’re a “vampire” but don’t trust everything they say about it.” For the first time, he seemed a bit upset.

“How are you going to handle my thirst?” I asked.

“Easy, I can just possess you. So, I’ll do that, make you drink, maybe have a little fun, and then give you your body back. Anyway, I can’t stay here all night, see you soon little lady.”

And he disappeared.

It’s been two years since this happened. Now, my life is the same as before, except for a few things: I don’t sleep, I don’t age anymore, I’m constantly repressing my thirst, and sometimes, he possesses my body.

That’s basically what she told me. I was shocked. At first, my instinct didn’t believe her, but when I thought about everything that happened so far, this didn’t seem so unbelievable. I still had way more questions though.

“Okay… Claire, I’m going to need more information now, can you answer my questions honestly?” I asked her gently.

“Yes, I promise!” She answered.

“If what you told me happened 2 years ago, how old are you now?”

“I’m 11.” She whispered.

“Why did your parents tell me you were 9?”

“They say that to the people that we don’t know well, they are ashamed of how young I look.” She said with a sad look. The more I learned about her parents, the less they seemed like the loving parents I originally thought they were.

“The man you told me about, is that him that possessed you yesterday when I was bit?”

“Yes”

“How could he know about my secrets?”

“I don’t know, I think he can read into our minds when he bit us, he did the same thing when he bit me.”

“Claire, do you know my secrets too?” I asked her, not knowing what I was expecting.

She stayed silent for a moment.

“Yes, I do.”

“You know about Martin? Don’t you feel like I did something really bad, like I am a coward and cruel for never telling anyone about it, letting his parents hoping for so long, paying private detective to find him? Doesn’t that make you mad at me a little bit?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She said, looking down.

I had a thought.

“Claire, did you bit someone yourself?”

She didn’t say anything.

“I won’t be mad, but you promised to be honest.”

“Yes, I did, I’m sorry.” She said.

“What happened?”

“The man didn’t possess me for longer than usual. I was playing in the park with some teenage girl, and my mom asked me to wait with her while she was going to get us something to eat at a nearby shop. When she was away, I couldn’t contain myself and I bit her. I drank a lot of her, when he finally possessed me in the middle of it. When I came back to myself, I was walking home with my mom. Later that day, Vesel came in my mirror to tell me that he had to fix everything so that nobody knew about me. Since then, when he possesses me, he fills me some blood bag “for emergencies”, and he hides them in the garden.”

“Is that where you got what you made me drink?”

She nodded.

“Tell me, when he possesses you, do you just black out?”

“Not really. I am in some empty dark space, and all I hear are screams, people that scream at me horrible things, it’s terrible.”

I had a lot of answers now, but they weren’t really helping me. I had no idea how I could get myself out of this shitty situation. There was however, one thing that I couldn’t understand. This thing, knew about Martin’s story, because it could see it in my mind, sure, but how did it know what happened to him after. That’s what it claimed the previous night. “I also know what happened after, that YOU don’t know. But I’ll keep that story for later.”, that’s what it said. I truly didn’t understand that. It could have been a lie, but from everything this “man” had said before, whether to me or to Claire, he didn’t seem to have lied. Plus, I don’t really understand why he would lie about it. Deep down, something told me that I would find answers there. I had to go back to where it happened, where I pushed him in the river. I stood up.

“I’m sorry Claire, I have to go.”

“What? Where?”

“I have to understand how to get rid of this.”

“But you can’t leave me alone!” She started to cry.

“Listen, I have to find a way to get out of this? I can’t stay here, I’m a danger to everyone around me, you think he’s going to get me little blood bags too?”

“And you think he’s going to do that forever for me? It’s just until he finds a way to ruin everything around me. If I’m with you, I’m not alone, and you’re not either.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, take me with you! I could help you, and none of us would be alone!” She said this with so much confidence.

“I can’t, Claire, you have parents, it’s not okay…”

“You said you would help me! You promised!”

There was a silence. I looked at her. She was so confident.

“Fuck it, fine, come with me.” I said.

A big smile formed on her face.

“Where are we going?”

“Where I pushed Martin, first, then, we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay”

“Do you want to leave a note for your parents, I don’t know what could happen to us you know.”

“Do you think they care? They never care about me, so I think they’ll be fine.”

“Do you know where your parents are hiding their car keys?”

“Sure”

“Perfect, now go take them, also take as many blood bags as you can, whatever you could need in your room and join me at the car.”

Ten minutes later, we had pack everything into the car and we were on our way. Claire and I both decided to tie her up so that we’ll be safe in case the man possessed her in the car. While we were driving silently, I could see that she was smiling.

“Are you my friend?” She asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean do you consider me as your friend?”

That was a weird question. My first answer would have been no, but thinking about it, I realized that at this exact moment, I felt better than when I’m with my actual friends, and I knew why: Claire knew my worst secret, and she didn’t care, because she did something terrible too. I also noticed how easy I had been to accept that she come with me on this journey. Usually, I don’t like being around people, and even worst, kids, but now that she was there, I was glad to have her. So, maybe we were friends.

“Yes, I think I do.” I answered.

“Nice. You’re my first real friend. This is cool.”

We both smiled. I had a moment of internal peace like I never had before.

After like 2 hours, we were on a lonely road, she had a gasp, and I knew what was happening right when she talked.

“Mark? What are you doing? Why is Claire with you?”

“Hello, I guess you’re the Vesel she told me about?” I answered.

“Did you kidnap her?” He said, laughing. “Ho no, that’s smart, you tied her up so that I couldn’t do anything…”

I didn’t answer him.

“Tell me Mark, there’s something I don’t get. You see, I’ve been trying to possess you since last night, and your doors are closed, I can’t get to you for some reason. That’s a bit frustrating… Ho you don’t want to answer me? Fine, you know I have all the time in the world to figure out how to get to you.”

There was a silence.

“So, if I don’t answer you, and that you can’t even move, maybe you can leave her alone, apparently it’s not so fun for her when you’re there.”

“Ha ha, I can stay in her as long as I want, it’s not like she can do anything about it you know. And if you think that I can’t do anything just because you tied her up, you’re underestimating me. Let me show you.”

Right after he said that, the car started to move to the sides, I had no control over it anymore. That’s when I saw that we were heading right into two people that were walking alongside the road. I didn’t have the time to press the horn that we hit them violently. I got the controls of the car again and stopped it immediately. I ran out of the car went to see if the people were still alive, and I had my answer pretty quickly. They were lying on the ground and there was blood all over the place, but they were alive, breathing loudly. I heard “Claire” laughing like a maniac.

“Can you smell that, Mark?” The man possessing her shouted from the car. “Go ahead, take a sip. Drink!” He was laughing so hard, but I had trouble focusing, because I could indeed smell all the blood that was coming from these two people. “Eat them Mark, it will be so good, you’ll see!”

His laugh wouldn’t stop, and I was just standing there, looking at all this blood. He kept on telling me to eat it between laughs. When suddenly, HE had a gasp. The laughs stopped and I heard Claire shouting at me.

“MARK, TAKE A BLOOD BAG, DON’T EAT THEM”

Hearing her tone again took me out of my thoughts and I ran back to the car, took out a blood bag, drank half of it, and gave her the rest, since she had smelled the blood too. I called an ambulance for the 2 people, and we left immediately after.

I explained her what happened while she was away, and then she explained to me what happened for her: She was in the same dark empty space as usual, hearing all these voices screaming at her, when she heard a calmer voice telling her to come, it was my voice. She followed it and eventually saw one hand that was coming out of the shadows and took it, and it brought her back. I don’t know what that means yet but we now know that she can actually do something about being possessed.

After that, I was a bit shocked by everything, so we stopped to a cheap motel on the road, we obviously didn’t really need to sleep, but I had to rest my brain at least.

We both took a shower, and I took my phone to write what you’re just reading. She said she was going to “fake-sleep” because it helps her apparently.

We will continue our trip tomorrow morning, for now, I’m open to answer questions. Any tips are welcome.

12 Comments
2024/03/28
15:12 UTC

31

Has anyone heard of Shadow People? (Pt 1)

Have any of you heard of shadow people? I mean, I know it’s somewhat of a popular urban legend, but have any of them ever stayed?

Let me take a step back. My whole life I’ve been surrounded by folktales and legends told by my senile Grandmother. Some of them are common, Paul Bunyan and David Crockett to name a few, but it was always late at night where my grandmother’s stories would change. These were the stories I grew most intrigued by. My Grandmother, a novice storyteller in the day, by night turned Shakespearean in her recollections. Tales of the Wendigo, the Jersey Devil, and most importantly the Shadow People.

As the story goes, anytime you’re in a dimly lit room alone, out of the corner of your eye you can see a figure. This figure can be in many shapes either short, tall, wide, skinny, solid, smoky, but every single time it resembles a human. And as any sane person would do, you would turn in their direction only to see nothing. It vanishes in an instant. I’m sure even a few of you have seen this phenomenon. Some people say they are guardian angels checking in, some say they are malicious deities waiting to steal your soul, but most people chalk it up to be tricks of the mind, shown only to people who are too paranoid for their own good when alone. I've even seen them from time to time and at this point it became a game to try and catch them out of surprise. My Grandmother knew better. She said one day she saw one too, but this time it saw her back. This motivated my antics even more.

Usually after mumbling a few vague details she’d lose it, staring blankly into the crackling fireplace as a distinct look of fear passed over her. As an impatient 8 year old I would get bored and wander to the next rambling drunk adult. The story never changed as the years went on and when she passed, so too did her stories.

I’ve all but forgotten about every other story but for some reason, the Shadow People stuck with me. Something about the fear in her eyes told me it couldn’t have just been words, there had to be some truth behind it. That’s what originally brought me to this forum. I would scour the subs to see if anyone had heard or experienced what my Grandmother had, but none I’ve seen match with my Grandmothers muttering. It was at this point after searching for 3 years that I began to give up.

That was until a few years ago, the day I turned 18. The night of, my family had just come home from a celebratory dinner at my favorite steakhouse. They were exhausted and everyone went to bed right away except for me. Still full of energy from finally being a free adult, I wandered downstairs for a midnight snack. My headphones blasting and a skip to my step I opened the fridge door and rummaged through the various consumables. That’s when it appeared.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it, a vague figure, just like I’ve seen in the past. I do my “little ritual” of psyching myself up that this would be the time I catch it for more than a nanosecond. I turn my head slightly left then snap my neck in an instant. What I expected was nothing, what I got was horror.

15 feet away stood a being with white beads for eyes and a crooked row of false teeth smiling back at me. As the realization set in, my playful grin went away and so did it’s. My eyes couldn’t focus on its shape, it was eye level only because it was noticeably slouched. Its arms and shoulders were scrunched into its center, thinning its frame. It stood awkwardly, gazing at me, tilting its head in unison with mine.

What stared back at me wasn’t from this world. I felt like I was looking into a void whose presence was being rejected by our plane of existence. A structure carrying an Eldritch presence stood in my living room. I slowly turned my body towards it and moved backward, slow enough to convince myself I had a chance. With each step back it took a step forward, its pace matching mine. It wasn’t going to let me leave.

5 steps away on the wall was the light switch. In my childish panic I thought if I turned it on the Shadow would leave and I’d be safe. As I continued to creep, the Shadow would start to copy my movements. Not just walking towards me but walking like me. Its body would contort in impossible ways to keep its posture while matching my gestures. It would mess up sometimes and quickly correct itself. In retrospect, I wish I internalized this, but to me at that moment survival was at the forefront of my mind.

My hand grazed the wall and with it the being reached into the air feeling for something that wasn’t there. My fingers reached the switch and once they touched, the monster broke its stance and stood upright. It towers over any human and its width consumes the space around it. Before I could flip the switch it lunged at me, reaching for my face. The force knocks me down and with me the switch.

I sat for what must’ve felt like hours just staring blankly in the now lit kitchen. I had no idea what this all meant and all I could do was go back to my bedroom and sit on my bed. I didn’t sleep a lot that night, everytime I closed my eyes I would see the shape. Not a human, but not too far from it.

The next day, proof of the encounter showed itself as a lime-sized lump on my head from hitting the wall. Something my mother would painstakingly nurse with ice and other family remedies. My whole family would continuously ask me what happened. It wasn’t anything a shrug and a “fell off my bed,” couldn’t fix. Eventually after a week I had gone back to an afterthought, and I could start planning my next steps.

I wrestled with some ideas on what to do next. My grandmother wasn’t around anymore, and I wish I had pried for more information when I had the chance. If I had any shot at gaining any more information, my grandmother’s library was the key. She often wrote books before her arthritis grew.

At the time, I didn’t know if I’d gain anything but it was worth a shot. Only thing I know is that I saw it, and it saw me.

5 Comments
2024/03/28
12:18 UTC

43

Beyond Dollar General Beyond pt 3

Pt 2- https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1bo634z/beyond\_dollar\_general\_beyond\_pt\_2/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web3x&utm\_name=web3xcss&utm\_term=1&utm\_content=share\_button

I met Agent Cash in the place where all clandestine meetings are held, the back row of the local Burger King.

He was sitting in the back next to the ancient but well-loved play place, and that was likely by design. No one would be able to hear us over the racket the kids were making, less chance of people eavesdropping. The closer I got to him, the more I had to remind myself why I was doing this. I think I would have rather kept suffering the Miasma in my house than meet with Agent Cash again, but what choice did I have?

We needed to know where the Miasma had taken Celene, and he knew how to find that kind of information.

"I must say," he said, his fingers locked before him on the chipped Formica table, "I was surprised to hear from you so soon. I know you and your friends aren't out of money, so I don't suppose this is an attempt to extort us."

He was smiling, but I wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"Would you like to tell me why the miasma took one of my friends yesterday?"

Whatever he had been expecting, that wasn't it.

"What?"

"Yeah, they've been attacking my house for close to a week. My whole house is all but nocturnal at this point, and now someone has been taken by someone from your side. This kind of thing really doesn't make me want to stay quiet about what you have going on behind closed bathroom doors."

Cash rolled his eyes, "Because you've been SO quiet about it. Do you think we haven't read your little story? If anyone took your little story online seriously, we'd have already made you disappear, and your little dog too."

I wanted to laugh at his reference, but I wasn't in the mood.

"A. I started that before I had even met you and B. That is not the point. You still haven't explained why your creatures took my friend."

"I haven't the foggiest," he said, "If the miasma took someone, it wasn't on my order."

I had expected him to lay out some kind of grand plan or make threats and ultimatums, but the knowledge that he wasn't involved in this was scarier by far.

"But," I tried to put together something cohesive and mostly failed, "Aren't you, like, the leader here? Your shadowy organization is at the head of this kind of thing."

He shrugged, "I don't know what to tell you, kid. We run operations on this side, but I'm not the King of the Dollar General Beyond. The miasma do what they want sometimes, but this is disturbing."

He reached for his drink and it took everything I had not to slap it out of his hand.

"Why is that?"

"Because, until you just told me, we were unaware that they could interact with things outside the stores. They've never done it before, at least as far as we know, and it shouldn't be possible."

"Why's that?"

He glanced around, the kids in the play place really exercising their lungs as they ran amok, before leaning in closer than I strictly wanted him.

"Look, the stores aren't entirely natural. The organization, the one that tracks the Dollar Generals, isn't the one that builds them. Hell, we don't even know about them sometimes until some shlub calls to see if we're hiring for a new location. Then we put a pin in a map and open a new store."

I sat back a little, trying to wrap my head around this.

"Then...how do they get built?"

He smiled, "You ever notice that sometimes there are multiple Dollar Generals within blocks of each other? You drive into town and think "Oh look, a new Dollar General. But they sure put that up quick." Well, WE didn't. They just appear. No one builds them, no one contracts them, and a big chunk of our revenue each year goes to fines for not securing permits for these stores. We pay off individuals sometimes, sometimes we show doctored paperwork saying we had contracts and permits, but it's all bullshit. I'll tell you something else, too," he said, taking a long sip of whatever was in the cup before continuing, "For every store that pops up, another store appears in the Beyond too. I don't know if it's a matter of which came first, the Beyond or the Store, but when we investigate the new store's connection, there's always a counterpart in the Beyond."

This was a lot to process, and I was glad I hadn't bought food before sitting down with him.

"What's to stop them from just popping up everywhere?"

He smiled at me, and the effect was chilling, "Not a damn thing. Perhaps one day the Dollar Generals will conquer the earth, just a world of stores as far as the eye can see. It would be terrifying if it wasn't so intriguing."

I was getting sidetracked and I knew it, "So how do we get my friend back?"

He looked at me over the top of his lid, the cup making a slurping sound as he emptied it, "You don't," he said as if it should be obvious.

I exhaled, "That's not an option. We have to get her back."

Cash scoffed, the ice rattling as he put the cup down, "You are one of the only escapees from the Dollar General Beyond. Are you in that much of a hurry to go back?"

"If that's what I have to do," I answered without hesitation.

Cash just rolled his eyes, "It's not like there's a surefire way to get there."

He said it, but I wasn't entirely sure I believed him. I can't prove it, but I had a theory that beneath that unconvincing skinsuit was something similar to what had grabbed Celene. He may not be king of the miasma, but he was one of them, and he had to have a way to take shore leave sometimes. I hadn't really expected him to just hand us the keys and let us head to the other side, but I had hoped he would let more slip than that.

"Well, I need my friend back, and you're the only person I know who knows about the Beyond, besides Gale and I."

Cash shrugged, "That sounds like a you problem. I only agreed to meet with you because my supervisors were afraid you were getting ready to do something stupid. If you go and get yourself back into the Beyond, don't expect another check if you make it back out again. We don't pay people to go sightseeing. Well, we do, but the training to head into the Beyond and come back out makes astronauts look like Boy Scouts."

He got up, as if meaning to go, but snapped his fingers again and sat back down, startling me.

"Speaking of, I have been authorized to make you an offer on your travel journal by the higher-ups."

I wasn't sure what he meant at first, but then I realized he was talking about the journal I had made of the various Dollar General Beyond stores. Why would they want it, I wondered? They controlled the stores, they should know them like the back of their hand. This made me think again that this side of the operation might not be as in control as I had thought.

"Not a chance," I said, "I had to make that at great personal risk to myself. It's priceless."

"Incorrect," Cash said, reaching into his breast pocket, "It's worth this much."

He slid a piece of paper across the table with enough 0s on it to make my eyebrows go up.

"Wow, well, that is a generous offer, but I still have to decline."

"Suit yourself," he said, "When you need cash, let us know. It's unlikely we'll get a better one, but if we do the offer is, obviously, null and void."

He left then, and I went and got food. Dark revelations or not, I was still hungry.

Gale was leaning against the wall across from the closet when I got him, just staring at it in abject dejection. Buddy had his head in his lap, and Gale was petting him absentmindedly. Gale told me later that he had intentions of...uh unaliving himself while I was gone but the pupper had changed his mind. Buddy was great at so many things it seemed, and really was a good boy.

"Did that grinning imp have anything to say?" he asked, never looking up from Buddy's coat.

"Just that he wasn't going to let us in, and he wasn't going to go get her for us."

"Pretty much what I expected," Gale said.

I sat down across from him then, really looking at him as he sat there stroking the dog.

"So what are we going to do?" I asked.

"Somehow," Gale said, and for a moment he sounded like his old self again, "We have to get back into the Beyond."

We spent the afternoon sharing knowledge. I told him what Cash had told me, and he told me what he made of it. We made plans, put aside plans, and made new plans. Ultimately, we didn't do much but keep each other company, but that seemed to be enough for that moment.

I don't have a lot else to say, but I'll keep you updated.

Until then, be safe out there.

You never know when the Beyond might decide to reach out and grab you.

14 Comments
2024/03/28
10:20 UTC

47

Woodward’s Wild West Motel.

What would it take for you to drop everything in your life and just GO? I don’t mean out of a sense of adventure, I mean because if you don’t go, you’re afraid of what may end up happening to you.

Well I reached my limit a couple weeks ago. Multiple tragedies through out my life built up and whittled my brain down. I became a mean son of a bitch, and with things around me continuing to be garbage, I knew that if I didn’t get out of town, something really bad was going to happen.

My family life is chaotic enough that leaving wasn’t going to be too much of an issue, and my friendships were flimsy enough that a few texts would tie those up with a pretty bow. So, I took three days off of work and did some research. First, I sold everything that I could besides my car, which netted me 14 grand. I then wrote goodbye letters that ranged from apologetic to downright scornful. Finally, on March 13th, after a heart to heart with my surprisingly understanding landlord, I was off.

Before you think I’m a complete idiot, I did have somewhat of a plan. A friend in Utah promised me a spot at the local news site he’s an editor for, and set my start date for April 1st, so I could have my soul searching trip.

A drive from Upstate New York to northern Utah was only a little over a day, so I had done enough research into fun attractions that I could visit along the way, which would end up taking me through nine states!

I’m a sucker for kitschy Americana, so I was in Heaven for the first 7 days. I went to more small town museums, oddity attractions, and unique local landmarks than I could count. Every place I went to, I annoyed the shit out of the proprietors by talking their ear off, asking about local lore. I was completely engrossed in the life of the nomad. I was truly happy for the first time in a long time.

My trip was a dream come true up until I checked into Woodward’s Wild West motel last Thursday.

I wasn’t even meant to be there. It was 9 at night, and I had eaten an omelette that wasn’t agreeing with my stomach, so I decided that I’d stop in northwestern Colorado instead of pushing into Utah. I hadn’t spent nearly as much money as I thought I was going to, so I didn’t have to spring for a shitty motel, but when I got on Maps, my eyes were immediately drawn to Woodward’s.

From the name, pictures, and description, it was clear that the motel was trying its hardest to stick out. From what I saw, the entire interior of both the public areas of the motel and the rooms themselves were decorated to give off a Wild West aesthetic. Again, being a sucker for things like this, I immediately punched in the address and was en route.

Upon arrival, the first thing I noticed was how big this motel was. For such a niche attraction, the motel was larger than some big name motels that I had seen along the way. I also noticed that there was next to nobody else there. A spattering of maybe 7 cars. Most of which were likely workers.

Again, I was in Heaven when I entered the lobby. It was done up to appear as though it was the desert, complete with murals of dunes, a large fake boulder, and a pretty culturally insensitive wax Native American figure standing next to the check-in desk.

The clerk was super nice. Her name was Hannah, and she was dressed up like a southern Belle. I didn’t have the heart to explain why that didn’t make much sense, but she was a sweetheart, so I wasn’t going to bother her. Fifty bucks a night for a room with a king sized bed was such an amazing deal that it made me want to kiss the wax native when the clerk informed me of it!

My second floor room was exactly what had been shown online. Filled with faux 19th century furniture with a pretty decent sized TV on the other side of the room. It wasn’t too big, but it had a bathroom, shower, and bed, which was all I needed. A lot of times, when I’m feeling nauseous (which I still was at that moment), I like to take an incredibly hot shower. So, after putting my bag down, I started stripping and walked right into the bathroom.

However, four irritating minutes later, I was faced with a dilemma. My fucking shower wouldn’t turn on. So, I begrudgingly got dressed, and headed back down to the front desk.

Of course, with my luck, the clerk was no longer at the front desk, nor was she in the office behind it. Also, she was the only damned worker on at that time! So, suddenly regretting my decision to choose the “fun” motel, I went off looking for her. However, just as I was about to enter one of the adjacent hallways, I spotted something. The wax native had been turned ever so slightly to the right, facing straighter than it had before.

The first room I entered was a children’s play area situated next to where the enclosed pool room was. Encircled by plastic cacti was a wooden play set that kids probably climbed all over, getting seriously hurt in the process. I was surprised it existed, as it seemed like a legal nightmare. Perched on top of the set was a taxidermied vulture. This seemed like a rather macabre addition, because the way it was positioned, it was almost like it was just waiting for a kid to fall off the play set and break his neck, so he could later chow down on the child’s body. Looking deep into its glass eyes, I couldn’t help but to be reminded of my grandmother’s eyes. Predatory, hateful, and ready to bulge out of her skull while she lamented how my parents pawned me off on her at age ten.

I moved on and reached a room that was half cafeteria and half bar. This room for whatever reason was pitch black. I turned my phone’s flashlight on, and found one of the room’s switches, but got nothing when I flipped it. I turned around to try to find more switches, and screamed like a little girl as my light passed the bar.

Behind the bar were two figures. The first was a wax 19th century saloon bartender. Complete with bow tie and mutton chops, he was bent over the bar, as if he was waiting to hear some drunkard’s confessions. The second figure was the far more terrifying one. It had the body of a man in cowboy garb, but it was wearing the taxidermied head of a buffalo as a mask. I was confused because, well, it didn’t really belong where it was. The bartender made perfect sense, but that? Why the hell was it behind the bar?

I called out to the clerk a few times, and was about to head into another room, but I froze in my tracks when I heard what sounded like a low grunt coming from the bar area.

Slowly, I turned back toward the bar. The bartender was still the same, though I hadn’t realized earlier how creepy his wolf grin was. But then I got to ‘old buffalo head’, and let out a yelp. The figure was now slightly bent forward, as if it was mimicking the bartender. My mind was screaming at my body to get the hell out of there, but it wasn’t listening. Not until the thing OPENED IT’S MOUTH. I don’t mean like opening a mask’s mouth either. The thing’s full tongue, disgusting saliva, and far too realistic teeth are still seared in my mind. It wasn’t until the buffalo creature straightened up that my body decided that it could move again. I pivoted, and moved like I had never moved before.

As I was about halfway through the play area again, a truly haunting noise filled the entire fucking hotel. It sounded like a man doing his best to imitate what you think a bull or buffalo would sound like. Since that day, I have compared it to the real thing, and I feel like my description is the perfect one for that noise.

I ran through the lobby, and quite literally INTO the front automatic doors. I rammed my shoulder into them with all my might, but I just pitifully bounced off them. I stood up and kicked them as hard as I could, but they still didn’t budge. I got myself ready for a running front kick, but again, I froze in abject terror.

The wax Native was gone. Its platform was empty. I didn’t even have time to process this terrifying reality because I then heard the sounds of heavy shuffling steps marching toward the lobby. But before whoever was making them came into full view. They stopped. Then, ever so slowly, a heavily deformed hand started reaching around the corner of one of the hallways. Whoever was attached to that arm then let out a laugh that sounded like a mall Santa’s howl mixed with an industrial saw hitting metal. That was enough to get me moving again.

When I got back to my floor, it was like the entire motel came unglued. I was hearing voices and strange sounds coming from every which way. A chorus of the damned followed me down the hall as I seamlessly pulled out my room card and unlocked the door.

The second I got into my room and locked the door, the voices stopped. Well, all of them except for one. The unmistakable voice of my grandmother came from the other side of the door.

“Aren’t you tired, boy? You’ve been up for so long, you need to rest your head. The beds here are so incredibly comfortable. Go ahead, try it!” She sneered.

Bile started rising in my throat.

“Your entire life, so many people have tried helping you. You rely on our kindness to stay afloat. Did you really think you could survive on your own?.” Her sour voice was filled with contempt.

I slowly started backing away from the door when whoever was on the other side began slamming into it, they started pounding, almost rhythmically.

I was terrified that the door was going to be smashed through, so I started looking all around the room and my eyes fell on a small chest that was sitting in the corner. I rushed over to it and picked it up. It looked like a novelty, but it sure as hell didn’t weigh like one.

The pounding on the door was getting worse, it was shaking the entire room now.

“Running away from your problems again!? Pathetic little worm. You know what’s going to happen when I get my hands on you again, boy!” My grandmother’s voice was starting to sound much less like her, and more like whatever hellish sound the buffalo creature had made earlier.

With all my might, I heaved the chest at the window, shattering it. I wasted no time after that, I straddled the now-open window sideways, bits of glass ripping into my clothes and skin, and just sorta fell.

As I shambled over to my car, the motel shifted, as if it was literally shaking with rage over the fact that I had gotten away. I wasn’t going to wait any longer to study this phenomenon, I got my ass out of there as soon as possible.

Now, about 6 days later, I have finally moved into my new place in northern Utah. Much bigger than my old apartment, and the rent is literally halved.

I have been playing with the idea of using my story for my first article under my friend’s publication, but I have decided against it. Not because anyone who read it would call me an insane lunatic, but because some things have happened since.

Ever since that day, at least once an hour, I hear that buffalo creature’s howl. Now sure, it is INCREDIBLY distant, but it is always there. Because of how far away these sounds were, I assumed that whatever tried capturing me that night was content with staying away from me, taunting me, trying to drive me insane.

However, last night, that all went out the window.

I was inside a restaurant with my friend. We were discussing what happened at Woodward’s. He personally believed that I had dealt with a form of food poisoning that caused hallucinations. But I know that’s not true. I know what I experienced was not only real, but was going to continue happening.

How do I know this? Because as he was explaining all of this to me, off in the distance inside the restaurant, I had the perfect view of a darkened back hallway, and at the entrance of that hallway, I saw the waxy face of the faux native carefully peeking out from behind one of the walls.

4 Comments
2024/03/28
01:56 UTC

107

What the Hell Happened in Hotel 481?

Many people have odd childhood memories—some are funny, some are eerie, and some are just unexplainable. I recall one of these memories. I don't remember the finer details because I was six years old.

My parents and I had taken a trip to a place in England. It was a town with a lot of cathedrals. We attempted to stay at a few places but discovered that they were pretty expensive. My parents did, however, discover one.... Hotel 481. The hotel's architecture, as far as I recall, was similar of Victorian homes. The inside was clean yet had an unsettling sense of eeriness to it. My parents went to the reception desk to book a room, while I walked off to play with a bead maze. Playing with the bead maze, my attention was drawn to movement behind the heavy curtains framing the front windows. Looking closer, I saw a tall silhouette, its form obscured by the dim light filtering through the fabric. Strangely, its elongated fingers emerged, delicate yet unsettling in their appearance. Frozen in curiosity, I watched as the figure seemed to acknowledge my presence with a wavering motion. In response, an instinctive impulse urged me to wave back. My parents grabbed me by the hand, and we walked to the room. I faintly recall the number of our room. I believe it was either room 18 or 78.

I, of course, jumped onto the bed and switched on the television to watch some cartoon. My parents discovered they had forgotten their wallets in the hotel lobby, so they decided to leave me alone for a while. I continued watching the cartoon until I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and found no one. I looked down and found a note. I opened the note and read it as best I could: "Now you are all alone." Even as a six-year-old, this still made me feel uneasy. I quickly shut the door and returned to watching my cartoon. My parents returned, and we started preparing for bed. I should have told my parents about the note, but I didn't, for some reason. Either I was afraid too, or I simply forgot.

We went to bed. The next day would be a huge day. We were going to see a historical site. However, in the middle of the night, I awoke. I'm not sure why. This does not normally happen to me. I observed what I assumed to be something behind the curtains in the corner of the room. I could see the whole body. It was slim and malnourished. It appeared to be wearing a hood or something over its head. It appeared to be wearing a mask. The mask had a smiling face drawn in red. As an innocent kid, I thought it was paint, but now I am not that sure. It waved again and I waved back. I was freaked out. I could feel goosebumps forming on my skin. It just stared. I eventually went back to sleep.

When I awoke, I discovered that our visit to the historical site had been cancelled. I was unhappy, but my parents said they would try to find another place to go. In the meantime, I could explore the hotel. There was a playground toward the back of the hotel. I wanted to go there first. Now, you expect playgrounds to be crowded with children, yet there were none. It was very eerie. There was no one, except for one of the hotel workers.

She greeted me, stating that I was one of the only kids to actually come here. Even as a six-year-old, I found that weird. I decided to play on the equipment. However, I immediately became bored. There were no children to play with. I was going to leave when I ran into that the thing again. It just waved at me.

"Hello little boy." it said, "Why the long face?"

"The playground is boring. There are no kids to play with." I said.

It seemed to move its head in intrigue, "Is that so? How 'bout I'll play with you. We could be friends"

"Really!" I yelled.

I was a dumb kid who ignored all the red flags with this interaction. I began to play with the thing. It pushed me on the swings and played tag with me. It never told me its name. It just told me to call it "Nine". Nine told me it had a game it could play with me. It was a version of hide and seek. Basically, I would hide, and he would try to find me. Regular hide and seek right? Wrong! I had to play it in the forest behind the hotel.

I was scared of playing in the forest. What if something hurt me? However, Nine reassured me that nothing will happen. I agreed to playing the game.

He started counting and I ran into the forest. I had to find a hiding place. However, while walking through the forest. I noticed something weird. There were piles of dirt. There seemed to be more every few feet. These dirt piles had sticks put in them, resembling makeshift graves. I firmly believe these were actual graves. They came in different sizes. Most of them were child sized, while a few were adult sized. Of course, I did not think much of them. I simply found a hiding spot in an old well and waited to win the game.

A few minutes went by, and nothing happened. I started to think about this. I began to feel anxious, and my heart rate increased. Why in the forest? Why not at the hotel itself? I got out of the well and began to walk back to the hotel. I yelled for Nine, telling him I didn't want to play the game anymore. However, I had gone too far into the forest. I was lost.

I heard Nine's voice behind me, "Now you are all alone." I turned around to see Nine. He just stood there. I told Nine that I did not want to play the game.

"Why not? We were having so much fun." asked Nine.

"I....I.... This is scary." I said.

"Why? Just because it is a forest? Nothing will hurt you. Do you want to be my friend, forever?" asked Nine.

I gulped and said, "Y-yeah...."

However, something in me told me to.... Run. I turned and bolted. I began crying uncontrollably. I breathed heavily. I was horrified. I looked behind me and witnessed something I'll never forget. Nine had his mask off........ Was it.... Apart of his face? I got to the hotel and hurried inside, accidently bumping into one of the employees. It was the same one from the playground. She looked outside. She clearly saw Nine.

She took me to my parents. I looked at her nametag. Her name was Alice. My parents listened to my story. However, they did not believe me, but decided to change hotels to make me feel better. That was twenty years ago.

In the years following my incident, the hotel burnt down. I recently went to the town to check out the site that Hotel 481 was at. I learnt some things about the hotel. It had a history of disappearances. The majority of them were children, with the exception of a few adults or older teens. The "graves" made sense. They were the victims. I spoke with the hotel's former manager, who had worked there when I was six. I asked him if any of the employees when he was the manager there were named Alice. He said something that surprised me. There was no one named Alice who worked there.

I have a suspicion that the owner of the hotel was in one whatever Nine was doing, or maybe Nine was the owner. It was obvious that Nine aimed for the children since they were the most gullible. He presumably told them what he told me. He said he wanted to be their friend and then offered the game. While they were in the wilderness, he would find and murder him, then bury their bodies. I was one of the few, if not the only one, that survived him. But the hotel burnt down, where is he now? I'm afraid of what he would do now. Would he try to tie up loose ends?

7 Comments
2024/03/28
00:55 UTC

151

Something's off with my house.

I could've sworn I heard it, someone walking around downstairs. Some might call me paranoid, heck, some might even call me crazy, but I knew the truth. There were strange sounds coming from the first floor of my house.

I recently moved out of my parents' house and have finally begun the life of living alone (I think). The first few days felt like when you're home alone for the first time as a kid. Suddenly, all noises make you jump a little bit, from the washing machine to your neighbor starting his car. But I'm an adult now, and things nowadays tend to bother me more than scare me.

I decided to have my bed upstairs. I probably chose that because I slept on the second floor at my parents' house, and the thought of having my bedroom right next to the front door just didn't sit right with me.

The other night, I could've sworn I heard noises coming from downstairs, not the typical house noises like creaking and such, but more like somebody walking back and forth, like when people stumble upon a difficult situation in movies. The first few nights I brushed it off. I know, I might seem like an idiot for it, but I was convinced my mind was playing tricks on me, especially now that it's my first time living alone.

The next day, which was yesterday by the time I'm writing this, I finally came across my neighbor, and we introduced ourselves. He told me his name was Ben. He looked like an average middle-aged man, at the start of hair loss and was constantly in his garage working on different stuff. He told me that he used to work at a circus, but avoided the question when I asked him why he left the job. He mentioned that he lived alone, and I shared that I do the same. He then asked me, "Oh really? I thought there was some blonde woman living here with you?". It caught me off guard; I didn't understand what he meant by that at first. I was mostly confused, The only blonde woman in my life is my sister, who has never even been to my house. "Blonde girl?" I asked him, confused as hell. He gave me this creepy look, like a look of regret. Like an "I just told this guy something I shouldn't have" type of look.

When I got back into my house, I had to check the windows. I don't know, I guess I was just very creeped out by that interaction we just had. I walked up to my window. I didn't actually believe that he would be out there still, so I just opened the curtains completely. He was not out there anymore, as expected. Then I looked over to his house, and there I saw him, staring into my window from his. It seemed like we scared each other a little bit. both of us jumped back. He then closed the curtains.

I stepped away from the window, more creeped out than before. What was the deal with this guy? I didn't want to worry too much about it though. I mean, we both were peeking through the window; maybe I am just as creepy as him? I tried to push it off as just a very bad first interaction. The blonde girl stuff still creeped me out though. I looked up at my wall, which is filled with pictures of me and my sister, who again is the only really "blonde" woman that I have in my life like that.

I went upstairs, tried to do some writing on my computer, before laying down in my bed, eventually falling asleep.

I woke up to pitch blackness. I looked at the clock and it was around midnight. I had been sleeping for hours. After becoming a little bit more conscious, I started to hear it again. Steps, downstairs. I guess the paranoia was still in me from the little interaction earlier that day, so I decided to man up and do something about it. I wasn't man enough to go downstairs, but I was man enough to get out of bed and start walking around my room.

Now, it's important that I explain my house for the rest of the story. The first floor has the bathroom, living room, kitchen, pretty much everything. The second floor is really just an attic. it's one room, which I decided to make my bedroom. The stairs also have two directions. You go down five steps, take a 360 turn, and another five steps to make it to the first floor. This setup makes it pretty much impossible to look down at the first floor and vice versa, so I had no way of knowing if anything was down there unless I actually went down half the stairs and exposed myself.

After wandering around my room for some time, I came across different things I could use to find out if there really was something down there. In the last drawer, I found a red clown nose—you know, the noses that make that creepy but funny sound when you squeeze it. Before you ask, I have no idea why I had a clown nose in my drawer, I don’t even remember placing it there. Ridiculous? Yes. Weird? Yes. Useful? Maybe. I decided that it would be the perfect object to use to find out if someone was truly in my house. I walked slowly to the stairs and threw the clown nose down the stairs. It didn't make any noise, thankfully.

Having it there on the stairs somehow made me more calm, and I decided to go back to sleep. I was constantly rolling around, though; I just couldn't close my eyes for longer than 10 seconds before feeling the need to open them again. As I lay there, it happened.

A quick, disturbing noise came from the stairs. Something or someone had stepped on the clown nose. I heard footsteps rushing down the stairs and the sound of someone running around downstairs. After a minute or two, it all went silent.

I haven't slept since this happened. I'm utterly terrified. I don't want to call the police because I feel like it would be a bad image having a police car show up at my house after living here for only a few days. Whoever was breaking into my house at night was trying to get to the second floor, which meant trying to get to me.

I went downstairs earlier this morning. Nothing seemed to have changed. I don't even know how anyone could've gotten into my house; nothing here is unlocked, not even a window is open. I decided to do what I love most and write all of this down, just to really get a clear picture of what is going on here. As I write all of these recent events down, I'm starting to see it now. With nothing open or unlocked, I suspect he might be in here still, and I'm scared to go downstairs again.

20 Comments
2024/03/28
00:15 UTC

15

The man in a bowler hat won't let fall asleep...

Things weren’t always this way. I can still remember the time when I used to get eight hours of sleep. It wasn’t like it was that long ago, it had only been days. You might be wondering; why haven’t you slept. Him. The man with the hat that I saw every night at the foot of my bed. It all started when me and some friends from college decided to go to an abandoned asylum on a drunken dare.

The door creaked open as we stepped inside; a musty odor hitting us in the face. It was quiet inside the rundown building as we looked around. We only had our phones and some cheap flashlights that didn’t light up the dark hallways. I walked down the hallway, but as I was about to pass room 103 I paused. I looked at one of my friends walking ahead of me and decided to take a quick peek into the room.

It was surprisingly well-kept. The bed was still intact, as well as some of the last patient's items still lying around the room in various places. I noticed a dusty picture frame and decided to walk over to it. I picked it up and wiped off some of the dust to reveal the photo underneath. In the photo, a man was wearing a tuxedo and an old bowler hat. I felt a hand suddenly grab my shoulder and dropped the photo with a scream. The glass in the frame shattered as I heard a laugh.

“Got you! You should’ve seen your face!” One of my friends said.

“Not cool! You made me break the picture frame!” I said, tearing up slightly. “Can we just go?” I added.

“It’s just an old picture frame. Don’t worry, nothing bad’s going to happen.” My friend said to try and calm my nerves. “Yeah… let's go find Daniel and get out of here. This place gives me the creeps” He added.

We walked through the hallways, looking for Daniel. Eventually reaching the morgue.

“Daniel?” I called out, staying close to my friend as I looked around using the flashlight.

I saw a figure pass in the doorway of the autopsy theater. Me and my friend made our way over to the doorway, glancing around with our flashlights. Though we didn’t see our friend. I got my phone out to call him, but there was no service.

“Let’s just get out of here… maybe he’s already outside.” I said.

My friend didn’t disagree, and we made our way back down the halls to the main entrance. As we stepped outside we saw our friend waiting for us. We left the asylum, and because it was late we just went back to the campus dorms. My roommate was already fast asleep, so I decided to take a quick shower before getting into bed myself.

I closed my eyes and lay there for about half an hour. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard shuffling at the end of my bed. I opened my eyes and looked toward the sound, thinking maybe it was my roommate checking on me. Instead, I saw the man from the photo. Suddenly, I couldn’t move. It was like I was strapped down. He emitted a low growl before seeming to rush at me. I screamed and sat up in a panic, waking up my roommate who looked around to try and see why I was screaming.

“What happened? Are you okay?” My roommate asked worriedly.

I couldn’t help but tear up out of fear. “I couldn’t move… I saw a guy in an old bowler hat. Like from the photo I saw at the asylum.” I said.

My roommate sighed softly. “It’s probably just your mind playing tricks on you… everything is okay. You’re drunk… and you were in a spooky place.” My roommate explained, trying to rationalize what happened.

I relaxed and got back under my covers. “Yeah… You’re probably right.” I said, now calmed down a bit.

Eventually, we both fell asleep. Though the events happened night after night, to the point my roommate had to move rooms. The night she left, it happened again. However, it was different this time. He spoke to me.

“Don’t fall asleep…” The man's deep rumbly voice spoke before he rushed at me again.

I didn’t sleep the rest of that night and stayed awake. It happened every night after that for the past few days. We’d stare at each other until 6 in the morning when he’d disappear and I’d get ready for class. I was so tired that I drank as much coffee as I could to stay awake. Though I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. I’m scared of what will happen when I inevitably fall asleep.

1 Comment
2024/03/27
22:58 UTC

234

Everyone Keeps Offering me this Drink

For context, I recently moved to a mid-sized town in Colorado, only a few short miles from Denver. My fiancé Gabrielle and I moved there for my job as an engineer, which we were happy to do. We wanted a fresh start, and it’s a big change from rural Iowa. Our house is a typical suburban house, something you’d see on the cover of one of those home decor magazines. Everything has been relatively normal, that is until this morning.

I woke up earlier than usual, so early the sun had barely risen. I turned to face my fiancé, but she wasn’t there. Her side of the bed was a mess, as if she was in a rush. I thought it was odd, since she didn’t until late morning most days. Her side of the bed was also cold, as if she hadn’t been in it for hours. I chalked it up to nothing, hoping she was just in the bathroom. We tried a new restaurant the night before, and her stomach isn’t really made of steel. However, as I got ready for work, she was nowhere to be found. I thought it was odd, but nothing to get freaked out by. As I walked downstairs, I heard the distinctive sound of dishes being put to use. This also struck me as odd. Gabrielle never cooked. I walked down a bit more cautiously, the rising sun illuminating the stairs. I rounded the corner and peeked over at the kitchen, and to my surprise there she was, making breakfast. I walked up to her, confused.

“Morning!” She smiled cheerfully. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” I said. Although it was comforting to see she was alright, her cooking was still confusing. Not only that, but it smelled good. I looked over onto the counter to see a meal directly out of a commercial. The plate of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and toast looked almost unnatural. I turned to her, a little stunned. “Where did you learn how to cook like this?”

“I taught myself in my free time,” she said as she kissed my cheek. Her lips felt cold. “I was hoping to surprise you next week on our anniversary, but I just couldn’t wait!”

“Well, it looks phenomenal.” My earlier confusion was washed away, and I was at ease. I kissed her. “You always find ways to surprise me.” She smiled as I sat down at the table, ready to enjoy the meal she had prepared. She brought over the plate with all its perfect food, but before I could dig in, she stopped me.

“Oh wait! I almost forgot the drink!” She ran over to the counter and grabbed a mug, something that hadn’t caught my eye before among the amazing food. She set it before me, smiling. Her eyes seemed wide in anticipation. I peered into the mug, taken aback by what I saw. Black sludge, appearing thick and mucus like. I looked in disgust.

“Uh, Gabs, what is this?” The oily liquid bubbled as I stared at the mug.

“Oh, it’s a new drink I’ve been trying! I picked some up at the store a few days ago.” She seemed unfazed by the mug, the eerie liquid glistening under the light of the rising sun. “I tried some last night after the restaurant to clear up my upset stomach. Honestly, it may be the best thing I’ve ever tried.” I looked back at the sludge, truthfully appalled by its appearance. But I smiled, trying to keep her feelings from getting hurt. I looked at my watch, feigning disappointment.

“Oh shit Gabs, I’m so sorry.” I started for the door. “My boss wanted me to come in early for this new project. I’ve gotta go, but save the food! I’ll come back and eat it for lunch.”

“What about the drink? Aren’t you going to try it?” Her demeanor shifted, almost instantly, and suddenly she was near tears.

“I’ll try it at lunch, don’t worry.” I forced a smile, hoping to make her feel better. “When I get back, we can have some together.” She lit up, again almost instantly, and her tears disappeared.

“Ok!” She exclaimed, full of joy. I kissed her, made my way to my car, and practically peeled out of the driveway. As I left, I saw her standing in the window, smiling and waving as I left. Despite her unusually wide smile, her eyes seemed cold, void of any of the happiness displayed on her face.

As I parked the car and headed to the elevator, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The events of that morning had freaked me out, but I didn’t know what to do. Something about her actions seemed so off, but I couldn’t think of any valid reason for her behavior. She was acting normal the night before. I thought about the drink, and all its disgusting stature, but I brushed it off. I thought it was another one of her health drinks she tries every few months. In retrospect, at that point I was grasping for straws. I was too confused and honestly frightened to really piece together any sort of meaningful reason to how she was acting. As I exited the elevator, and saw my boss serving the same drink to my coworkers and colleagues, I knew something was very wrong. He shot up, face twisted in the same wide smile I had seen this morning. He walked over to me, paper cups in hand.

“Hey there! Beautiful day isn’t it?” His eyes lacked the same excitement as his voice. I smiled, nodding cautiously in agreement. He held one of the cups up, beckoning me to drink. I politely declined, and made a beeline for my office. I locked my door right after entering, not sure what the hell was going on. My office is mostly comprised of glass panels, facing the ocean of desks in front of me. As I sat down, pretending everything was fine. My gut turned, unsettled by everything that had happened. I found myself trying to work, trying to bury my fear into whatever product we were developing. I was hoping it would comfort me, allow me to take my mind off the drink and all the weird behavior surrounding it. Just then, I heard a tapping on my wall. It was Greg, one of the new hires. His face was fixed in a wide smile, a few drops of black liquid stained his front teeth. He kept knocking, his smile unmoving.

“Now’s not a good time Greg,” I yelled, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “I need to finish up these emails.” He nodded, turned around, and walked away almost robotically. His movements were stiff, as if walking was an unnatural contortion for him. As he left, I scanned the desks, hoping to see something normal. I did not. I watched as my coworkers drank the black sludge, sipping it as if it were their normal coffee. Their smiles were equally grotesque, each not matching their dead eyes. The few that had not yet drank the liquid were quickly coaxed by the others, and the same smile overtook their face. Completely frightened, I decided it was time to leave. I quickly grabbed my things and hurried out of my office, bolting to the elevator. Just as it was closing, my boss’s hand grabbed the door, knuckles white. He stared at me, eyes unmoving. The same smile still stuck to his face.

“Where do you think you’re off to? Lunch doesn’t start for another hour.” His voice oozed cheerfulness. “At least try some of this before you go.” I stared at the same paper cup he raised before, liquid still bubbling as if it were freshly poured. He held it out, eagerly awaiting me to take it. I tried to again politely declined, but he wasn’t having it. “Come on, just try a sip at least. It’s probably the best thing I’ve ever had.” I noticed that while this was happening, my coworkers had gathered around outside the elevator, all smiling and echoing the same praise for the drink.

“Look,” I stated, “I haven’t been feeling too great today, so I might just head home and try to get some rest.”

“Oh it’s fine,” He exclaimed, “just have some of this. It’ll fix you right up!” He and the others were becoming impatient, all trying to convince me to take a drink. I kept insisting that I shouldn’t, or that I would try it later, but no dice. Eventually they all started shouting, becoming angrier after each statement.

“Come on, just drink the fucking thing you pussy!”

“Dude just drink it you’ll feel better!”

“Stop being such a bitch and drink!”

At this point I was beyond scared. I shoved my boss back, subsequently pushing him and my other former coworkers back long enough for the doors to shut. I stared at the door, shocked by what just happened. When I reached the parking lot, I sprinted towards my car as fast as I could. I needed to get out. As I pulled out of the lot, I looked up at my floor. All of my coworkers stood at the windows, watching as I hit the gas. They were no longer smiling.

As of now I don’t know what to do. I’m sitting in my driveway, car on, sharing this story. My fiancé is smiling at me through the window, drink in hand, begging me to come in. She keeps texting and calling, trying to get me to come try the jet black sludge. What should I do? I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I can’t help but think maybe the drink really is that good.

12 Comments
2024/03/27
21:26 UTC

146

My Cat Brought a Present This Morning, and It's from the Neighbor's House.

Maybe your cat has done this a few times too: mice, birds, and even once a frog. They say it's a way of showing affection, although I hate having to be woken up with a dead animal at my doorstep, but this time it was different. Mr. Muffin was meowing incessantly at the front door, holding something strange in his mouth. I approached somewhat confused. It seemed to be some kind of... I don't know... a necklace? It was definitely jewelry.

"Where did you get this, buddy?" I asked as he purred, rubbing against my legs.

I kept the object at home, thinking the owner might show up. But anyway, it's really funny. I've seen cases of trained birds stealing money, rats doing the same, but this coming from a cat was new. I went to work and ended up forgetting about the necklace, but upon returning, I remembered upon seeing my neighbor, Mrs. Grant, watering her flowers in the backyard while chatting with another neighbor, Larry. She was a long-time resident of that street, but lately, she had been acting a bit strange; some gossip said she was very ill, others that something had happened to a relative.

I immediately remembered that my cat used to wander through the gardens of other houses sometimes, including Mrs. Grant's, so I decided to ask if it was hers or if she at least knew whose it was.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Grant, Larry," I greeted with a smile. "Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to ask if by any chance this necklace..." I took the object out of my pocket to show her.

Upon spotting the necklace, Mrs. Grant's expression changed instantly. Her eyes widened, and her demeanor adopted a mixture of surprise and nervousness. She took a step back, almost knocking over the watering can.

"Whe... where did you find this?" Her voice trembled a little, revealing an agitation I hadn't expected.

I was surprised by her reaction. "My cat brought it home this morning," I explained, watching her closely.

Mrs. Grant took a deep breath, visibly trying to compose herself. "Oh, yes, I... I lost that necklace a few days ago. Thank you for bringing it back," she replied, reaching out to take it. "Please, dear, don't let your animal roam around my yard."

Her response was strange, but I decided not to press further. I handed the necklace back to Mrs. Grant and apologized for any inconvenience caused. As she walked away, I turned to Larry, who was watching the scene with a curious expression.

"Man, that was weird," I commented.

"Yeah, I was talking to her before, and I... I don't know... there's something off, she told me she hasn't been feeling too well lately, but she seemed more nervous than usual," Larry replied, scratching his head.

I went back home, still puzzled by it all, and went looking for Mr. Muffin to keep him, at least for the time being, indoors. Much to my surprise, when I went looking for him, I found that he had already left. I started calling out for him around our fence, shaking his food bowl, but there was no sign of him. I was almost desperate when I saw his silhouette jump over the wall, precisely the wall of Mrs. Grant's house. His slender, dancing silhouette appeared, and in his mouth, a new object: a golden ring with a sparkling gemstone.

No way, was my cat a thief? Had I been raising a jewel thief all this time? I grabbed the ring, scolding him.

"Stop that! Bad boy!"

When I did that, he jumped, meowing, back into Mrs. Grant's yard again.

"Ah, darn it."

I didn't think twice, I just decided to chase after him and try to prevent him from being seen. I jumped over the wall, landing softly on the well-trimmed grass. Mrs. Grant's backyard was calm with the last rays of sun passing through the clouds. I sneaked around looking for Mr. Muffin. There he was, digging something in the dirt.

"Come here, you rascal! She's going to be mad at us!" I whispered, trying to grab him.

As I approached, however, I noticed that he had dug a hole in soil that had already been disturbed before. I got closer.

"Is this where you're getting the jewels from? Does Mrs. Grant bury gemstones?"

Mr. Muffin lifted his head to stare at me, his eyes seeming to say something. I knelt down beside him, helping to clear away some of the dirt. Well, if she's burying them, it's because she doesn't want them anymore, right? However, when I finally felt my hands touch something solid, it definitely wasn't what I expected. I began to dig, already expecting some luxurious item or something of the sort, but I came across the top of a skull, partially digested by maggots. I instinctively let go of it.

"What the hell is this?"

With trembling hands, I continued to dig, uncovering a familiar face: that of my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Grant. My stomach churned at the horrifying sight before me. Her body was rotting, some parts liquefying, surely it had been there for a few days... A spine-chilling shiver ran down my spine. I stood up, my legs trembling more from panic than from the cold wind, and turned to Mr. Muffin, picking him up and ready to return home with him immediately.

But before I could take a single step, an unsettling sound echoed through the yard. They were footsteps, coming from inside the house. I ran and jumped over the wall, landing on my ankle with a "crack" upon landing. I stifled my scream with the hand that was free, while begging Mr. Muffin not to decide it was time to meow. I quickly turned to one of the cracks between the bricks, getting a partial view of the backyard. From inside the house emerged a staggering figure, the supposed owner of the house, but I knew she was an impostor. The woman slowly approached the spot where I had unearthed the body of the real Mrs. Grant, her silhouette obscured by the darkness of the approaching night.

I watched as the figure knelt beside the freshly opened hole. My hands were cold with sweat. She began to... sniff. She leaned down towards that corpse and sniffed vigorously. It almost made me vomit, but I was paralyzed, unable to make any movement. I stood there, peering through the crack, as the figure continued her strange ritual.

Then, suddenly, she stopped. As if she had sensed my presence, her shoulders stiffened, and she turned her head in my direction. My heart did a somersault in my chest as our eyes met in the darkness. It was as if time had frozen in that moment. I was fixated on those eyes, dark and lifeless, while terror consumed me.

And then, without warning, the figure stood up and began to approach the fence where I was hiding. My entire body screamed to run, to flee from there as fast as possible, but my legs felt like they were made of lead. With a superhuman effort, I finally managed to move and ran away from there, holding Mr. Muffin tightly in my arms. I could hear the footsteps of the figure approaching, heavy on the grass, echoing in the silent night. I arrived home, locking the door behind me without looking back, and collapsing under my injured foot.

I couldn't bear the pain and had to go to the doctor to have my foot wrapped, and I made sure to lock Mr. Muffin securely inside the house. I also reported the incident to the police, indicating that I had found a body in my neighbor's yard. However, the next day, they returned from the hospital saying there was nothing, and that Mrs. Grant even complained about me and my cat, warning not to let him out anymore. After a short stay in the hospital, I came home, still with a broken foot. The nurses helped me inside, and for now, I'm on the bottom floor of the house, unable to access the stairs.

Everything was fine tonight, with Mr. Muffin on my lap, when he suddenly jumped, skittish, scratching me a bit. He ran bent over to the door and, after a few seconds, growled. Less than 5 seconds later, I heard the doorbell ring. I stood still, in silence, hearing only the accelerated beats of my heart. Another ring.

"Darling," Mrs. Grant's voice sounded muffled through the door. "I heard you got hurt, I brought some soup for you."

It's been 10 minutes since she arrived, gradually her voice has become strange, to the point that now I hear a hoarse voice calling my name. I've texted Larry but he hasn't responded, and honestly, I don't even know if the police would come here for an old lady wanting to give me soup, but I'm calling them. I just wish I had kept my cat inside that day...

9 Comments
2024/03/27
19:25 UTC

613

My wife was admitted to a hospital twenty-five years ago, and I haven't seen them since.

My pregnant wife was admitted to Gimli Hospital in 1999 for a routine induction and I haven't seen them since.

Here's what happened:

We came in, a doctor (Dr. Maddin) checked my wife and assigned her to a room in the birthing ward.

For a while her labour progressed without problems.

Then it stalled.

Something about her contractions being weak and dilation stuck at 7cm.

Dr. Maddin suggested upping her dose of Pitocin. When I asked what that was, he gave me a look and explained that it’s a hormone, the artificial form of Oxytocin, which speeds up contractions to help women deliver more quickly and safely. Apparently my wife was getting it already. He just wanted to give her more.

She didn’t protest.

Although, to be fair, she’d generally been receptive to everything since they’d given her the epidural. (Before that she’d been screaming.)

Dr. Maddin asked me if I wanted things to go smoothly, and when I said yes, he punched something into the computer in the room—the one monitoring my wife’s vitals and playing the constant, hypnotic swoosh-swoosh sound of my baby’s heartbeat—and left. But before the door shut, I heard him tell someone in the hall to “go down and extract” more of “the hormone.”

I was tired, so part of me figured I might be hearing nonsense, but I couldn’t understand why they’d be extracting anything, so I pressed my ear against the door and heard someone else (a nurse, I presumed) say, “...depleted the current source. Do you want me to remove another tile?”

I knew I hadn’t heard that incorrectly, so with one last glance at my wife—peaceful, beautiful—I stepped into the hall myself.

Instantly, Dr. Maddin’s eyes widened and he asked, “Mr. Crane, may I help you with something?” as the person he’d been speaking with turned and walked away. She didn’t look like a nurse.

I told Dr. Maddin I only wanted to stretch my legs, and continued in the same direction as the disappearing non-nurse. When I was out of Dr. Maddin’s sight, I sped up—and managed to catch a glimpse of the woman I was following just as she stepped into an operating room.

After a slight hesitation, I followed.

The room was empty, and the woman crossed it to another one, and another after that, before finally entering a hallway, which ended on a set of dark doors behind which—once she’d pushed them open—was a stairway leading down.

She didn’t appear to have noticed me following her, so after waiting for half a minute I went down the stairs too.

Immediately I felt like I was in a place I didn’t belong.

Witnessing something I shouldn't be.

The walls, which had started as bare concrete, soon became carved out of rock, and the lights became further spaced apart, creating longer and longer stretches of darkness between islands of light. A few times I nearly tripped and fell, catching myself at the last moment. I knew I was making a lot of noise, but I didn’t care. I had even stopped paying attention to the woman I’d been following, distracted by the realization that as I’d begun to sweat, the tunnel itself sweated too. Liquid—I hesitate to call it water.—which seemed as if excreted by the walls themselves, reflected the infrequent lighting unnaturally, and gathered, dripped, making the stairs slippery, causing my shoes to slide over them.

Eventually the stairs ended and I found myself in a large room, which had also been carved out of rock, and whose floor was a pattern of hundreds of alternating black-and-white tiles. Some of them had been removed.

The woman was kneeling and using a crowbar to force off one of the tiles that was still in place.

Her efforts echoed throughout the room.

I was maybe fifteen steps away from her when she managed to dislodge the tile, revealing beneath it: a deep, writhing darkness that looked as if space itself had turned into reptilian skin…

I managed to call out to her—

I awoke with a throbbing head lying in a hospital bed and Dr. Maddin’s face smiling at me. “Mr. Crane,” he said, as I blinked him into focus. “I am so very glad to see you awake again. You appear to have taken quite the fall, ending with a nasty blow to the head.”

“Where’s my wife?” I asked him.

In the birthing room, he assured me. “And don’t worry. You haven’t slept through the big moment.”

“Is she OK?”

He seemed taken aback. “Of course. In fact, she’s doing very well, and her labour is progressing splendidly after her new dosage of Pitocin.”

I leapt out of bed—or tried to:

I was restrained.

“For your protection,” Dr. Maddin said, explaining that because of my head injury I could be concussed, confused or unstable, leaving it ambiguous whether he meant physically or mentally.

I ordered him to release me.

“Very well,” he said, and motioned toward a part of the room I could not see, and from whose unsighted dark corner the women I’d been following emerged, carrying a syringe filled with the same black substance I had seen below the dislodged tile.

“No,” I protested. “Not that. I don’t want that!”

“No need to be hysterical,” said Dr. Maddin, taking the syringe. “There’s no reason for us to give you Pitocin.”

Then, much to my surprise, he undid my restraints and allowed me to run out of the room.

I was in an unknown part of the hospital.

I tried to catch my bearings. I tried to find a sign, anything to help me navigate and return to my wife, but there was nothing. The walls were bare. What’s more, in whatever direction I tried to run the hospital itself seemed to fade out of materiality, its transparency falling enough to reveal, behind the walls, a starscape.

I was hyperventilating.

I was in a wheelchair, rushed into an operating room—the same one I’d passed through earlier, but this time it was prepped for a procedure. I was lifted out of the chair and placed on a cold table. Above me there was no ceiling, only stars embedded in writhing reptilian skin which descended, and when I shut my eyes in terror, instead of darkness it was my wife's hospital room I saw, and Dr. Maddin standing beside her, and my wife was giving birth but as she did her skin darkened and thickened and she became unhuman and the baby (crowning) was something else entirely: something horrible: something alien!

—I barely evaded the eighteen-wheeler, which roared past, honking.

I was crawling along the dry, unpaved shoulder of a highway. Sutures ran down both sides of my face. My head was shaved. I hadn't had sutures. I had had hair. When I looked around and saw the empty field before me, I remembered that there'd been a hospital here: Gimli Hospital, where my pregnant wife had been admitted for a routine induction in 1999.

I stepped into the middle of the highway, stopped a car and asked what day it was.

February 29, 2024, the petrified driver told me.

25 years!

What about the hospital, I asked.

What hospital, she said. There was no hospital here and never was.

Later, when I had regained more of my senses, I did research and discovered that indeed there'd been no hospital there.

As for my wife, I learned from my grieving in-laws that she had died in a car accident in 1999.

She'd been pregnant.

I had been in the accident too, and survived, but ever since I had suffered bouts of delirium and entered into confused states in which I talked endlessly about Gimli Hospital and other insanities.

Perhaps I would have believed them if not for one thing.

Several weeks ago, I came across an online story written by someone trapped inside a hospital. You can't imagine how my mind convulsed when I read that this was Gimli Hospital! A hospital which—in their words—exists only if you believe in it.

Since then I have found several more references to Gimli Hospital and disappearing hospitals more broadly.

Writing this is my attempt to force my mind to remember. Maybe if I remember (the rooms, the layout, the smells, the sounds) I can make the place manifest again. Maybe my wife is still there—still giving birth…

Maybe not.

Maybe she was abducted. We were both abducted.

There may be aliens here on Earth already, buried underneath. Living and using us to breed. If only I could find more evidence. If I could get my hands on that black substance and send it to a lab for analysis. Then they'd confirm it wasn't of this world at all.

I don't believe my wife had been cheating on me, as my mother-in-law once told me.

I believe that the night sky is descending—slowly, imperceptibly—

Sometimes I have nightmares that I'm driving, my wife beside me, and suddenly…

suddenly, I turn the steering wheel—and the impact of the eighteen-wheeler wrecks my sleep, and I find myself awake, once more following a woman I don't know down empty hallways and through operating rooms, down stairs and to the place with the alternating black-and-white tiles, and the horrorstuff beneath.

32 Comments
2024/03/27
16:56 UTC

216

I got a new job as a night watchman. The things I guard are terrifying.

Hiding in plain sight. I never paid much attention to that phrase before I started my new job.

‘Wanted: nighttime security guard’

That’s all the ad said, along with a phone number.

The town I live in isn’t very big, barely a dot on the map on the way to somewhere else. But for whatever reason we have a museum. I have no idea how it’s still in business. I can’t recall ever seeing a single person walk through their doors. But when I called the number the man who answered told me to come to this address this evening for my interview.

He seemed a little over-excited that I had answered the ad. When I asked him about the job, he said, “Oh, you know, the usual thing for a security guard.”

I’ve read some pretty unusual things about security guards in subreddits. But I’m sure those stories are made up.

Walking up the wide stone steps built to accommodate crowds of people was a little intimidating and creepy with no one for company besides the glowing lamps mounted on the sides of the railings. The whole thing gave off a very dystopian/ghost town/zombie apocalypse vibe. I guess the stone gargoyles staring down at me didn’t help much. I gazed into their eyes, half expecting them to jump down and carry me off to be sacrificed to Gozer.

If I hadn’t already discussed my hourly wage, I would’ve turned and high-tailed it home. But the wage was more than acceptable for a security guard. It was downright generous. I was wondering why he would pay so much, but walking up those desolate stairs gave me a clue.

Nobody wanted to go near this place. The word ‘haunted’ had been mentioned more than once.

Looking up at the front of the building the sporadic lights made shadows fall all around and gave it an intimidating presence.

I paused at the top of the stairs, thinking about every horror movie I’ve ever seen. There’s always that one moment where the characters could turn back and live another day, but they never do.

The wind whipped up, blowing against me, threatening to push me back down the stairs, almost as if warning me not to go inside. For a moment, I considered heeding the warning and climbing back down the stairs.

Knowing that my rent and car payment were due made me re-evaluate that decision.

I stepped up and opened the door, wondering if I would ever come out.

Fully expecting the door to creak on its hinges, I was pleasantly surprised when it opened silently and with little effort, despite feeling quite heavy.

The ornate decorations and beautiful décor took my breath away. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but I found myself regretting that this was the first time I had ever visited this museum.

I hadn’t made it two steps until an elegantly dressed man appeared and smiled at me. He didn’t so much as walk up to me, rather he glided, showing an air of dignity bordering on royalty.

“Mr. Whelton, I presume,” he said, wearing a warm smile.

“Yes, sir,” I said offering my hand.

He glanced at it with an amused look.

“Right, then, follow me and I’ll show you your duties,” he said turning on his heels and gliding away.

I pretended to smooth my hair as I followed, feeling like an idiot for offering my hand.

He glided past several works of art, toward a small desk.

“Right then,” he said. “You’ll be in charge of checking the doors so nothing gets in,” he paused. “Or out.”

“You mean stolen?” I said.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Stolen.”

“So, I got the job?”

He stared at me blankly.

“Did you show up?”

I nodded.

“You got the job.”

“Do I need a uniform or anything?”

“Let’s see how your first night goes,” he said. “There’s a set of rules on the paper on your desk, please adhere to them. You must do at least one round per night through every room and check every door.”

“One round? That’s it?”

“This place is rather large and… challenging.”

I looked around with a hint of hesitation. Maybe there was a reason why it paid so much.

He smiled.

“If you have any problems, just call the number on the paper.”

“That’s it?”

“I believe so. I’ll lock the door on my way out and unlock it again at nine o’clock on my way back in.”

I stepped over to the desk and began reading the paper.

“What does this mean?” I said turning around, but he was gone.

“Hello?” I called but only my voice echoed back to me.

I looked at the puzzling paper again and read the rules.

‘rule number one: There are no rules.’

‘rule number two: tHere arE no rules.’

“What is this, fight club?” I said to myself.

‘everY time you bReak a rulE, return to rule number one.’

“Wait a minute, how can I break a rule when there are no rules?”

‘rule number three: hoW you follow the rules is As imporTant as why you follow the rules.’

“That made no sense at all.”

‘rule number four: if you are CaugHt breakING the rules, the penalties may be severe.’

“Ok, there’s something wrong here. This is just talking in circles.”

I read back over the rules and they looked strange. More than just the strangeness of the rules/non rules themselves, it was the way they were written. I went back and looked at each letter. Then I paid attention to the letters that were capitalized. It looked like some hidden message.

‘THEYRE WATCHING.’

I hesitated.

“Who’s watching?”

I decided to keep reading in hopes that this would begin to make some sense.

‘rule number five: DO NoT, under any circumstances, Make nOise eVery timE you do a round.’

Message received. ‘DONT MOVE.’

I stood there, immobile, wondering how long I was meant to play this game and if someone would come by and tag me to unfreeze me and allow me to start my round.

As I waited, chuckling to myself at the ludicrousness of this insane game of freeze tag, I felt the air grow cold. Clouds chugged out of my mouth like an old steamtrain as I fought the urge to rub my arms.

A chill that had little to do with the sudden temperature drop ran down my spine as I felt a presence in the room. It crept up behind me, silent as the grave. I could feel its hot breath wash over me as it sniffed.

Instead of enjoying the sudden warmth, my temperature plummeted. My heart hammered in my chest. It was all I could do to keep from running away in sheer terror.

As it passed by, I was overwhelmed by the stench of death. This thing was every nightmare I’ve ever had, personified. I refused to open my eyes and see its hideous form for fear of passing out. Instead, I focused on imitating a statue. Which was nearly impossible with my freezing body aching to shiver in frozen dread.

The nameless terror passed to the far side of the room, taking some of the cold with it, and then as suddenly as it came, it was gone.

The room returned to normal temperature, but I waited a few moments before moving, just to be sure.

Once I felt it was safe, I nearly collapsed to the floor in relief. After giving myself a moment to recover, I glanced at the paper with a newfound fear. Was this a harbinger of doom or a warning label meant to keep me safe?

Unsure if I wanted to read the rest, I took a moment to re-evaluate my current career choice. Could I just walk out and say I quit?

After a brief internal debate, I decided it wasn’t worth the money if I was about to be dragged through a portal to hell.

Just a short time ago, I would’ve considered that thought laughably ludicrous, but it was seeming more plausible by the moment.

I started toward the exit door with every intention of calling and telling my boss I wouldn’t be finishing the shift. Unfortunately, the door had other plans.

When I pushed on the crash bar, nothing happened. I tried turning the deadbolt, but it refused to move. After a few minutes of futility, I gave up, frustrated and determined to just sit in this room until morning came around.

Sitting at the desk, I spun around in the chair, waiting for the next nine hours and thirteen minutes to pass quickly. Five minutes later, out of sheer boredom, I glanced at the paper.

‘rule number Six: yoU Can’t just sit at the desK and waIT for the door to open UPon the ending of your shift.’

‘SUCK IT UP.’

“Are you serious?” I said in frustration. “Someone thinks they’re funny, huh?”

Glancing back at the paper, below rule six, was three letters. ‘yes’.

I backed away and got up to do my round, if nothing else to get away from this all-seeing sheet of paper that I had grown afraid to look at.

Hesitating, I reached for the door to the room where the nightmare had disappeared.

Glancing up, I saw a slip of paper taped to the door. It said, ‘The only way out is through.’

Sighing heavily, my trembling hand turned the knob and slowly opened the door. As I closed it, on the other side was another slip of paper, this one said, ‘Avoid eye contact and you’ll be fine.’

Confused by the cryptic statement, I turned and realized what it meant.

The room was full of stuffed creatures of many shapes and sizes. Most of them seemed to be mythical in nature of the cryptid variety. There was a bigfoot, skinwalker, dogman, jersey devil, wendigo, and many others. As my eyes scanned the room I noticed movement.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The skinwalker turned its head, just slightly to look right at me. I quickly darted my eyes away in fear and disbelief when the dogman turned its head to stare at me.

As panic coursed through my veins, I turned to go back through the door, remembering what the piece of paper on both sides of the door said.

‘The only way out is through’, and ‘Avoid eye contact and you’ll be fine’.

I felt the last statement was akin to saying, ‘If you hold on tight enough on a roller coaster, you won’t need the safety harness.’

Aiming my eyes at the floor, I turned and started toward the far side of the room.

I hoped that all they would do was watch. That hope was dashed. I heard growls and footsteps from all around the room. Hesitating, I wondered if I would need a clean pair of pants by the time I reached the far side, that is, if I survived.

The sounds of footsteps grew louder behind me when suddenly, there was a pair of hairy legs blocking my path. I stopped as a low growl made the air vibrate.

“Oh dear God,” I whispered, knowing that my life was about to end horribly and painfully.

Fighting the urge to look up, I sidestepped and went around the legs, hoping to pass unnoticed.

I counted my footsteps, hoping each one wouldn’t be my last.

Silently praying, I continued toward the door with my eyes aimed down, watching nothing more than my feet. It seemed like the longest walk of my life listening to the mythical creatures behind me come to life and sounding every bit like they were following me, just waiting for the right moment to grab me and turn me into a late-night snack.

It came as a surprise when I bumped my head into the far wall.

Shocked not only that I had made it, but that I had missed the door, I glanced over and found my glorious escape route.

As I opened the door, I accidentally glanced back into the room and made eye contact with the Wendigo. Its roar of rage is something I’ll never forget.

It charged at me with blinding speed and claws unsheathed, fangs ready to tear me to shreds as I dove through the door in the nick of time, slamming it behind me.

The impact on the other side of the wall made dust settle to the floor, causing me to sneeze.

I stood and saw another piece of paper taped to the door.

‘Whatever you do, don’t make a sound,’ it said.

As I was about to make a comment about it being too late, a giant set of fangs flew at me from the semi-darkness. Attached to them was the biggest snake I’d ever seen or heard of.

It shook off the impact with the door as my legs took over and sprinted for the far side of the room. The dim lighting made it impossible to see the far door as well as rocks and other obstacles littering the floor as I made my desperate dash to safety.

I swear the rock that tripped me moved into my path on its own.

Instead of a death sentence, it saved my life as the snake flew over my prone body, having tracked me down. Had I not tripped, its massive fangs would’ve gone straight through me.

Not waiting around to celebrate my accidental good fortune, I jumped up and raced toward the door again. It was now within sight, but so was the snake. It had recovered and was coiling for another strike.

Running around a large boulder to make myself a harder target, I aimed for a spot five feet from the door. When I was almost to the door, I dove just as the snake passed over me, slamming into the wall as I jumped up and opened the door.

Closing the door behind me, I took a moment to catch my breath and think about asking a lot more questions when I interview for my next job.

I tried to open my eyes but realized they were already open. The room was engulfed in total darkness. Pulling out my flashlight, I shone it around, but couldn’t see anything aside from the door and the floor in front of me. There was no sign of anything in the room, not even a ceiling. It was as if the darkness sucked the light into itself, never to escape.

Being robbed of sight, I relied on hearing. Taking a long listen, I waited to hear any growls or slithers, anything to give me a hint of what I might have to deal with, but there was nothing, only soul crushing silence.

Having scanned the room the best I could, I set out to find the far door. Nothing seemed strange. Even the echo sounded like a normal large room, it was just devoid of light.

The normalness of it terrified me.

All I could find out of place was a slight scent of disinfectant. I wasn’t sure if that was because whatever horrible creature that called this room its home had killed people here and they wanted to cover the smell, or if the creature itself had passed away, leaving some poor janitor to clean up the mess.

In either case, I was on full alert.

They say that when one of your senses falters, the others become more acute to make up for it. The same thing was happening with my paranoia.

I imagined shadows moving around in the total pitch of darkness. My steps were small and slow as my arms waved in front of me acting as my eyes, searching for any obstacles.

It took what seemed like an eternity to get to the far side walking so slow. I guess that’s the price of being careful.

As I approached the wall, the flashlight and vision became useful once again. I must’ve gotten off track as I walked because the door was far off to the side. I had to walk a good fifty feet along the wall to find it.

When I opened the door, I was greeted by a horrible sight. The snake was coiled up in front of it. I quickly shut the door as it prepared to strike.

Why would they have two snake rooms?

But then why wasn’t much of a relevant question in this place.

My mind came up with a terrible answer. It wasn’t a second snake; it was the same one. I must’ve gotten turned around in the darkness and done a circle.

As my brain had a go-around with denial, I tried to figure out a way to get across this room without unintentionally doubling back. Keeping in mind that even though I had yet to see or hear anything in this room, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Searching for any ideas, I looked down at my flashlight, then squared my shoulders against the wall to regain my bearings, and tossed the flashlight straight in front of me. It landed with a loud clatter then rolled around in a playful circle before coming to rest.

If there was anything in the room, most likely I’d just woken it up and showed it exactly where I was.

I stood still and listened.

After a few minutes, I didn’t hear any movement. It seemed safe to walk to my flashlight, pick it up, and toss it another fifteen feet, hopefully in a straight line.

I did this the whole way across the room, still listening for sounds, but becoming more confident with each step that I wouldn’t hear any.

The door was just a few feet to the side of where I’d aimed. Somehow, I’d gone in a straight line.

Grabbing the doorknob, I slowly turned it so as not to alert the snake if by some trick I ended up back in that room.

But there was no trick and no snake. The door opened to blinding light. I covered my eyes to give them time to adjust.

Once they had acclimated, I looked around at a beautiful room full of clouds. There were even clouds on the floor. It was disconcerting at first and almost made me lose my balance because they were so well painted that it literally looked like I was walking on clouds.

I took a tentative step into the room, making sure that it was an illusion and I wasn’t about to fall thousands of feet to my death.

Holding my breath, I stepped onto the first cloud and let go of the door frame. It was firm like a floor should be. My second and third steps were more confident as I realized how effective the illusion was.

Once I acclimated, walking on clouds was fun. This was turning out to be the easiest room I’d been in so far.

That’s when I heard the scream.

It was deafening and seemed to come from everywhere at once. I dove to the floor only to realize there was nowhere to hide from whatever it was. I stood out like a sore thumb against the blue sky and white fluffy clouds painted on every surface of the room.

The scream sounded again, and I began to run, having no idea which way I was going or where the screaming was coming from. For all I knew, I was running toward whatever it was. I just knew it didn’t sound human, and I had no desire to find out what it was.

Soon the choice was taken out of my hands. I saw a dark spot appear against the clouds that quickly became larger. It was almost on me when I dove to the floor, feeling something sharp rake my back.

Pain shot through me as I reached around and found the back of my shirt in shreds. Not only that but my hand was covered in blood. Whatever it was had sliced my back open and I was bleeding.

Adrenaline kicked in and I ran faster than I ever have. The problem was, I didn’t know where I was running to or what I was running from. I was just running.

I heard wings flapping and I looked back just in time to see the largest bird of prey I’ve ever seen. It looked like a golden eagle, only the thing was massive. The wingspan was easily twenty feet.

As I was running, I turned to get a closer look at this thing at the same time I was trying to get away from it. My feet got tangled up and I fell backward just as the razor-sharp talons passed over mere inches away from my face.

I jumped up and started running again. As I glanced back to find my attacker I was met with the strangest sight. There was a smear of blood on the floor where I had just been lying. It looked like someone had wiped blood on a cloud.

The wings flapped again. I knew it was close. I had run out of luck. It would be ready for anything this time. Its razor-sharp talons would rip me to pieces, there was no doubt about it. There was only one option. I jumped and whipped around in midair, throwing my flashlight as hard as I could. It connected with its head that was mere feet away.

It screamed and dove off to the side, impacting with the floor so hard I felt the vibration, and landing in a heap.

I didn’t stop to check on it. The door loomed ahead of me, and I pushed myself for every ounce of speed my body could muster.

Turning the knob and opening the door in one smooth motion, I dove through and slammed it shut.

Laying on the floor, breathing hard, trying to catch my breath, I knew I was a sitting duck for whatever monster lurked in this room.

I rolled over to get in some defensive position for whatever was about to attack when I saw I was back in the main hall. I had somehow survived my first, and as far as I was concerned, last, round.

I stumbled my way to the restroom, in the back of my mind wondering what kind of insanity I would find in there.

Would I have to crawl through the mirror into another dimension to get a roll of toilet paper?

Fortunately, the restroom held no surprises. I took off my destroyed shirt and ran water over it to clean up my back as best I could. When I was done, I put some paper towels on the wound and put my jacket on top of it.

The desk and chair were where I spent the rest of the night. Surprisingly, it had taken me almost an hour to complete the round. As I sat there, pondering if I could survive another night at this job, I saw a dark spot form on the wall and detach itself only to float over toward me.

I closed my eyes and sat perfectly still, ignoring the sudden drop in temperature. The stench of death surrounded me, but I refused to move. For a moment I thought I heard a sound like sniffing, and then it seemed to diminish. Once the temperature rose again, I opened my eyes, and the apparition was gone.

As bored as I was for the next few hours, I wasn’t tempted to do another round, not even in the slightest.

When nine o’clock rolled around, the boss/curator appeared and glided over to me wearing a little grin.

“I see you managed to make it through,” he said. “Congratulations, you’re the first one in some time.”

“The first one to make it through a single round?”

He nodded.

“How many others have there been?” I said with a haunted look in my eyes.

He shook his head.

“Let’s not worry about that shall we?” he said. “Here is the amount we agreed upon.”

He handed me a stack of bills and I gladly took them.

“Would you be interested in staying on and being my permanent nighttime guard?”

I looked at the money and sighed.

“As much as I’d like to, I don’t see how this job could be called permanent when the mortal danger is so real.”

“It is a challenge, I’ll admit, however, you rose to it last night,” he said. “I’m prepared to offer you twice the amount I gave you if you agreed to stay on.”

I stared at the fistful of money and imagined not having to struggle with bills or any other expenses. Then I turned a little and my back painfully reminded me of the dangers.

“I’d have to think about it,” I said.

“While you’re thinking, consider this, you have yet to see the basement.”

“Basement?”

He nodded.

“It’s considerably more challenging.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Very well, you can see yourself out. I recommend getting that back tended to.”

With that, he vanished into thin air right in front of my eyes.

I looked at the money, wondering if it would vanish as well. Fortunately, it remained firmly in my grasp as I walked toward the front door.

For some reason, I felt hesitant to open it and leave. It was as if some force was exerting itself against me like the museum didn’t want me to go. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. More like a dog losing its favorite toy.

I pushed the doors open and left.

This whole ordeal made me ponder my concepts of reality as well as being terrified of the day when the things in the building would escape somehow. The big question was, did I need the money that badly?

Was I willing to put myself in mortal peril just for a few measly dollars?

I turned and looked back at the museum. In the daylight, it looked innocent. None of the terrors that lay within showed on the outside.

As I turned to head home, I swore I saw a fleeting glimpse of the apparition. It seemed to be following me. I looked again and it was gone.

Must’ve been my imagination.

11 Comments
2024/03/27
04:47 UTC

674

I tried a "stupid" internet challenge and I regret it.

Being a teen in the 2010s, I grew up frequenting the internet. I was into all the usual stuff a teenage boy would be into, creepypastas, strange internet stories and most prominently, paranormal YouTube. I watched a lot of "investigation" stuff and all those challenges that were popular. You know the kind, internet myths or stories that got turned into "challenges" that could be milked for views. I'm not sure I ever fully bought any of it, but I do know for sure that I was too afraid to try anything myself.

Nowadays I haven't been into that kind of stuff, as I've been busy with work, and I suppose I just grew out of it in general. I live out in the country in a very rural town. Only 300 people or so with lots of space between houses. I've always liked the quiet, even as a kid. No noisy neighbors or busy streets to disturb me. My town is only about a 30 minute drive from the nearest city, so I have to drive out for work, but it's not too much of a hassle.

Anyways, recently I went out on a work trip where I had to be in a different city for a few days. The hotel I was staying at was a fair size, with well over 10 floors, though I don't remember the exact number. I don't like to think about that place.

I had already stayed there for two nights. On the third, as I was heading up the elevator to go to my room for the night, I remembered something. Seeing the number of buttons in the elevator reminded me of a challenge I saw a lot of back when I was a teen. It was called "the elevator challenge"

It was dumb as hell and no one believed it, but I couldn't help but think about it. As a kid, even though I knew it wasn't true, something about it still scared me. I haven’t heard about it in years, so If you're unfamiliar, the premise of the game is to follow a set of instructions using an elevator in a building of at least 10 floors, and you will end up in some creepy alternate dimension or something. When I arrived to my room, I looked it up out of curiosity and sure enough, the instructions were still avaliable. I knew everything about it was bullshit, but for some reason a part of me wanted to try it. I think for my inner child or something. Since it was my last night at that hotel I said fuck it, why not. I stayed up pretty late, around 2:00am in hopes that most people would sleep, and I wouldn't have to deal with restarting if someone got in the way. Hey, if I'm going to do it, might as well commit right?

When I entered the elevator and hovered my hand over the button for the 4th floor, part of me was nervous. I didn't know why but there was something uncomfortable settling in the bottom of my stomach. I ignored it, and pressed the button, officially beginning the game.

The elevator rose to the 4th floor and the doors opened. No one entered and I breathed a sigh of relief. I continued to follow the instructions carefully. 2nd floor, then 6th, then 2nd again. So far so good. I pressed the 10th and my stomach dropped as the elevator lurched upward. The feeling happened every time, but something about this time felt worse. Next it was time to press the button for the 5th floor. Supposedly, a woman is supposed to enter, and if you speak to her or even look at her, something bad will happen.

I pressed the button and the elevator moved downward, seemingly slower than before though it was probably my nerves. When it went still and the doors opened, no one was there. I think I felt both relief and disappointment. I was glad to not have encountered her, but it would have been interesting if I did. I waited for the doors to close, but right before they did I heard the thumps of light footsteps rapidly approaching the elevator.

A woman practically ran into the elevator, and it was clear she was trying to get in before the doors closed. I think at that point I had totally forgotten the rules. I didn't say anything to her but I did look at her. She wore a light floral dress and sandals, which stuck out to me because it was mid autumn. Her hair was long dark and wispy, loose over her shoulders. I gained some sense and looked away quickly, making sure to avoid her face. I didn't get a glimpse of it and hoped that the few second I did look wouldn't ruin things. I quickly pressed the final button, for the 1st floor. Supposedly if the elevator goes down to the 1st you failed, but if it goes to the 10th, that meant you entered the other dimension.

Unfortunately, the elevator lowered, taking me to the first floor. Though I expected it, it was a bit disappointing. I left the elevator without looking back as instructed and headed for the stairs to call it a night. Something was weighing on me though as I walked. I wasn't sure when it was okay to look behind me, but as I approached the doors to the stairs I felt like if I didn't look back right then and there, I'd die. It sounds crazy but I swear that's what it felt like. I glanced behind me and to my confusion, the elevator doors remained open, despite usually being closed and already moving again by now. The woman remained inside the elevator looking at me. She wasn't standing creepily though. It sounds creepy when I explain it like this but she was smiling. The smile itself was empty, and it didn't feel like she was smiling at me. She just looked simply content. She stood still, but comfortable. I was too tired to keep thinking about the stupid game, so I turned back and headed up to my room for the night.

The next day I tried to push the game out of my mind. It's one of those times where you do something pointless and choose to pretend you never did so that you don't feel like you wasted time. When I got home I went about my day as usual. There was an odd feeling in the back of my mind but I ignored it. That night I struggled to fall asleep. I had this odd sense of dread but I couldn't pinpoint why. The next week went the same way. Normal days aside from an odd feeling, followed by a struggle to fall asleep because of a heavy feeling of dread.

One night, a week after I got home was when everything went to shit. I got into bed at my usual time, around 10:00pm, and fell asleep in a normal amount of time. No dread, no weird feeling. This time though, I woke up and it was still dark. I looked at the clock on my nightstand to find that it was around 2:00am. Then I heard it. The quiet sound of breathing. It wasn't my own. My stomach dropped and I started to panic. All I could think was "who the fuck is in my room right now."

I don't know how but I managed to calm myself down. I grew up in a very spiritual household. I was told growing up that if there's a ghost, or demon in the house, to ignore it. That's what I chalked it up to. I don't know how in the world I managed to come to that conclusion. Maybe it was the past week of sleep deprivation, or maybe iw as just plain stupid. Either way, I went back to sleep. When I woke up in the morning, the breathing wasn't there. In fact, I had completely forgotten about it. That was until night time again. I was in bed trying to fall asleep when I heard it again. The soft, shallow breaths. That was when I realized it was coming from underneath me. I gathered the courage to look over the edge of my bed and I saw what confirmed my fears. Peeking out from under my bed, were the ends of long, dark, wispy hair. I didn't dare look further. I slowly got out of bed, grabbed my phone and walked out of the room. When I looked back to close the door, I saw her. No, she saw me. Two wide eyes were staring deep into my soul. She didn't move from her place under my bed, and she wasn't smiling anymore. Her light floral dress that once fit her perfectly was now dark and sagging.

I ran out of my house frantically, grabbing my keys on the way out and slamming the door behind me. No way in hell was I going to spend another second with that thing. I got into my car and drove. I drove and drove, not even thinking of a destination. I just needed to get away. I probably should have called the police but that was the last thing on my mind.

I've been staying at my parent's house for the past few days. I can't go back there. My parents got me to call the police, who searched the house but found nobody. There was no sign of forced entry and nothing to suggest there was a woman there. Not even a hair.

The first few days I was staying here everything felt okay for once, but these past few nights the feeling came back. That unexplainable fear I felt every night. I'm terrified that I'll hear her again. I'm so scared. I think this means she found me again.

I don't know what to do. I don't even know if she's a part of this sick and twisted game, or if I just happened to accidentally cross paths with some crazy bitch. I don't beleive this was a coincidence. I shouldn't have looked at her. The instructions said that if I looked a her, I wouldn't be able to return to "the real world." Maybe she wants to take me to her bullshit dimension. I don't even know. I'll cling to anything at this point.

I'm thinking of going back to the hotel. Maybe if I do the ritual properly again and leave for good, she'll leave me alone. As of right now, I think I hear her breathing again.

37 Comments
2024/03/27
03:36 UTC

80

Unforgettable confession

Believing in something beyond human reason has always been a prerequisite of my profession. For over 20 years as a pastor, I've witnessed many astonishing things. From the journey of repentance of a hardened sinner to miraculous healings that defy medical explanation. But there was only one event. Just one that sent shivers down my spine.

I've kept the truth of that story tightly sealed for so long. Yes, I understand, everything revealed in the confessional shouldn't be made public. But I also understand that God wants this experience to be shared with those who believe.

The storm that raged on that day seemed to be the reason for the church's emptiness. The relentless raindrops piercing the skin and the fierce gusts of wind surely made anyone think twice about leaving their homes. God's grace can sometimes be a test of faith.

In search of inner peace, I chose to stay in the confessional booth. The flicker of lightning and the roar of thunder were not good for my heart. Yet, since the room was not in use at that moment, I could sit for a while, waiting for the storm to pass. The dim light and the purple ambiance of the room surprisingly brought me a sense of calm.

"Is God truly Forgiving?"

I quickly closed the Bible in my lap and raised my head. It felt like I had just heard someone murmuring. I glanced around, observing from the door to the altar. Still quiet. Just as I was about to reposition myself to sit, the whisper came again, louder this time.

"Is God truly Forgiving?"

Suddenly, my body tensed as I realized the voice was coming from behind the confessional partition. At least at that moment, I didn't fall out of my chair. Through the wooden slats, I could see the figure of a man hunched over. After taking a moment to steady my breath and pat my chest, I began to speak.

"Sorry, Sir. Confessions are only on Sundays," I said to whoever was on the other side of the wooden booth.

"Please. It'll only take a moment," came the reply. The hoarse voice sounded resigned. As a servant of God, I couldn't refuse someone willing to brave the storm to come to church.

"If we confess our sins to God, He will keep His promise and do what is right. He will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all the wrongs we have done," I responded, although this was an unusual procedure for the confession process.

"Ah, 1 John chapter 1 verse 9. Even my sins?"

"Of course. Every believer who repents and regrets their actions is entitled to God's forgiveness," I explained.

"I don't think so. Not for me."

Even though my view was limited within the confessional booth, I could sense his doubt. Hearing his answer made my lips curve into a smile. I had encountered this type before. Penitents who had fallen into despair, believing their sins were beyond redemption. Yet, His love is so vast, encompassing those who kneel sincerely.

"Now tell me, when was the last time you confessed?"

"It's been a long time... Too long to remember," he muttered.

"Then, what made you come back after all this time? Tell me the reason for your visit," I said, trying to get the man to open up. There was about a 5-second pause before he responded.

"Because I killed someone," he whispered half-muted. His answer made me swallow hard. I was used to hearing confessions of petty theft from a gas station, or even sins of adultery. But murder? That was uncommon.

"Who?" I asked, keeping the conversation going.

"My younger sibling." I swore the church doors were tightly shut. Yet, at that moment, a gust of wind swept through the altar area like an uninvited intruder. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees, making me shiver, both from the cold and from fear.

"Why?"

"Because God didn't treat us fairly!" he answered, his voice rising.

"His justice doesn't necessarily mean equality, Sir. By His sovereignty, He gives according to what is deserved."

"Nonsense! Even till the end..., even till the end, my brother didn't fight back. Even when I raised a stone above his head, he just looked at me with pity! As if heaven had chosen him and I was destined to sin! What choice did I have, other than to settle my affairs? I smashed that stone relentlessly, again, and again, and again! Until his body slumped lifeless!" he exclaimed angrily. The booth seemed to vibrate with each word he spoke.

"Aren't your opinions the same as theirs, Father?"

"Hm? Who do you mean, Sir?" I asked, slightly surprised by his question.

"Them, the congregation who see me as an unforgivable sinner! Haven't I been branded already? The cold-blooded murderer!" he ranted. I found it difficult to understand his reason for blaming the other parishioners. I mean, he was just a stranger; why was he so furious at them? At us?

"Of course not, Sir. That's not----"

"For God's sake, am I that despicable? It was the first time I saw a corpse, and it was my own brother! How do you think I felt?!" he interrupted. Besides anger, there was a hint of regret and guilt in his tone. At that moment, I felt a sense of relief. After all, regret is the first step on the journey to repentance.

"I'm sick of feeling guilty! His presence still lingers here. Haunting me, eroding my sanity like termites gnawing at a piece of wood! Oh, he won't let that sin be forgotten. He made sure I never forget what I've done. He branded me with this curse. This mark. How long has it been? How long will it be?" The chill returned, colder and more menacing.

"He? Your brother?"

"No... He's a being older than us... And he's here...."

Right at that moment, my ears caught the flapping of wings and the cawing of crows. I glanced outside the booth, and on the altar's ceiling, there was the silhouette of a crow. So many shadows perched there, I didn't know when they had arrived. But no matter how much I focused my gaze, not a single bird figure could be seen.

"YOU MURDERER!" the scream made me jerk backward. My attention returned to the wooden partition, and believe me, that was a completely different voice. Much deeper and heavier, and I wasn't kidding when I said it sounded like a combination of various people. The scream reverberated in my ears, echoing to every corner of the altar.

"S-Sir?" I asked, panicking.

"Hahhh... No... Hahh... Please, stop...." he responded, breathless. This time his voice returned, but much more tired.

"MURDERER! Stop... DAMNATION! En-enough...." This time their voices overlapped. It was as if whoever was with him behind the partition was trying to take over his body. The silhouette of the crow in the ceiling looked menacing. Its wing flapping and cawing created a terrifying sound. The gust of wind now began to assert its existence, blowing so hard.

The gust of wind blew so hard that it made my body tremble with cold and fear. Unconsciously, I tightened my grip on the Rosary in my hand.

"MURDERER!! STOP!! MAY GOD FORSAKE YOU!! CURSED BE YOU!! !!" His scream, with both voices merged into one, was like he was spewing out all the contents of his stomach. The hoarse and piercing sound made anyone shudder with horror.

As the scream reached its crescendo, suddenly a force slammed me backward. My body was thrown out of the confessional booth, and my head hitting the floor sent me into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, it's already morning and the storm had subsided. There were no screams, no signs of crows. As I opened my eyes, my steps automatically led me to the confessional booth. There wasn't a trace of the man inside and the condition of the booth was horrifying.

The stench was what struck me the most. I had once been tasked with handling the burial of someone whose body had been found after being trapped in a room for over 3 weeks. The smell in the booth was much worse. It was so putrid, it felt like it was piercing through my nose, forcing my stomach to expel whatever I had just eaten.

People think of the destroyed booth as a disaster because of the storm that night and they just glad I'm not injured. Thanks to that incident, we had to renovate the confessional booth. We were forced to replace it with sturdier concrete material. No matter how good the quality of the wooden booth was, it only took 2 days for the wood to become brittle and rotten. It was as if the earth couldn't bear to sustain life on the ground that man once walked on.

One thing that they didn't know, I took something from the booth just right before people starts coming to the church in the morning. You see, the wooden partition was cracked, scratched with inhuman claws. In the middle of the partition, a line of words carved with nails : Forgive me, Abel.

6 Comments
2024/03/27
03:27 UTC

18

I Might Be Recording My Own Death [Part 5 - Final]

I - II - III - IV - V


We flew to Germany. Tickets were expensive.

I met Becca’s family. They were wonderful.

After months of waiting, dozens of nights of watching 90’s shows, listening to new “best of” playlists and scrolling through my phone, the moment had finally come.

It was our thirteenth night in Berlin, and I told Becca that I was going to a club famous for its EDM raves, (she knew I had an appreciation for German techno). Although Becca was not a huge fan herself, she told me to have fun, and that we would catch up later that same night. She would go to a bar with one of her cousins.

In truth, of course, I was going to the Friedrichstadt-Palast. A large, pretty famous theater in central Berlin that could accommodate up to 1,800 spectators. The throngs outside curled for over two blocks, but people in line told me not to worry: “das ist normal.”

Tickets weren’t cheap. The equivalent of a hundred Canadian or so. It was a near sold out screening because apparently—the film was supposed to be good.

I was curious from a typical filmgoer’s perspective whether or not the movie would be to my taste at all. Was it even possible for me to like it? Can I really enjoy something that has been responsible for so much trauma?

By some miracle, my seat was on the floor and not on a balcony. I sat in the west wing surrounded by an odd mix of audience. Half were the expected critics, cinephiles and Berliner upper crust all wearing their sophisticated evening attire, but the other half were … strange. It's like they’re expecting some kind of heavy metal concert. They were wearing all leather, latex and lots of clothespins. Several have pentagrams inscribed on their clothing. I recognized plenty of the expected band shirts. Black Sabbath. Slayer. Behemoth.

A tanned, cheerful presenter went up and explained that he was very proud to present this “exquisite gem” of a film to Europe for the first time, and that the filmmaker was in the audience with us tonight. There would be a Q & A after the screening.

I took a quick scan of the crowds to see if I could recognize somebody, but the audience was too massive. A flesh colored soup in every direction.

Soon the lights went down, the projector turned on, and several sponsors were briefly flashed on screen. Armani. Uber. Mastercard. Something called ZDF, Potsdamer Platz and RBB Media.

Then the movie started.

The opening scene is loud. It’s a festive night outdoors with lots of candles, lanterns, instruments and plenty of characters eating meat off skewers. It had to be set in the early 1900s, 1800s, or maybe 1700s? (I don’t know my medieval times). We’re introduced to a bride on the eve of her own wedding. I realize she looks identical to Polina.

A skewer goes through my stomach.

I’m mentally bombarded with images from that set three years ago. I see Polina getting wet from our march in the woods, I see her moaning under the twisted oak tree. Then I see her looking mangled and despondent after repurposing Kon’s dead body.

This actress on screen is Polina. No one realizes we are watching a ghost with a stolen body on screen. A wraith in cold flesh.

I exhale the thought. Squeeze my eyes shut.

It’s just a movie. Just pretend it’s a movie. That’s all you're here to see.

After a few moments I pry my eyes open, and do my best to forget. I try to get carried away by the movie’s plot. And to my surprise, I do.

Very quickly we learn that Polina is to be betrothed to a sharp, brutal man. It's someone she clearly does not want to marry. In the last hour of freedom (before she is expected at the altar), the camera follows Polina as she wanders away from the party towards a small pond, seeking solace in the night.

In subtitles we see Polina speak to herself. Pity herself. She looks into her reflection in the pond and says, “I would rather marry a pig than that awful oaf.” The water warbles a bit, buffeted by wind.

As luck would have it. Her husband-to-be chokes at the dinner banquet—on one of the meat skewers. There’s a scene where multiple people attempt a primitive Heimlich maneuver to no avail. The groom’s family ends up in tears, and the priest calls the wedding off. But despite everything, Polina’s folks still get to keep her wedding gifts as compensation. Including a large black swine.

The wedding guests leave despondent or drunk, or some mix of both, while Polina on the other hand, is secretly euphoric. It's the closest I had ever seen her to revealing a smile.

That night she visits the swine by herself at the pigsty. She is so relieved that she goes to thank the animal. Much to her surprise, it begins to talk.

“I’m your new husband.”

Polina is of course scared. Confused. “You’re my new husband?”

“Yes. Your wish has been granted, and you must treat me like your husband. If you betray this gift, your soul is forfeit.”

Polina’s pupils widen, she covers her mouth. Through narration we learn that animals could only speak back then if they had been imbued with the Devil’s magic. Although terrified, Polina reluctantly agrees to visit and feed the pig each night.

Through title cards, we learn a week has passed. Polina appears just in time to calm down a raucous swine. The pig is aggressively headbutting the fence of the pigsty

“Why are you treating me like an animal? Am I not your husband? Should I not be wearing your husband's clothes?”

Polina has no rebuttal for this. And so the following night, we watch her walk up to her town’s small cemetery and dig up her fiancee's grave. The burial soil was not very deep (because the region is mountainous), it is dug up in a quick montage. Her betrothed had been buried in the finest suit he owned, and in between worried stares, Polina removes it piece by piece.

In the morning, Polina’s youngest brother wakes up the family with laughter. “The pig has found a suit! The pig has found a suit!”

It’s a laugh riot. The family assumes that someone in the village is playing a very funny joke. Maybe the neighbor’s teenage son? Everyone is surprisingly accepting of the pig’s new clothes, and no one draws the connection to Polina’s dead husband-to-be.

Polina pretends to find it amusing too, and says she would like her gift-pig to remain this way. Everyone is instructed not to undress the pig. And so no one does. The clothes are too filthy to touch anyway.

On Polina’s next nightly visit, the swine has a new demand.

“So you’ve dressed me like your husband. That much is true. But how come I must eat my dinner out here, out of a trough? While the rest of your family eats inside?”

Polina has no rebuttal for this. So the following night, she invites the pig inside. “He gets along well with the children,” Polina explains.

Although the children are not overly ecstatic, they do indeed play with the pig, offering it some of their dinner. With a certain measure of reluctance, the family accepts this novelty, at least for the night.

But the following morning, the swine still demands more.

“How come after dinner, I am led back into this pen, and not to a bed? How come I am not permitted to share a bed with my wife?”

Polina has no rebuttal for this. And so, after sneaking the pig more of their dinner the next evening, she waits until everyone else goes to the communal bedroom, and then she leads the pig into her own bed in the living room.

She leads the pig first onto the straw bed. He practically occupies the whole thing.

“Now lay with me.” The swine says.

Teeth clenched and shoulders raised, Polina slides onto the small patch of sheet that’s still accessible. Her ankles are seen colliding with the pig’s hooves. She shifts to lay as distantly as possible, but the pig squirms closer.

“Wrap an arm around me.”

Polina begins attempting this, and abruptly stops. She is simply too disgusted to continue. She rolls off the bed.

“A wife must lay with her husband,” The pig says.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“You will. Or your soul is mine.”

Without much choice, she lays back down, facing the pig. With all the willpower she can muster, Polina raises an arm and wraps it around the pig’s head, as if she were coddling a child. Or a lover.

“Now kiss me.”

The pig opens his large gaping maw. A glistening, pink tongue flaps out, searching for interaction. There is still some rotting food in the back of the pig’s molars.

At this point, I pull my head back and look around the audience, swapping petrified expressions with the middle aged Berliners seated around me. No amount of special effects in the world can fake what is being shown on-screen right now.

It is indisputably a live-action animal pig with a live-action actress.

They are about to kiss.

Are they actually going to?

They do.

I hear reflexive gagging, and mutters from the audience.

“Mein Gott … ”

“Widerlich.”

“It must be fake … ”

But it’s not. I can only muster about two seconds of willpower to watch this pig lick a human’s mouth like an over-excited dog.

Polina screams and brushes the pig aside. It squeals loudly, rolling in the bed.

“Kiss me! KISS ME!”

When I look back at the screen, Polina’s father emerges from the bedroom, eyes wide with shock. “The Devil has my daughter!”

The pig shrieks around on the bed, flopping and flailing like any real life animal would.

We see the father grab an ax, lift it, and then the film cuts to black.

Fade in: it's the next day. The pig lies headless on a large wooden plank, while Polina’s mother cooks its haunches over a fire. There is yelling and stomping, the camera pans over to the father who points and spits at his daughter. Polina is curled in a corner, sobbing.

She is banished to the forest. If she is ever caught close to the house again, her father will have no choice but to kill her. He will not risk spreading her evil to the rest of the family.

With nothing but her gray dress and a small sack of food, Polina treads away and into the dark, foreboding woods, forbidden from even looking back at her home.

The camera glides behind her as she stumbles through the branches. Polina moves awkwardly across deepening areas of peat and mud, before she realizes what’s underfoot, she trips into a bog. Polina sinks down to her waist, struggling tragically and inefficiently. She sinks down to her neck, and calls for help as loud as she can. Within a matter of seconds … she chokes. We see bubbles. Fingertips. Polina drowns. Another cut to black.

When we return, Polina wakes up beside a large oak tree. The very same tree I climbed in four years ago. I feel goosebumps like I’ve never felt before. I am frozen in my seat.

“Am I alive?” The subtitles hold on the screen. The actress has now changed, she is gaunter, paler. She looks like Polina did on the day I first met her. She turns to the camera, and asks the audience the same question. “Czy ja żyję? Czy ja żyję?”

“Am I alive?”

“No you are not.” The pig’s voice returns. “You have broken your promise. You have killed me like a common swine.”

Polina takes a step back and circles around the tree in reverse, searching for the source of the voice. “I didn’t mean to!” She yells.

“Your soul is forfeit. It is mine.”

Polina takes her hands in her head. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to!” Something invisible pushes her over, attacks her. She tries to shove it away but it's too strong.

There’s squealing. Screaming.

This is the sound I recorded. This is what we shot beneath that tree. What happened was real.

“And because you have cooked and eaten me, I shall rebuke the same.”

Something invisible takes a bite of Polina’s shoulder, she wails and falls to the ground.

Then the film abruptly cuts to action shots of her escaping. She is terrified. Running wounded through the forest. The camera is jumpy and chaotic. I soon recognize this segment as the POV shots that Olek took as he ran through the woods on his own. A fern branch brushes past the lens.

I feel a panic attack coming on. I can’t be here. I can’t be in this theater. I get up, and attempt to squeeze by the patrons, but I can’t get past. The film is too loud and the other patrons are literally too glued to the screen to even notice me.

I plonk back down and recognize the cabin. The old lodge cabin we had visited that day. It’s wooden, mossy and dilapidated. With clever angles, it looks like it could be medieval, made in some rural woods, but I know it's modern. This one anachronistic detail is what allows me to breathe.

It is still just a movie. Just a recreation. A farce. This is fake. It's all fake.

But then comes Konrad on screen. Or at least what I know to be the reconfigured body of Konrad. I recognize the shoulders and cheekbones a little, but the rest is all Polina. The audience won't be able to tell.

This Polina walks out to a fire, searching for warmth. And out from the fire … emerges a ten foot demon.

The thing from hell.

Everyone in the theater reels back. Gasps erupt.

The thing that had seared its way into my memory that fateful day. It was what Olek had been trying to capture on screen the whole time.

“I’m not interested in capturing some ghost, or possession.” Olek had told me when he forced me into that circle of cult-members. “No no. I want to catch the uncatchable. The impossible.”

I held the boom unwavering and pointed it at Polina. I could hear the fierce snarls coming out of the fire. Polina shrieked as the small flame erupted into a conflagration, opening some awful portal that never should have been opened. Olek had invited the unthinkable into our plane.

Even now, simply staring at a projection on screen, I am as captivated as I was back then.

It was a cross between a baboon and a boar, except it had flaming tusks, and mouths for eyes. The beast cried out and gored Polina, killing and roasting her.

And because you have cooked and eaten me, I shall rebuke the same.

The sound of her smoldering screech is the last thing I remembered recording.

Now here it was again. An unholy image. Dark magic. Actual footage of a devil on screen. It is horrifying, terrifying, but at the same time … mesmerizing. This one shot of the demon feasting upon Polina is traumatic and real. The audience can inherently feel that something genuine is happening. There is something on screen that is more than just an image. It is impossible to look away.

My heart jumps through my neck, I can feel it in my eyes. This moment on film is the precise cause of all misery in my life. I can’t unsee it. I can’t unhear it.

It is proof that evil is real. That there is something worse than the worst thing you could possibly imagine.

The screen becomes too bright. I feel faint.

When I come to, there is riotous applause. The lights in the theater have been turned on, and everyone is now on their feet, giving a standing ovation.

I am confused. Not just because I missed whatever portion of the movie came next, but also genuinely mystified. A full theater standing up, and giving unanimous applause?

I wait to see if it is out of politeness, surely after a minute they will stop. But they do not. The clapping only grows stronger.

I look around and could feel the beguilement. They are enthralled. Hypnotized by what they just saw.

The applause goes on for over fifteen minutes. Eventually the presenter goes back on stage, still continuing to clap, uninterrupting the applause for another ten minutes.

The director appears and holds his hands up high over his head. He closes his eyes. It goes on like this for another five minutes, until finally, after one last set of cheers and whistles, the pandemonium settles down.

“Thank you,” Olek says.

Catharsis is not what I felt. This was not the closure I was after. I felt like I had bared witness to something only I knew the true meaning behind, and I didn’t know what to do.

On stage, Olek still wore his signature black trench coat, except this one was hemmed and stylized in a high fashion sort of way. He answered benign questions from the presenter about the location, script and budget, but nothing that cut into the heart of what everyone just saw.

And then when the floor was opened up to audience questions. Everyone continued to shower praise.

“Who did your cinematography? It was beautiful.”

“Where did you find your actors? Unbelievable.”

“How did you pull off those VFX? How?”

Something inside me became livid. I looked around to see if there was anyone as put off as I was. Does no one else know what Olek truly is?

Does no one else know what happened behind the scenes?

I was beside myself. I lifted my hand to ask the next question. But there was a sea of hands, would they even pick me?

Fuck it. If no one is going to say it, then I would. Olek was in the middle of responding to some meager question when I stood up and yelled.

“Murderer! MURDERER! The man on stage is a murderer!”

Patrons within earshot turned to me, the room fell quiet. Even Olek appeared taken aback.

I began to rattle off the names of the Polish teens who went missing, reading from a list I kept in my pocket. “Adrian Kowalski! Paweł Nowak! Martyna Wiśniewska! …” I was probably butchering the pronounciation, but I yelled them anyway.

A security guard started to walk down the aisle, approaching my row. Olek is also approached by some other organizers on stage. He shook his head and grabbed the mic.

“Please do not arrest her! Please do not! This is actually all good to hear.”

I finished hollering the names. Questioning voices swirled around me.

“She is thinking of a tragic event that happened in the Polish film community,” Olek added a fair bit of grief to his voice and took a pause. “A man named Łukasz Dębrowski shot an infamous video in Poland where seven students went missing.” He lifted his hand, “I … was one of those students”

Sharp inhales travelled through the crowd. Several wow’s.

“Yes. It was a traumatic experience, but it was also, for me, revelatory. It was one of the chief inspirations behind this film actually. It is important to remember those who have suffered, so in the future we need not suffer again.”

Audience-members turned to me, looking for my response. But what was I supposed to say? Was Olek lying? Was the real Łukasz actually found and arrested?

Before I could assemble a reply, someone else asked a question, and very quickly I was forgotten. Just another fly on a wall.

Just another attention seeker.

Once the doors opened, I squeezed out of my seat and ran outside. I wanted to get as far away from the Polish warlock, as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, with close to two thousand seats vacating—I was trudging through molasses.

To make things worse, as I snailed out the exit funnel, I just so happened to bump into Becca, who was pleasantly surprised to see me. I had no idea she was even at the screening.

I did not want to pause, or mill about in the slightest, but I couldn’t just blow off my partner.

“Anna! Oh my god! I didn’t know you were coming to see Krew! I would have saved you a seat!”

I gave a half-assed excuse about my rave being cancelled, and then finding something else to do. Becca seemed to accept this and then introduced me to some filmie friends she had made recently at a bar. I shook their hands between a river of people.

“We should get a couple drinks!” Becca pointed to the bar across from the coat check. “Everyone’s too busy going to the bathroom. This is the perfect time! Come on!”

I really didn’t want to linger here. I really just wanted to go. But I calmed myself by picturing Olek exiting out the back. Chances are he was leaving like everyone else. I could distance myself by staying.

So despite my reservations, we sat at the bar. I wore my toque and zipped up my jacket. I didn’t want to be recognized as ‘that person at the Q&A’, but as soon as we started talking, I realized that was the last thing on anyone’s mind.

“Could you feel it in the room?”

“You mean, the energy? The magic?”

“I have never watched anything that has made me feel the way that movie does!” Becca held both hands on her head, a smile from ear to ear. “That was insane!”

I nodded and tried to fake a grin. It was easier to pretend I was on the same page, but on the inside, I was dying.

“And that’s the guy?” One of Becca’s new friends asked.

“That’s the guy!” Becca slapped my thigh, stinging it a little. “Anna, you’ll never believe this, but I’ve got some amazing news. You’ll never believe it!”

I knew that Becca had been trying to line up work for spring through a few of her contacts, and she didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want to jinx it. She had been pining hard for B unit camera op on Yellowjackets …

“Im shooting his next one. I’m officially his next DP!”

“That’s fucking awesome!” The other filmies said, clinking their drinks.

The information passed through me. It didn’t register.

“Isn’t that great Anna?” Becca hovered her martini close to mine.

“Isn't what great?”

“I’m shooting Olek’s next movie. My first art house, I’ve caught my big break!”

I stared at her and tried to cobble together some kind of smile, I tried to cobble together any kind of response at all. I couldn't. “No, you’re not. That’s … what?”

“I know! Crazy right!” She bumped my glass and took a big swig.

I crumpled on the inside. No. Please. This can’t be happening. I mumbled out some paltry congratulations without actually thinking about it. She kissed me on the cheek. Then I whispered to her ear, “You can’t do it. You can never do it. Please don’t.”

“What did you say?” She indicated ‘another round’ to the bartender.

I didn’t have the energy to explain. I needed to get out. I needed to get away from here. Olek could show up without me knowing. He could find me.

“I’m sorry. I’ll … I’ll meet you at the hotel.”

“Anna, are you alright?”

I shrugged and stood up. Then I left completely unceremoniously as our second set of drinks arrived. The filmies swapped confused glances, Becca stood up, but didn’t follow.

“I’ll see you at the hotel?” She called behind my back. I didn’t reply.

I was a complete mess on the uber ride back. This is a dream, this can’t be happening. There’s no way any of this is real.

I bolted to our hotel room in a flurry and ran to the sink. I set the water to hot and splashed it onto my face. I set the water to cold and did the same. I alternated like this, over and over.

I wiped my eyes and sat down on the bed, questioning my sanity. I took deep long breaths, emptying my lungs completely before filling them back up. I did this for about five minutes, until I could feel my heart slow down.

I closed my eyes. You’re gonna be okay. You’re safe here. You’re gonna be okay.

Then a light breeze tickled across my neck. Which was odd because I did not remember leaving the window open. Did I turn on the AC?

When I looked up, he was there. Leaning against the coat rack.

Olek was in my room.

“What a coincidence,” he said.

I stayed seated on my bed. Said nothing. Enough impossible things had already happened on this night that I refused to even believe he was here.

And yet he was. Leaning on the coat rack.

“Berlin huh?”

I tried to look away, but found it difficult, his gray eyes were locked onto mine now. There wasn’t any sense of menace, or immediate danger. Just a sort of nonchalant observation. Like how a wolf might study a lost fawn.

“Did you enjoy the movie?”

I briefly considered jumping. Running. Doing anything to get out of this situation, but he was blocking the door. I was dealing with someone who could literally apparate. What could I do? What could I even attempt to do?

“You know I had a lot of trouble changing my identity. It was a lot of effort to fix that.” He took a step towards me, and lifted a single finger, pointing it. “Do you want me to fix it again?”

Ice cold dread coursed through my entire body. It felt like I was in that cabin again, shivering in a thin, damp dress. With a lot of effort, I found the ability to speak, and sputtered out what I could. “N-n-no. No. I won't tell anyone. I'll never speak of it again.”

He walked over to the window, closed it, and put his hands in his pockets. “You were the first one I’ve let go. My experiment with mercy, you know?”

Outside was dark, the rain had started to trickle. I could see a few streams sliding down on the window, streaking Olek’s reflection. “Do you like mercy?”

I cleared my throat. Nodded.

“Good. I think your friend will too. I look forward to working with her” He lowered the blinds on the window. Drew the curtains.

“Speaking of mercy. I let Polina go, did you know that?”

My eyes were glued to his own again. I couldn’t look away. My bed had turned into the soiled, rotted cot that I had clung to in that cabin.

“I couldn't keep bringing her back. She was truly depleted. After that last shot … she’s forever gone.”

His dress shoes squeaked one after the other. His black coat tailed behind. In a moment's time Olek had sat beside me on the bed.

Don’t move. Remain steady. Don’t show fear.

“It is very hard to find a new wraith. It needs to be someone who has suffered for a very long time. Someone who is always suffering.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. Patted it once. Twice.

I pictured gunning for the door. I pictured struggling to fend him off. I pictured doing nothing at all.

“You're within reach.” Is all he eventually said.

Then he sighed and stood up, walking calmly back to the door. I had a burst of adrenaline. I was ready to jump forward. To leap on his back. To run screaming towards the window.

But Olek wasn’t even paying attention to me. Instead, he glanced at his phone, and scrolled through some text. Tapped a couple things. After putting it away, he seemed to remember I was still in the room. “There’s a party happening. An underground club. You’re welcome to join if you want.”

I was far beyond a place of shock, and yet somehow this still shocked me. Is He actually inviting me to a club? What in the actual fuck?

He seemed to be able to read my face.

“Suit yourself.”

He turned around the corner out of sight. I could hear the door handle unlock, followed by the latch I put on. With an old creak, the door swung, and in about a dozen footsteps, the czarownik’s presence vanished down the hall.

I ran over and shut everything—applied all locks.

Then I went back and sat down on the bed. Do I call Becca? Do I call the police? Do I call the hotel? … Do I … Did that … actually just happen?

Am I dreaming?

I grit my teeth and eyes, feeling the muscles of my face contract.

Behind my scrunching eyelids I erase everything. This reality. This moment in time. This present universe. Everything’s wiped. This can’t be happening.

After a few minutes I find myself lying on the bed. Unaware if I laid down myself.

I must have just woken up. That’s all.

I’m not entirely convinced, but I pretend that I am.

I pretended it was all a dream.

Pretending is what I’m good at.

Pretending is all I’ve got.

The film shoot in Toronto would go for over a month. Becca said she would send me pictures everyday, of any fun stuff that was happening on set.

I told her she could send me pictures—but nothing of the crew, nothing of the cast, and no equipment, cameras, or anything else. Nothing.

She agreed, and very few pictures were sent.

At work I asked if I could be removed from the Bridge Studios circuit, I didn't want to deliver mail to that district anymore. So my boss transitioned my route to downtown. It was a lot busier, (with a lot less parking) and I couldn't listen to my music as much, but that's okay. At least I was keeping my mind somewhat clear.

Sometimes I would see a news van with a reporter standing outside, and other times I would see twenty-somethings making a student film. Depending on the day, I’d be able to look past it and breeze by, but not always. Sometimes I would get reminded of my boom pole, my headphones, and then get plunged back in.

I would get flashes of the horns, the mouths, the flaming tusks. I would see that thing from hell again. Then I would pull over and spend several hours easing my way out of multiple panic attacks.

It just was what it was.

I pretended it was normal.

I knew that I needed a true distraction. A paradigm shift. Something that could reset my brain away from my fear, unease and vulnerability.

So halfway through Becca’s shoot, I had finally bit the bullet on my credit cards, and signed up. I enrolled at the Digital Music Academy.

On the first day, we were each assigned a MIDI keyboard. They looked expensive and brand new. Each MIDI came semi-weighted with a built-in pad controller, and my hands flickered across the keys with ease. It was a very nice feeling.

There were two teachers overseeing twelve students. Both instructors were going to train us exclusively in person for three days a week, over three months. I was allowing myself to get excited.

I couldn't remember the last time I felt excited.

We introduced ourselves, everyone got a minute to explain their favorite genre of music. I said mine was trance-house with pop vocals. Someone recognized one of the more obscure artists I dropped. It felt good.

The older instructor walked around, explaining how we would be using Ableton Live. There was an in-software tutorial that he recommended following alongside his directions, and that today we would be composing a melody with a simple 4/4 beat. The goal was to get familiar with the program.

The younger instructor followed silently, handing out headphones for each of our stations.

That’s when my heart sank.

I tried to ignore the brand, but I couldn’t.

They were Sennheisers. The exact same headphones I had used every day on set. My hands shook. My throat ached. Using all the willpower at my disposal I forced them onto my head. It’s just plastic. It can’t hurt me.

There is no way I can give up on this class.

“Everything alright?” The younger instructor asked.

I nodded quickly. “Yeah yeah, just trying them on.”

“Good. Try opening our test file.”

Our computers were all given the same demo song to manipulate, it would help us understand how track layers and automations worked. I gave mine a play and recognized it as some 2010’s dance hit.

As a class we analyzed the placement of the drums, treble and bass layers, but I was trying hard to discern what the background vocals were. A choir of children? Seagull calls?

I scanned through the tracks in the software and couldn’t find them. As I delicately pressed the foam cups to my ears, I realized the high pitched sounds were not of kids singing or of birds calling.

It was squealing.

At first it started soft, barely distinguishable from my thoughts, but soon it grew, both in volume and duration. I pulled out the headphone jack. The playback didn’t stop.

The instructor came by and asked if I was okay again. Apparently I was crying.

The squeals turned into screeches, the screeches turned to wails, the wails deepened into thunderous, demonic howls. And somehow overtop of it all came chanting. Dark, harmonic chanting.“ Anna. Annna. Annnnnnn—”

I dropped the headphones onto my neck. and wiped away my tears.

“Yup. I'm fine. Everything's fine. I’m just—I can handle it.”

“You sure?”

I wasn’t, but what did that matter at this point? How could I even begin to scratch the surface of what I was trying to overcome? I had to find joy in something. I had to move on. I would force myself to find joy in this. I pretended to smile.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

The teacher looked into my eyes to try to understand what I was going through, but there’s no way she would. It must’ve been like that moment when I looked at Polina. At her sad, defeated eyes, bearing the weight of something that was impossible to explain.

I was the same as her now. I was just like Polina.

I held my face and started to sob. I couldn’t stop.

KONIEC

7 Comments
2024/03/27
01:03 UTC

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