Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/orzgwh/we_all_fall_down/

Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/p66jir/we_all_fall_down_part_2/

After the terrifying encounter on the road, I knew I had to act quickly. The cryptic words of the radio static echoed in my mind: "I will see you tonight and every night." I couldn't shake off the feeling that something much darker was unfolding, something far beyond my understanding. The image of that shadowy figure lingered in my thoughts; its presence was as chilling as the first encounter.

Determined to uncover more, I decided to visit the schools involved. I arrived at St. Stephens Academy, once a symbol of elite education; it now seemed ominous under the gray sky.

Walking through the empty hallways, I felt an eerie silence interrupted only by the occasional creak of the old wooden floors. I reached the library and saw the room cluttered with tech equipment and stacks of laptops, each one potentially harbouring a sinister secret.

When I entered, I saw a person on edge, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to leap out of the shadows.

"Sir, I'm Jack Lacast. I need to know about these laptops," I said, showing him my badge, hoping the remnants of my NYPD authority might still hold some sway.

He glanced at my badge and nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead. "It's the laptops... There's something wrong with them," he stammered.

"What do you mean?" I asked, leaning closer.

"I don't know exactly. We ran all the diagnostics and wiped them clean before handing them out. But students started acting strange...violent. It's like something was controlling them," he explained, his voice trembling.

I needed more. "Can you show me the records? Anything odd in the system?"

He hesitated, then nodded, leading me to his computer. He pulled up the logs, showing me a series of unusual data spikes corresponding with the incidents. My eyes narrowed at the sight of a recurring timestamp: 3:33 AM.

"What happens at 3:33 AM?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"That's when the laptops run their automatic updates. But this...this isn't normal. It's almost like they're accessing something...or being accessed," he replied.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, and the computer screen distorted. The timestamp flashed repeatedly: 3:33 AM. The screen then displayed a face, the same ghastly figure I had seen before. It spoke in a voice that sent shivers down my spine.

"Jack Lacast, you cannot stop this. We all... fall... down..."

The room plunged into darkness, and I quickly grabbed my flashlight. Then I heard a guttural growl behind me. I spun around, flashlight in hand, illuminating the horrific figure standing in the doorway, its eyes burning with malevolence.

The man screamed, but his voice was cut short as the figure lunged at him, its hands morphing into claws. Blood splattered across the room, and I stumbled back, crashing into the desk. I had to act fast. I grabbed the crucifix Lady Lanter had given me, held it to the lighter's flame, and pointed it at the figure.

The creature hissed, recoiling from the light, its form flickering. I took the chance to grab one of the laptops and bolted from the room, hearing the creature's enraged shrieks behind me.

As I sped away from the school, I glanced at the laptop on the passenger seat, its screen displaying the same haunting message: "We all fall down." My heart pounded, knowing that this was far from over. The true horror was just beginning, and whatever this darkness was, it had no intention of letting me escape its grasp.

I’ve always been fascinated by urban exploration, but this trip was different. This time, I wasn’t just searching for abandoned relics; I was searching for people. When I heard about an abandoned village with a derelict hospital on the outskirts and rumors of people who had mysteriously vanished, I couldn’t resist. Equipped with my trusty flashlight, notebook, camera, smartphone, smartwatch, medkit, and a sturdy pair of boots, I set off early one foggy morning, determined to uncover the truth.

The village was eerily silent as I approached. Overgrown vegetation had reclaimed much of the area, and the old, dilapidated houses stood like sentinels, guarding their untold stories. I started with the houses, cautiously stepping inside each one, my flashlight cutting through the darkness. Each house felt like a time capsule, frozen in the moment when the last person left. Dusty furniture, faded photographs, and forgotten trinkets whispered tales of the lives once lived here.

As I moved deeper into the village, my camera clicked away, capturing the haunting beauty of the decay. I meticulously noted down my observations, hoping to piece together the history of this ghostly place later. But it wasn’t until I reached the hospital at the edge of the village that I felt a chill run down my spine.

The hospital loomed ahead, its broken windows and crumbling facade giving it an even more sinister appearance. I hesitated for a moment before pushing the heavy doors open. They creaked loudly, as if protesting my intrusion. The air inside was stale, filled with the scent of mildew and something I couldn’t quite place.

My flashlight flickered as I stepped into the main hall, its beam illuminating the peeling wallpaper and shattered glass strewn across the floor. The hospital was massive, with long, winding corridors that seemed to stretch into eternity. I made my way through the desolate halls, my footsteps echoing off the walls.

Room after room, I encountered remnants of a once-bustling facility: rusted hospital beds, medical equipment covered in dust, and patient records scattered haphazardly. Each discovery felt like a piece of a puzzle, but there was a sense of dread that grew with every step I took.

I reached a room marked “Records” and felt a strange compulsion to enter. Inside, I found shelves upon shelves of old files. I picked one at random and opened it. The patient’s name was scribbled in faded ink, but what caught my attention was the date: it was from the 1950s. My smartwatch buzzed, reminding me to check my phone. I had a signal, which was odd given the remoteness of the location.

As I scrolled through my notifications, I noticed a series of messages from an unknown number. They were cryptic, with phrases like “You’re not alone” and “They see you.” My heart raced as I looked around, but there was no one there.

I quickly pocketed my phone and continued my exploration, trying to shake off the unease. I entered another room, this one filled with surgical equipment. My flashlight beam caught something shiny in the corner. I approached and saw it was a notebook, much like mine. I picked it up and flipped through the pages. It belonged to another urban explorer, and the last entry was dated just a week ago.

The final entry sent chills down my spine. It read: “I hear whispers. Someone’s following me. If you find this, leave immediately. It’s not safe.”

A sudden noise from the corridor made me jump. It sounded like footsteps. I turned off my flashlight and held my breath, straining to listen. The footsteps grew louder, closer. My smartwatch buzzed again, displaying a single word: “Run.”

I didn’t need any more encouragement. I bolted from the room, sprinting down the dark hallways, my heart pounding in my chest. The footsteps behind me quickened, keeping pace with my own. I burst through the front doors and didn’t stop running until I was back at my car.

As I drove away, I glanced back at the village. It seemed even more ominous now, a place that should be left alone. My phone buzzed once more. Another message from the unknown number: “You escaped, but not for long.”

I never went back to that village or the hospital. Some places are meant to remain forgotten, their secrets buried with time. And sometimes, those secrets are better left undiscovered.

I never thought I'd be the kind of person posting on NoSleep, but here I am. I need to get this off my chest, and maybe someone out there has dealt with something similar. God, I hope not, but I'm desperate for answers.

First, let me introduce myself. I'm Jake, a 19-year-old college student living with my parents in a small town just outside of Portland, Oregon. We've got a cozy two-story house on a quiet street, surrounded by towering pine trees. It's usually peaceful here, but for the past week, our nights have been anything but.

My mom, Sarah, is a high school English teacher. She's always been the rational one in the family, with a no-nonsense attitude that usually keeps us grounded. Dad, on the other hand, is Mike, a former Marine turned construction foreman. He's got that tough-guy exterior, but I've always known he's a softie at heart, especially when it comes to me and Mom.

It all started last Tuesday. I was up late studying for a biology exam, my eyes burning from staring at my textbook for hours. I glanced at my phone - 4:30 AM. "Shit," I muttered, realizing I'd have to be up for class in just a few hours. That's when I heard it - the distinct sound of our doorbell.

Who the hell would be ringing our doorbell at this hour?

I crept downstairs, my heart pounding. Our chihuahua, Scooby, was already at the door, growling softly. I peeked through the peephole and felt my blood run cold.

There, illuminated by our porch light, stood an old woman. She was thin, almost skeletal, with wispy white hair that seemed to float around her head like a halo. Her skin was pale and wrinkled, hanging loosely on her face. But it was her eyes that really freaked me out - they were completely black, like two empty voids staring straight at me.

"Jake? What's going on?" Mom's voice made me jump. She'd come downstairs, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"There's... there's an old woman outside," I stammered.

Mom frowned and gently nudged me aside to look for herself. Her sharp intake of breath told me she saw her too. Dad appeared moments later, his Marine training evident in his alert stance despite being woken up.

"Should we... should we open the door?" I asked hesitantly.

Mom shook her head. "No, absolutely not. We don't know who she is or what she wants at this hour." Her teacher instincts kicked in immediately. "We need to document this," she said, grabbing a notebook to jot down every detail.

Dad, meanwhile, went into full protection mode, checking every window and door lock twice. "I'm calling the police," he said, his voice gruff with concern.

While Mom dialed, I kept watch through the peephole. The old woman remained motionless, her arms hanging limply at her sides. It was like she was a statue, except for those eyes. They seemed to follow my every movement, even though I knew she couldn't see me.

The police arrived about 15 minutes later. As soon as their car pulled up, the old woman turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of our street.

The officers took our statement, but there wasn't much they could do. No laws had been broken, and the woman was gone. They promised to keep an eye out during their patrols and left.

We all went back to bed, but I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that old woman's face, those black, empty eyes.

The next night, I made sure to be in bed early. But at exactly 4:31 AM, I woke up to Scooby's frantic barking. My stomach dropped as I realized what it must mean.

Sure enough, there she was again. This time, she was a few steps closer to our front door.

We called the police again, but by the time they arrived, she was gone. This pattern repeated for the next five nights. Each time, the old woman appeared at exactly 4:31 AM. And each time, she was a little bit closer to our house.

As the nightly visits continued, I watched my parents struggling to cope. Mom threw herself into research, spending hours online looking for similar cases or local legends. "There has to be a logical explanation," she'd mutter, surrounded by stacks of printouts. Dad, true to form, focused on fortifying the house. He installed new locks, motion-sensor lights, and even talked about getting a security system.

I could hear them arguing in hushed tones late at night. Mom wanted to go to the media, thinking publicity might help. "Someone out there must know something," she insisted. But Dad was dead set against it. "You want us to be the crazy family on the evening news?" he'd retort. The tension between them was palpable, and it scared me almost as much as the old woman.

Last night was the worst so far. She was right at the bottom of our porch steps, her face turned up towards my bedroom window. I swear, even though it was dark and she was far away, I could see a faint smile on her lips.

I don't know what to do. The police have stopped responding to our calls - they think we're pulling some kind of prank. My parents are at their wits' end, torn between their fear and their need to protect me.

Part of me hopes this is all just some weird, prolonged dream. That I'll wake up and everything will be normal again. But deep down, I know that's not the case.

If anyone has experienced anything like this, please, please let me know. I don't know how much longer we can take this nightly visitor.

I'll update if anything changes. For now, I'm just praying she doesn't get any closer tonight.

Thanks for all the responses to my last post. I wish I had better news, but things have only gotten worse. Much worse.

It's been three more nights since I last updated, and each one has been more terrifying than the last. The old woman is getting closer, and I'm starting to lose my mind. My parents aren't faring much better.

On the eighth night, she was halfway up our porch steps. I remember pressing my face against the cool glass of my bedroom window, my breath fogging up the pane as I stared down at her. She stood there, motionless, those black eyes fixed on our front door.

Dad, thinking he could scare her off, flicked on the porch light and yelled through the door, "We see you! Get off our property or we're calling the cops!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear behind his tough facade.

The moment the words left his mouth, the old woman's head snapped up, her eyes locking onto my window. A chill ran down my spine as a grin spread across her face, revealing rows of yellowed, pointed teeth.

"Oh god," I whispered, stumbling back from the window.

When I worked up the courage to look again, she was gone. But the porch light was off, even though Dad swore he never touched the switch.

The next night, she made it to the top of the porch. This time, Mom lost it.

"That's it!" she screamed, stomping down the stairs. "I'm going out there and giving this old bat a piece of my mind!" Her usually calm demeanor had cracked, replaced by a frantic desperation.

"Sarah, no!" Dad yelled, but she was already yanking the door open.

The old woman stood there, her face inches from my mom's. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then my mom let out a blood-curdling scream and slammed the door shut.

She collapsed against it, sobbing. "Her eyes," she kept saying. "Oh god, her eyes." Dad wrapped his arms around her, his own eyes wide with shock. I'd never seen my mother so shaken, and it terrified me more than anything else had so far.

We spent the rest of the night huddled in the living room, jumping at every creak and groan of our old house. When morning came, we found deep scratch marks on the outside of our front door.

Last night was the worst yet. At 4:31 AM, like clockwork, Scooby started barking. But this time, it wasn't his usual aggressive bark. It was high-pitched, terrified.

I ran downstairs to find him cowering in the corner of the living room, whimpering. And there, pressed against our front window, was the old woman's face.

Her skin looked even more deteriorated up close, hanging off her cheekbones in gray, rotting strips. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, revealing a black void where her tongue should have been. But her eyes... God, her eyes. They were like bottomless pits, and as I stared into them, I felt like I was falling.

I don't know how long I stood there, transfixed. It could have been seconds or hours. I was only snapped out of it when I heard my dad's voice.

"Jake? Jake! Snap out of it, son!" He shook me roughly, his face pale with worry.

I blinked, coming back to reality. The old woman was gone, but a foul, rotting smell lingered in the air.

We're at our wits' end. My parents are barely holding it together. Mom's stopped trying to find logical explanations and has started leaving salt lines at all the doors and windows. Dad's talking about calling in favors from his old Marine buddies, convinced that we're under some kind of attack.

I've been researching non-stop, trying to find any similar cases or local legends that might explain what's happening. So far, I've come up empty.

The only lead I have is an old newspaper article I found from the 1950s. It mentioned a "Widow Carver" who lived in a cabin in the woods near our neighborhood. Apparently, she was accused of witchcraft and driven out of town. The article said she vowed revenge on the townspeople and their descendants before disappearing into the forest.

It's probably nothing, just my desperate mind grasping at straws. But at this point, I'll take any explanation, no matter how far-fetched.

I don't know what tonight will bring, but I'm dreading 4:31 AM. The old woman has made it to our window. The next step is inside our house.

I'll update again tomorrow if I can. If you don't hear from me... well, I don't want to think about that. Wish us luck, NoSleep. I have a feeling we're going to need it.

I'm writing this with shaking hands, trying to make sense of what happened last night. I don't know if I'm going crazy or if something truly evil has invaded our lives. Either way, I'm terrified.

Yesterday evening, my parents and I tried to prepare for the old woman's nightly visit. We double-checked all the locks, closed all the curtains, and even pushed furniture against the doors. Dad got his old baseball bat from the garage, and Mom clutched a can of pepper spray. We were determined to confront whatever came at 4:31 AM.

As the hour approached, we huddled together in the living room. Scooby was unnaturally quiet, curled up in a tight ball under the coffee table. The air felt heavy, like the moment before a thunderstorm.

4:30 AM. One minute to go.

"Maybe she won't come," Mom whispered, her knuckles white around the pepper spray. Her usual composure was gone, replaced by raw fear.

4:31 AM.

For a moment, nothing happened. We held our breath, ears straining for any sound. Then, we heard it – a soft scraping noise coming from the front door.

Dad gripped his bat tighter. "I'm going to check," he said, moving towards the door. His Marine training was kicking in, but I could see the tremor in his hands.

"No!" Mom and I hissed in unison, but he was already at the peephole.

He looked through, then stumbled back, his face pale. "She's... she's gone," he stammered.

Relief washed over us, but it was short-lived. Because at that moment, we heard Scooby let out a pitiful whine. We turned to see him staring, trembling, at something behind us.

Slowly, dreading what I'd see, I turned around.

There she was. Inside our house.

The old woman stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her emaciated frame silhouetted against the darkness. Her black eyes seemed to suck in all the light in the room.

Mom screamed. Dad swung his bat, but it passed right through her as if she was made of smoke. I saw a side of my parents I'd never seen before. Mom, usually so composed, was shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down her face. But her voice was steady as she recited what sounded like a protection prayer. Dad, who I'd always seen as unshakeable, looked utterly lost. But when the old woman took a step forward, he positioned himself in front of us without hesitation, his body a shield.

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Those eyes held me paralyzed.

She took another step forward. Her mouth opened, wider than any human mouth should, revealing that terrible black void.

Just as she reached out a skeletal hand towards me, Scooby burst from under the table. He launched himself at the old woman, barking furiously.

The moment he touched her, there was a blinding flash of light and a sound like a thunderclap. When my vision cleared, both Scooby and the old woman were gone.

We spent the rest of the night searching the house, calling for Scooby, but found nothing. No sign of the old woman, no sign of our dog. It was as if they'd never existed.

When dawn finally broke, we were exhausted and confused. Had it all been some sort of shared hallucination? But the scratch marks on the door were still there, and Scooby was still missing.

Mom's rational facade finally cracked. She spent hours calling animal shelters and tacking up 'Missing Dog' posters, her voice breaking every time she had to describe Scooby. Dad, who had always rolled his eyes at Scooby's yapping, now wandered the house at night, whistling for him and leaving his favorite treats in every room.

I tried to sleep, but when I did, the nightmares came. In my dreams, I was in a dark, misty forest. I could hear Scooby barking in the distance, but every time I moved towards the sound, it got further away. And always, just at the edge of my vision, I could see the old woman. Watching. Waiting.

I woke up gasping for air, my face wet with tears. That's when I noticed it – a faint whispering in the room. Words in a language I didn't understand, barely audible but definitely there. And something else... a light touch on my face, like fingers gently caressing my cheek.

I scrambled out of bed and ran downstairs. The living room looked like a scene from a horror movie. Every single flower in the vases, the ones Mom had put out to "brighten the mood," was rotting. Not just wilted, but actually decomposing, giving off a sickly sweet smell that made my stomach churn.

Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, both looking as shell-shocked as I felt. "Did you hear...?" I began, but they just nodded silently. The tension that had been building between them seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a shared sense of dread.

We're at a loss. The old woman didn't appear at 4:31 AM like she had been, but somehow this feels worse. It's like she's everywhere now, invisible but present. Waiting.

Scooby is still missing. The police have been no help – they think he just ran away in the night. They don't believe our story about the old woman. To be honest, I'm starting to doubt it myself. But then I look at the rotting flowers, I remember the whispering, the phantom touch on my face, and I know it was real.

I found something else too, something that chills me to the bone. Remember that old newspaper article I mentioned, about Widow Carver? I dug deeper and found her full name: Eliza Carver. I also found her death certificate.

She died on May 17th, 1954. At 4:31 AM.

Today is May 17th.

I showed the death certificate to my parents. Mom's face went ashen, while Dad's jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.

"This can't be a coincidence," Mom whispered, her voice trembling. She'd abandoned all pretense of rational explanations now. "What if... what if she's come back for revenge?"

Dad shook his head, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. "That's impossible," he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.

As night fell, the atmosphere in the house became suffocating. We tried to go about our normal routines, but every creak, every shadow, sent us into a panic. Mom kept checking and rechecking the salt lines she'd laid down, muttering protection prayers under her breath. Dad paced restlessly, his old service pistol now holstered at his hip.

I don't know what's going to happen tonight. Part of me wants to run, to get as far away from this house as possible. But another part of me knows it won't make a difference. Whatever this is, wherever it came from, it's attached to us now.

As I write this, it's 11:45 PM. Less than five hours until 4:31 AM. Mom and Dad are in the living room, holding hands and talking in low voices. I can see the love between them, strengthened by this shared ordeal. Whatever happens tonight, we'll face it as a family.

If you're reading this, please, be careful of who – or what – you let into your life. Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.

I'll update if I can, but if you don't hear from me again... well, at least you'll know why.

[UPDATE - 3:17 AM]

Something's wrong. Very wrong. The house has gone completely silent. Not just quiet - silent. I can't hear the hum of the refrigerator, or the ticking of the clock in the hallway. It's like all sound has been sucked out of the world.

I tried to go downstairs to check on my parents, but my bedroom door won't open. It's not locked - the handle turns, but it's like there's a solid wall on the other side.

The air feels thick, almost syrupy. It's hard to breathe. And it's cold. So cold.

I can hear whispers now. They're coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. I can't make out the words, but they sound... angry.

There's something moving in the shadows of my room. I can't quite see it, but I know it's there. Watching. Waiting.

Goodbye, NoSleep.

I always enjoyed walking home from a late shift at the coffee shop. The quiet streets and cool night air help me relax after a long day. There's something peaceful about the city at night, the buildings bathed in the light of the street lamps while I can hear the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves in the pleasant breeze. I often walk at a leisurely pace and enjoy these moments of solitude. My path takes me through a small park, past a row of quaint shops and then down a quiet residential street lined with charming old houses. It's a familiar path, one I've taken countless times without a second thought. These late-night walks have always been a time for me to unwind, to let the stress of the day fall away from me before I finally collapse into bed.

Lately, however, the sense of peace I once found in this has turned into a source of dread.

It started with the little things. I felt the weight of unseen eyes tracking my every move as I walked my usual route, but when I turned around, the street was empty. At first, I took it for paranoia or exhaustion. Everyone gets that weird feeling sometimes, right?

One night I noticed a car parked not far from my apartment. It wasn't unusual for cars to be parked there, but something about this one didn't sit right with me. It was always the same car, and it always showed up at the exact moment I left for work, and when I came back it was still there. I tried to explain it simply - maybe it just belonged to someone in the house. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me.

The turning point came last Thursday. I was closing the café, the last to leave as usual. As I locked the door, I saw a shadow standing under a street light on the other side of the road. The figure didn't move, just stood there, staring in my direction. My heart raced, but I forced myself to walk calmly to my car and pretend I hadn't noticed. When I looked in my rearview mirror, the figure was gone.

The next morning, I found a note under the windshield wiper: "You look beautiful when you're scared."

My blood ran cold. It wasn't just my imagination - someone was really watching me. I reported it to the police, but they dismissed it as a simple prank.

"Probably just some prankster trying to scare you," they said.

But I knew it was more than that.

Over the next few days, the feeling that I was being watched intensified. I began to notice the same person watching me over and over again from a distance. Whether I was in the grocery store, going to the post office, or even looking out my apartment window, the figure was there, lurking just at the edge of my field of vision. It was as if it knew my every move, every movement, every thought.

I began to isolate myself, avoiding friends and family out of fear. My sleep became restless as I was plagued by nightmares of being stalked and generally became increasingly paranoid. I felt a constant pressure on my chest, a daunting sense of impending doom that I couldn't escape.

One night, in classic fashion, I came home to find my apartment door slightly ajar. Of course that's very strange, after all, I used to close and then lock them, didn't I?

My heart was pounding when I opened it, terrified of what I might find inside. The apartment looked untouched, but there was evidence of an intruder.

A single red rose lay on my kitchen table with another message, "I know where you sleep."

Panic gripped me. I called the police again, but according to them, there was no sign of forced entry, and nothing had been stolen.

"It was probably just a coincidence," they told me. "Lock the door and be vigilant."

Coincidence? COINCIDENCE? Are they serious?

I started seeing a therapist in hopes of relieving my growing paranoia. But even there, in the supposed safety of a professional office, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. The therapist tried to reassure me that it was all in my head, a manifestation of stress and anxiety. But I knew that wasn't true.

The turning point came when I found a dead cat on my apartment doorstep, a chilling reminder that my stalker wasn't just playing. It was a message. I packed my bag and fled to the hotel, hoping to find some semblance of safety there. But even there, I was haunted by the feeling that I was being followed.

I couldn't escape. I can't hide. My life had become a prison of anxiety and paranoia. Every creak of the floor, every shadow, every stranger's gaze felt like a threat. They are relentless, a shadow that follows me wherever I go, sucking the life and sanity out of me.

I've begun to develop a series of habits, rituals really, that I use to keep the fear at bay. Every night I double-check the locks on all the doors and windows, sometimes three or four times, before I finally convince myself that it's safe to go to bed. Even then, I often lie awake for hours listening to all the unusual noises, my heart racing with every creak or groan from the old building.

During the day I avoid going out as much as possible. I've started ordering groceries online, and I've even convinced my boss to let me take a few days off. When I do have to go out, I move quickly, constantly scanning the area for any sign of my pursuer. I wear sunglasses and a hat, trying to disguise myself to make it harder for him to recognize me. But no matter what I do, I can't shake the feeling that he's still out there, lurking just out of sight.

The notes keep coming. I find them under the windshield wiper, tucked in the door in the mail slot, even tucked in the groceries when I have them delivered. Each one more disturbing than the last.

"You can't hide from me."

"I see you."

"You belong to me."

The handwriting is always the same, neat and precise, almost elegant. It's quite a stark contrast to the disturbing messages they contain.

I've even changed my phone number twice, but the unknown calls keep coming. At first it was just heavy sighing, the occasional whisper of my name. Now they're more explicit, describing in detail the things my stalker wants to do to me. I've stopped answering the phone altogether and have every call sent to voicemail. But even then, there are messages waiting for me, constantly reminding me that I'm never really alone.

My friends and family worry about me. They see how it marks me, the dark circles under my eyes, how I jump at the slightest noise. I've tried to explain to them what's going on, but most of them don't understand.

"It's all in your head, you're just stressed."

I started keeping a journal, recording every encounter, every note, every phone call. The date and the exact time down to the second. It's a way to keep myself grounded, to remind myself that it's real, that I'm not just making it up. Sometimes I read back through the records in the hope of finding some clue, some pattern I've missed. But it's always the same, a relentless, inescapable nightmare.

One night I was awakened by someone tapping on my bedroom window. My apartment is on the third floor, and there's no fire escape outside or any other way to get upstairs. The logical part of my brain told me it was just the wind or maybe a branch from a tree outside. But deep down, I knew it was him. I remained completely still, barely daring to breathe until the pounding finally stopped and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

I had installed security cameras around my apartment, but they provided little comfort. I spend hours reviewing the footage, looking for any sign of my it. Sometimes I think I see something - a shadow moving in the background, a figure standing just out of frame. But it's always too blurry, too indistinct for me to be sure.

I even tried staying with friends, hoping that being around other people would make me feel safer. But the feeling of being watched never goes away. One night when I was at my best friend's house, I found a note slipped under the door.

"You can't escape me."

As the days turn into weeks, I feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into despair. I'm constantly on the edge of my seat, my nerves stretched to the breaking point. I've begun to have panic attacks, my chest tightens, and my breathing comes in short intervals. The anxiety is always there, a dark cloud hanging over me, suffocating me.

I had a dream last night - or maybe it was a nightmare. I was walking home from the café on my usual route, but everything was different. The streets were empty, the buildings dark and all-around unbearable silence. The shadows seemed to reach out and twist and touch me. I could feel eyes on me, hundreds of them, watching and waiting. I tried to run, but my feet felt like they were moving in molasses, slow and heavy. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't run.

I woke up drenched in sweat, my heart racing. It took me a moment to realize where I was before I convinced myself it was just a dream.

I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I'm physically and mentally exhausted. The constant dread,, the sleepless nights, the endless feeling of being watched - it's all too much. I feel like I'm losing my mind, on the verge of a breakdown.

I was thinking of moving somewhere far away and starting somewhere else. But deep down I know it wouldn't make any difference. My stalker would find me no matter where I went. He's always there, always watching me, always waiting.

Sometimes I wonder who he is, why he's doing this to me. Is it someone I know? A stranger? What did I do to deserve this? But I know that even if I knew the answers, it wouldn't change anything. The fear would still be there, that constant sense of dread, the feeling that I'm never truly safe.

Writing this text is my only comfort, my only way to keep from collapsing. It's a way to make sense of the madness, to remind myself that it's real, that I'm not just making it up. I don't know if anyone will believe me, but I need to document my fall into this hell, this senseless horror.

If you are reading this, please believe me. I'm not crazy. I'm not making anything up. It's real and it's happening to me. I don't know how much longer I can take it. Fear is consuming me and eating away at my sanity. I need help, but I don't know where to turn.

Please help me.

I can barely remember what life was like before we found the game that June night. We were 6 high school kids bored out of our minds, trying our best to fill the void. Most of us had part-time summer jobs but we were hesitant to spend money on anything. We all hoped to save for college.  

After what felt like hours going back and forth on deciding what to do for the day we took a walk around our suburban neighborhood. 

It was the end of a yard sale day and most people were packing up and heading inside, a few people still remained outside eager to sell. We didn't really have the intention to buy anything but I still combed through the last pieces of used crap people set out. I always think I'm going to find some kind of amazing treasure but always end up questioning my purchases hours later. 

I found myself digging through a shoebox full of old board games. I thought I might be able to find a new game for all of us to play. I also figured since it was the end of the day I might get it for super cheap. At first, I only saw games that looked in too bad of shape to even buy. That or it was a game I knew my friends wouldn't want to play. I've always been a board game fan, but not so much my friends. I had to beg them for months to play DnD with me and they were only willing to play it for my birthday. I'm always trying to find new games that might interest them. 

I was ready to give up, but then I saw a game at the bottom that I'd never heard of. ‘Tasks with friends’ with the tagline ‘The game you and your friends will never want to put down!’ The box looked colorful and pretty worn out, but not so bad that we couldn't play with it. It just looked well-loved. I tried to open it up, but the sides were taped down. I mean, It makes sense. You don't want all the pieces to come flying out after all. 

I didn't see a price tag or sign for the price so I found the owner and asked her. 

“Excuse me, how much are you charging for the game?” I said eagerly to the woman while admiring the bright-colored box that lacked any company branding or trademarking. 

“Oh, that old thing? I don't know, do you have a dollar on you?” The woman said as she put the yard sale leftovers into one big box. 

As she told me the price I perked up and started to dig through my purse. She either got annoyed with me taking too long or just wanted to be nice and told me "to just take it." She immediately started to back up her box again.

“So, uh…Is the game any fun?” I said to her awkwardly. 

“I actually never played it. My friend Jen gave it to me a few years back because her kids got obsessed over it or something so she just wanted to get rid of it. She thought my family would enjoy it, but we just never got around to playing it.” She said with her back facing me. I kindly Thanked her and called for my friends to come over to see what I got. 

As I called for them, I could see their curiosity over what I found. That excitement was quickly lost when they saw I had a board game in my hands. They rolled their eyes knowing that I would try and get them to play it with me. 

“Kate, you know we don't do the board game thing,” Aaron said to me annoyed.

“Come on guys! You've all been going on and on all day about how bored you are. At least try. This game looks really fun. I actually haven't played this one before so we can all learn together!” I said as I saw their faces start to grow curious again.

James came up to me and gestured at the box in my hand. I gave it over to him, hoping that he would be convinced to play after looking at it. I knew if he was down to play everyone else would be too. 

As he held the box, I could see the expression on his face change from doubt to excitement. 

“Damn, this game looks like fun! Let's go play.” He said with a giddy tone I'd never heard him use. 

He started to jog in the direction of his house with me close behind and the rest of our friends slowly walking behind me, looking confused as to why James was so excited to play a board game when he was normally the person most against them. 

We all made It back to James’ house. We walked in and were greeted by his mom confused as to what made her emotionless son so excited. As we stood in the entryway not sure what to say, we heard him calling us from the basement.

We ran down the steps to see the game fully set up on the floor and ready to play. He was sitting on a pillow reading the instructions with intense concentration. 

“James, are we actually playing this game?” Brie whined 

“Yes, we are. I promise If you just sit down and start to play you will have fun. I had a chance to learn the rules while you guys got here. James insisted as he shuffled a pile of cards one last time. 

After a few minutes of back and forth, everyone was sitting down and ready to play. James explained the rules of the game directly from the intrusion manual:

“Each player starts with their token at the start of the board. Players will take turns drawing a card from the top of the deck. Each card will have a task. If that task is completed, you may move the number of spaces that are specified on the card. Once you see the card, It will say ‘secret’ or ‘public’ at the top. If it's a ‘secret’ card do not read it out loud. This task must be completed without anyone noticing or questioning the action on the card. For example: hold someone's hand, sing a song, insult someone, etc. Just complete the task without anyone calling you out. If a player does something you believe to be a ‘secret’ task, say out loud ‘deceiver’ if the player was caught, they will show their card and fail their task. Do not move any pieces. If the person who calls out ‘deceiver’ wrongly accuses the player, then they must move back one space. The accused player will keep that card and continue to try and complete the task. Once you have successfully completed a ‘secret’ task, you may announce ‘task complete’ and move your token forward as many spaces as specified on your task card. If you pull a ‘public’ card, you must read it out loud. These cards will include things like saying the alphabet backwards, don’t say ‘um’ or ‘uh’ until your next turn, singing a karaoke song, playing dead for one minute, etc. Some cards have time limits and specific instructions. Every card will clearly state the task. The player who gets their token to the end of the board wins. The game will start with the player who lied last drawing a card. Take turns drawing one card at a time with the person to your right going next. Have fun!”

James folded the paper instructions up and sat them by his side. Asking if anyone had questions. No one said anything. It seemed like they all understood the game fine. Or maybe they just didn't care yet. 

“Alright, let's get the game started.” James proclaimed but was met with blank stares. “Come on guys, I just read the rules, you should know how the game starts, we have to start with who lied last.” Everyone remained silent. No one wanted to say their last lie.

“This is so dumb. I guess I’ll go. I told my mom that Henry wasn't hanging out with us when I left the house. There. I'll go first.” Brie blurted out as she leaned forward to grab a card. As she looked at it she rolled her eyes. “This is so dumb. Why are we playing this game?” 

“Come on Brie, It can't be that bad. Can you read it out loud?” Henry said sensing that the card was embarrassing.

“Ugh, public card: pretend to be a cow for 3 minutes.” She threw the card down and looked at Henry who was to her right. Expecting her turn to just be over and not wanting to even try. The rest of the group started to laugh and encourage her. Chanting her name and begging her to do it. After about a minute, she gave in and got down on her hands and knees. When she first started, she was annoyed. Staring daggers at Henry. As her time ran down, I could see in her face her feelings towards the game change. When the timer went off, she didn't stop for a few seconds. She kept going because she was laughing so hard. 

“That was so fun! Someone move my token up one space. Henry, it's your turn now!” Brie said with a giggle and a newfound excitement. Henry looked at her in disbelief. He was so used to her cold exterior but liked that this game made it melt away. 

Henry picked up his card. He motioned zipping his lips shut and shook his head. Me, Brie, and James all squealed in excitement with the rest of the group looking lost. Not understanding what they missed that got us so excited. 

Since Henry had a secret card, It was AJ’s turn. She was chuckling along but clearly just doing it because she didn't want to look dumb for asking us what was so funny. She pulled her card and read it out loud. 

“Um, It's a public card.” She said with a dry tone trying to gauge the room and observe everyone else as they celebrated her public card. “It says I have to do jumping jacks until my next turn.” As she stood up everyone in the room cheered her on except for Aaron. As she got to her feet she paused and looked over at Aaron. I can imagine he felt like the only sane person in the room and wasn't sure what was going on. After a second of hesitation, she started her jumping jacks. Aaron looked around at us eyeing him down desperately waiting for him to read his card. 

By the time he finally picked up his card, AJ had started to laugh while doing her jumping jacks.

“Sorry, It's a secret card.” Aaron said nervously as everyone wiggled with happiness.

“Well, Looks like It's my turn-” I said as I leaned forward but was cut off by Henry quickly standing to his feet and lunging towards AJ. Tackling her to the ground interrupting her jumping jacks and making a loud thump as they hit the ground. 

“Henry, what the hell are you doing? What's wrong with you?” Aaron yelled in a serious tone that turned into him trying not to laugh by the end of the sentence. 

“I'm calling a deceiver on that tackle Henry.” Brie stated with a laugh 

“Okay, okay you got me.” Henry said while still laying on AJ from his tackle. They both smiled over the event even though it clearly hurt when they hit the floor. “But you have to admit, that one was tricky. “ 

I tried to start my turn again but was interrupted by Aaron.

“Ha! Task completed. I yelled at Henry and didn't get caught. I get to move 2 spaces.” He said as he smugly moved his token 2 spaces on the game board.

We kept playing the game for hours. We finished the first game and everyone wanted to play again. And again. And again. I looked around at them in disbelief. It felt impossible that all my friends were enjoying a board game. It was a dream come true. After years of begging. Finally. Normally at hangouts like this by 10 pm Brie and Henry would wander off to make out in some closet, AJ goes home to sleep, and Aaron, James, and I are left to awkwardly try and find something to do with just the three of us. It got to be 2:00 am and we were either exhausted or our parents calling us telling us to come home or we would be in serious trouble. 

We all went back to our houses but all had a hard time going to sleep. We stayed up until 5 am for some of us, just talking about the game over text. Strategies, when we could play again, funny things that happened that night. We couldn’t get enough. 

The games we played started out pretty simple. No tasks got too wild and while we really loved to play, it wasn’t like it was taking over our whole lives. Not yet at least. 

Because we played the game at James’ house the first time, we ended up just keeping it there. Even though the game was technically mine, we always hung out at his place so it just made sense. It was around 10 am the next day when our group chat started to blow up with everyone asking when we could get together that day. Now, because it was summertime and we were all teenagers, we either had work in the mornings or most of us slept until noon. But not me. I was always up early waiting for my friends to get up so I had something to do. Or trying to make some money as a dog walker. That being said, I was shocked when I saw that everyone was up and everyone claimed to not have work. James didn’t have a job at that point so of course he was free but everyone else was too. That did not happen often. 

We all met up at James' place at around 11 am that same day. Everyone eager to play. We must've played 10 games that day. The games consisted of us doing accents, being banned from saying certain words, backflips, and so on. Nothing too weird. We realized after a few games that we never got a repeating card. Not one time. This was strange because there were probably 200 cards in the deck, but even with us playing a dozen games, every card was new. 

I knew I had a couple of dogs to walk that evening but texted the owners to cancel. No way was I going to leave while all my friends were enjoying a board game this much. I knew AJ said something about her having a shift at 4 pm, but when the time got close she went to the other side of the room and called out of work. She didn't even mention it to us or talk about it. She just stood up, walked to the corner, talked to her manager, and came back. No one thought anything of it. 

After a few minutes, she loudly proclaimed “Task completed!” moving her token up 3 spaces. We looked around confused at what task she had and the card said ‘Call out sick to work.’ We were surprised by this card, to say the least. It was the first time a card had to do with something outside of the players. 

Everyone else in the group canceled any plans they had for the rest of the day. Although AJ was the only person who completed a task for it. 

It was around 11 pm which made it a full 12 hours of the game. Brie pointed out that we forgot to eat any food all day. After thinking about it, I realized that I hardly drank any water, and went to the bathroom like one time all day. 

Things started to get out of hand that night. AJ pulled a card that said to go into a closet with the player to her left and kiss them for 5 minutes. Of course, that player was Henry.  Brie was not happy but she knew how serious everyone was about the game. She told him she wasn't okay with it but he insisted that it was just a game and it wouldn't mean anything. It was worth 4 points for both people who would go into the closet. 

AJ and Henry stood up and went to find a suitable space, all while Brie freaked out and said she would end things with Henry if he went through with it. It was never completely clear what Henry and Brie were. They don't like to use ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ but everyone knew they were a thing. 

Aaron tried to call it off. Saying this wouldn't be worth it and to just stop, but it was like they didn't even hesitate. Brie sat on the carpet and started to cry as the timer on her phone counted down an agonizing 5 minutes. 

I thought I would either hear kissing or nothing at all but instead, I heard talking. It started as soft whispers, then crying and yelling. They stayed in for about 2 minutes then came tumbling out. 

“That's it Henry I can't believe you would do that for a game! We are over.” Brie said with a red wet face. 

Henry came and silently sat down with AJ. AJ was now beet red as well. Despite three of my friends just going through something I couldn't wrap my head around, they all looked at James calmly and nodded for him to pull his card. No one had moved any tokens forward so it was clear they failed their task of kissing in the closet. 

James hesitantly leaned in for a card and read it to himself as we were bombarded by Brie, AJ, and Henry all saying, 

“Task completed!” and then shot confused faces at each other. They all threw down their cards and moved their tokens forward. Brie’s card said ‘break up with Henry’ Henry's card said ‘Make AJ cry’ and AJ’s card said ‘Tell Henry you love him’ All those cards were worth way more than the stupid kissing card, so the kissing task was ignored and they all individually completed their our tasks without ever communicating it with each other. They all saw opportunities to complete a task worth more points and they took it. After this moment, It was like nothing even happened. The girls stopped crying and started laughing and saying how impressive the completion of the tasks were. 

“Wait guys, something is wrong here. Do you not see it?” Aaron said with concern trying to take a break from the game. 

“Oh, stop. You are just jealous you didn't get to move 6 spaces.” Brie said with arrogance

“No, I'm not talking about that. Does no one find It weird that the cards are using our names now? Not only that, but the cards are somehow interacting with other cards to almost try and make bad things happen?” James blurted. 

As he said that, It was like we all froze in our spots. All looking at each other, realizing how hungry and tired we were. Looking around at the room seeing how big of a mess we made. Brie grabbing Henry’s hand with a look of sadness and coming to grips with how they hurt each other for a game. 

I looked down at my arm and was reminded of the crud things I had drawn on my arm with Sharpies in order to move one space in an earlier game. I saw Aaron’s jeans that were now cut into shorts with some kid's scissors. I looked at James’ legs and saw his one shaved leg lying crossed over the untouched hairy one. I looked at AJ and saw she had a huge purple bruise on her arm. At that moment I remembered feeling like an addict trying to get off drugs. I knew this game was hurting us. I wanted to stop but felt like I couldn't. I could see the same feeling in all my friends' eyes too. The urge to say ‘one more game’ just one more time. Just to feel the high of this dumb game again. 

“I…I…think we need to take a break from this game, guys. It's getting kinda weird and out of hand.” I murmured with the strength that I somehow mustered up. 

It was like telling an alcoholic you were taking away their beer. They all looked horrified at the idea of not playing the game for even a moment. Just then, James’ mom came downstairs and was horrified at what she was looking at. 6 disheveled teenagers all sitting in a circle looking like they had all just been through a war. Not only that, but her whole basement was a mess.  

“James, what the hell happened to your leg? Are you all playing that dumb game again? I can't believe this. Everyone out of my house. James, you are grounded!” His mom shouted with rage in her voice. 

We all ran out of his house not saying a word to each other. Just trying to get home and get some food. 

As I sat in my kitchen with my long-sleeved sweatshirt covering my now inked-up arm, I tried to eat a sandwich I made myself. I was starving. I could feel and hear my stomach growling, but my need to play the game was so much stronger. So strong I didn't even want to eat. 

I sat at my dining room table staring at that sandwich for what felt like an eternity. Telling myself that I needed to eat and I'd feel better if I did, but somehow the thought of the game was taking up all my energy. 

I was holding back the urge to text my friends. It took every ounce of self-control I had left. 

I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and I involuntarily grabbed my phone so fast it was in my hand before I could even think about it. 

It was James in our group chat.

“Hey guys, so do you think that was a long enough break? I think I can find where my mom put the game and bring it to that old treehouse back behind Mr. Baker's house.” 

I couldn't hold back anymore. I had to play again. Before I knew it I was sneaking out of my house trying to remember where the old treehouse was. 

As I ran through the neighborhood my phone lit up with texts from my friends saying they were on their way. 

After running around for a while, I found the tree house. I couldn't believe I had such a hard time finding it considering how much time a few of us used to spend in it during middle school. 

I could hear all their voices sounding annoyed as I was the last one to get there. I climbed up the old wooden ladder to find all my friends sitting in a perfect circle, barely able to see the board or each other.

It was around this time something strange happened within the game. It wasn't about winning the game necessarily, it was about playing as many games as possible and completing as many tasks as we could. If anyone won a game or finished a task, everyone felt a high, not just the winner. Because of this, players stopped calling each other out for trying to complete secret tasks, so people stopped being so secretive to complete secret tasks. They still kept them a secret because it was a rule of the game, just no one called them out. This made us all more ruthless.   

I sat down on the hardwood in between Brie and James. Our next game began. 

AJ drew a card first and it was a secret card. She didn't seem giddy. She looked flush and scared. In fact, It felt like the mood had shifted with everyone. We weren't laughing our butts off anymore. We were terrified to stop playing. It was something in our guts that made us have to play. Like a virus growing in us, desperately trying to get out. 

Next, Aaron drew a card and read it out loud. “Hold your breath for 5 minutes'  he whispered with confusion. “How am I supposed to do that?” He said, trying to not get worried. 

It's not that the card was all that bad. It's that he knew he would stop at nothing to make it happen. He told us to keep playing the game while he did it and got a timer up on his phone. He took a few deep breaths then held his nose shut and became extremely focused. Not making eye contact with anyone. 

Next, it was James’ turn. He had a secret card and didn't show much emotion towards it. 

Next Brie nervously took a card and yet again, It was a secret card. In fact, we all drew a secret card until it was Aaron's turn again. It had been about 45 seconds and he was really focusing and we didn't want to make him draw a card while trying to finish his task.

As we sat and watched our friend become more and more red from holding his breath, we found ourselves in complete silence. Other than the wind weaving its way through the trees outside and the soft sound of crickets in the distance, we all just stared at each other. Terrified of what was on those secret cards. I knew I had to use every little bit of self-control I had left in my body to not try and complete the task on my card. I was betting that's why everyone was being so quiet. They all had tasks that they didn't want to do but felt the uncontrollable urge to do it. 

My card said that I needed to remove one of James’ fingers by any means necessary. It was worth 10 points. I couldn't believe I wanted to complete it so badly, but I was frozen figuring out how to do it.

As I stared at him, I noticed he was looking over at Brie. I figured that his card had something to do with her. It seemed like everyone was fixated on someone else. 

I glanced down at the timer Aaron had and I was amazed to see he had been holding his breath for almost two minutes. Just as I was about to comment on it, chaos broke loose. Everyone jumping on to someone else. Making it one big pile of people viciously grabbing each other. 

I didn't read their cards myself, but it was clear by their actions what their tasks were.

Of course, as you know, I was going for James’ fingers, but James’ was ripping at Brie's ear, Brie was pulling Henry’s hair out, Henry was tearing at AJ’s neck, and AJ was trying to open my mouth to get my tongue. For a solid 30 seconds, we were all attaching each other when Aaron passed out from holding his breath. This seemed to snap us out of our trance for a bit. 

We ran over to our friend and checked his pulse. After we realized he was still breathing we got lost in the game again and all jumped on each other to keep brutalizing one another. Just as I got my teeth around James’ pinky finger, we saw a bright flashlight coming through the cracks in the tree house and froze. A police officer popped his head through the bottom entrance to the tree house and looked at us in horror. He saw Aaron out cold in the corner alone with the rest of us in a pile of blood and ripped-out hair. The officer grabbed us one by one and practically threw us to the ground where another officer put us each in handcuffs. 

We had hours and hours of questioning that night but we were all released by sunrise. No one was badly injured. Just a lot of cuts, bruises, and a few patches of hair missing. Even Aaron was okay. Honestly, Aaron made it out in the best shape. 

We all got grounded for the rest of the summer. All the parents agreed that we needed to stop spending time together because they insisted on us having some beef between us all. 

None of us mentioned the board game was at the treehouse that night because we didn't want them to take it away from us. We knew we had to play it again. However, they caught on to it and banned us from ever playing it again. 

We spent the next 3 weeks of summer miserable. Each one of us tried to fill the hunger to play the game by playing other board games or attempting to remake it but it wasn't the same. 

It was the night before school started and I got a message from James through Skype. Our parents banned us from talking to each other but it seemed my parents and James’ parents forgot about Skype. He told me I had to come over right now. I managed to hop out my window and ran for James’ house. 

I got to his house in what felt like record time and jumped down the fire escape to the basement. 

There I saw the rest of my friends all sitting by the fireplace weeping. 

As I got closer I saw they were covered in ash. I saw tiny little bits of what was left of the game lying out on the ground. 

“She burned it…My mom burned it.” James said in between tears. 

Everyone was desperately trying to find any pieces that were left of our precious game. Some of them rubbed the ashes of the game on their faces and arms to try and feel something again. As I watched them I saw something in the corner of my eye. I looked over to our normal hang-out area and saw it. I saw the board game sitting out. Not just the box, but the whole game was out and ready to play. 

“Umm…are you sure that your mom burnt it, James?” I said as my eyes got glazed over looking at the beautiful board game sitting out for us to enjoy. 

“Yes, I'm sure. She did it right in front of me so I'd stop looking for it.” Just as James finished his sentence he looked at me and then at my eyeline. He saw the game.

The next week of our lives was a whirlwind. After James’ mom burned the game and it reappeared, we all ran away with the game. We stole a car from AJ’s mom after we got a task card for it and left town. We would play the game in the car, in random fast-food restaurants, and sometimes in parks. It's all we did all day. We would fall asleep playing the game and only manage to eat maybe a bag of chips or something small during the day. We kept moving because we didn't want to be found. 

In that week we all managed to lose our jobs and all missed the first week of our senior year of high school. All because we were addicted to a board game. 

I still remember the last game we ever played. It was a late Sunday night, we were actually in our town sitting in an old barn near the tree house we sat in before. All because the board game told us to. Up to that point, we were hanging out far away from home. We didn't want to be so close. We knew we could be found easily by our families and the authorities if we were too close but we had no choice. We were slaves to the game. 

At this point, we were in bad shape. With every new game started we broke down a little bit more. We surrounded the board with tired eyes and growling stomachs. Missing teeth and bruised bodies. Concussed heads and broken toes.

“Please, we have to stop. I can't do it anymore. I want to go home.” Brie said as we were about to start our next game. 

“I can't imagine not playing this game. It's all I ever want to do. I think I might die if I couldn't play it. I know the game hurts us, but it would hurt so much more if we stopped playing it.” Henry said with a gravelly voice. 

“Guys, why are we talking? We have to play again.” Aaron said while trying not to cough. 

“I know we have to. I've never hated something and loved something so much in my whole life.” Brie remarked. 

We started the game with shaky hands. Moving slowly and holding our breath whenever someone looked at their card. AJ went first. She reached down and picked a card. Cringing to herself after reading it in her head.

Next was Brie. She rolled her eyes and she read off the words. 

“Public card: Water board the player to your right for 5 minutes. Both players move 8 spaces.” Brie timidly said as she glanced at James sitting next to her. 

I can't say we really knew how to waterboard someone, but we laid him on his back with his legs elevated and dripped water over him. We let him take a card for his turn before Brie started the waterboarding so we didn't have to wait for 5 minutes for them to be done. His card was a secret card. 

We continued the game with the awful background sounds of gagging and choking.

Next, it was Aaron's turn. He read his card and winced. He closed his eyes tight and opened them again. As if he was hoping he was in a dream. As he opened his eyes he slowly looked at all of us. Making eye contact with each one of us. Just then, James was done being waterboarded and he and Brie came to join us. I was so glad they were done. Not just because I was sick of the sounds, but because it meant they got to move 8 spaces.

Aaron stood to his feet slowly. I prepared myself because I figured he was about to hurt us. In an instant, he ran out of the barn and into our stolen car. We all looked around confused as to where we went but kept playing the game as he drove off.

Next, it was my turn. “Public card: jump off the roof of the barn. 9 points.” I said out loud nervously. 

Henry and AJ jumped up and started to walk outside. Not even questioning if I would do it or not. They weren't wrong in the assumption. Before I could even think I was on my feet trying to find a way up to the roof. I found my way to the top of the 10-foot-tall building. I took a deep breath and leaped off and was met with a hard thump as I hit the ground. I felt a gut-wrenching pain in my right ankle as I landed. I knew I broke it. I had no doubt in my mind. I was thrashing in pain grabbing my ankle as my friends dragged me back into the barn. We knew we had to keep playing. 

Next, Henry took a card. He picked it from the pile with his eyes closed and brought it to his face while peaking just enough to see the words on the card, then closed his eyes again trying to pretend he never read the words in the first place.

Next AJ took a card. Even though it was a secret card, I knew it was about me. She glanced down at my ankle right after her eyes left the card. Just as James was reaching for his card, we saw Aaron walk back into the barn. 

We all sat in shock as his silhouette became clear and vivid in the doorway. Blood trickled down his arms and hands, dripping on the dirt as we all stared at each other. His eyes were blank at first but then turned to pain. We watched him as he walked from the doorway to the game board, blood dripping on the game as he moved his token 30 spaces. 

“Aaron…what have you done? 30 spaces?” AJ muttered in fear. 

“James, I…I’m so sorry I had to.” Aaron whimpered as sat in the dirt with his secret task card crinkled in his bloodied fist. 

“Tell me what you did right now! What the hell does your card say? Show us!” James yelled as he stood to his feet. 

Just as James was about to jump onto Aaron, Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out some matches we used to start small campfires while we had been on the run. We all stood still waiting to see what he was about to do as he lit 3 matches and threw them into the nearby hay bales, igniting the whole inside of the barn. Without hesitation, AJ saw the opportunity and stomped on my ankle as hard as she could. If it wasn't broken before, it sure was now. I looked down at it to see it now bent sideways. She then stomped on my other ankle. Not breaking it but making it so I couldn't walk. She moved her token 12 spaces. Even Though I was in agony from the pain, I still felt such an intense high from her moving so many spaces.   

Aaron dropped his card in the midst of everything happening. James fell to his feet to see the card and started to weep as he read it out loud.

“Secret card: Kill James’ mom. Move 30 spaces.” He said with anger bubbling up. “I can't believe you would do that for a dumb game. How…how could you do this to me?”

“I couldn't control myself! Come on you know what I mean, I couldn't control myself. Don't do anything you will regret!” Aaron said cautiously.

“Oh, I think it's a little too late for not doing things we regret.” James said as he jumped onto Aaron, choking him with all his strength. It seemed at that moment he was able to break free from the control of the game. He wasn't feeling the high of someone else completing a task. He just felt hate. Red hot hate.

I was overwhelmed, to say the least. The barn was in flames, James was trying to kill Aaron, and to make matters worse, AJ out of nowhere jumped up and dug a pocket knife into Brie's stomach. Now Brie and AJ were in a fighting match too.

Henry and I sat across from each other in disbelief at our surroundings. He looked at me with death in his eyes as he reached for a card. It wasn't even his turn but I don't think he cared anymore. He knew the others would be occupied for a while. 

The fire was getting bad. I knew I had to get out of that barn as soon as I could. Because of the damage done to my ankles, I couldn't walk so I dragged my body out of the barn. Taking the game with me. I made it a few feet and looked back to see Henry not moving. He set his card down on the board before I started to drag it with me and I read it as I continued to crawl ‘Secret card: let the fire overtake you. Move your token to the finish line and win the game.’

I was able to get out of the barn with the board game in hand. I sat and watched as the flames overtook Henry. He didn't even flinch when he caught on fire. As I saw it happen I moved his token to the end space so he could win the game. I felt an intense high overtake my body as the game was complete.

Only a few moments after Henry caught fire, the whole barn came down. With all my friends in it. I looked at the burning barn and then back down at the game. I'm ashamed to say that my biggest worry was not knowing who I'd play with now. I hate myself for thinking that, but that's how all the game is. 

I tried to start a new game by myself and drew a card but that's when I saw the sirens of police cars and fire trucks pull up next to me. 

I was immediately surrounded by people trying to give me medical attention, taking me away from my game. I scratched and threw my body around like a toddler not getting their way. I remember them giving me some kind of sedative and waking up in the hospital. I was the only person to make it out alive that night. All I could say to the doctors and my parents was that I needed the game. That I had to play the game. It was the only meaning to life. It was the only reason I had to live. 

My parents got me a great lawyer and I got out of everything by pleading insanity. Our families all knew the right people and had the right money to ensure the word never got out about the deaths. They even managed to make the death of James’ mom disappear.

When they told me my friends were all dead I didn't have much of a reaction. I just kept asking where the game was. When they eventually told me the game was gone and never coming back, that's when I lost it. They had to put me into restraints because I kept hurting the hospital staff from my meltdowns. I started to threaten the staff and told them all the horrible things that would happen to them if they didn't get that game back to me. 

I eventually ended up in a psychiatric hospital. I yelled and screamed so much that I never had my voice. I hardly ever slept because all I thought about was the game and how I craved to play it again. My skin was red and torn up from my insistent picking due to the withdrawals. 

After months, I felt numb. Maybe from all the drugs they pumped me up with or perhaps I was so used to the withdrawals I didn't feel it as much. It still felt like I had an uncontrollable urge inside my bones, but I was able to hide it. They then sent me home after a while. I knew I had to mask my emotions for the game. Pretend I didn't care anymore. Even if it killed me inside to say it out loud. 

I walked into my bedroom and I felt like I was being treated like a baby. My old bed frame was gone and it was just the mattress on the floor. All my sharp shelves were taken down, along with anything else I could possibly hurt myself with. I rolled my eyes but knew my parents had to make these changes for me to even come home. 

I sat on my bed and I looked around at my room. Now with a doorknob that locked from the outside to keep me in, as well as bars on my windows. 

I searched my room desperately to find something to take up my mind. That's when I dug through my closet and I saw it. I saw that beautiful colorful box that I came to know so well, just hiding in the back of my closet waiting to be found. I knew It came back the first time it was destroyed, but it was feeling like it was a one-time thing. But here it was. Patiently waiting for me to come and play it. I ripped open the box, giving myself a papercut in the process, and started to play the game by myself. 

With all that being said, I can finally say ‘task completed’ and share what my first card said in that solo game. 

‘Secret card: Spread the word about this game online so more people can join us. Move 20 spaces.'

So what do ya say? Care to come join me for a game? 

First Part: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1dp0rnv/the_death_collector_part_1/
Prior Part: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1e3j6b8/the_death_collector_part_4/

Edit-- I can't fix the title but this is actually part 5, sorry for any confusion!

It's been busy with work but otherwise quiet since I last posted, so I thought it was a good time to share another secret with you all. Since people have been leaving more name suggestions I figured I can start going through them in order for a while, I take each ask as a sign that it's their turn to have their story shared.

With that in mind, I'd like to introduce you all to Kim.

It was mid spring when her oldest child Karen reached out to me, and unfortunately the woman lived up to her name. Had something to add about every question on the paperwork, every word I spoke to her, and every red cent that went into the job. Sitting in the room with her was only made somewhat bearable by the fact that anytime she mentioned something more personal about her mother she would need a second to compose herself, and it reminded me that maybe the way she was acting was due to stress or at least that the loss was making her more irritable with someone associated with it. Since she seemed to genuinely miss and care for her mother I was curious about what they wanted me to do, and when I was told that she owned a second property out by a well-known lake in the area, I have to admit I was surprised. By this point in the job I had dealt with whole houses, single rooms, sheds, garages, all sorts of configurations of private spaces. But never an entire secondary house. That kind of money wasn't exactly easy to find where I'm from. I think she could tell that this surprised me and she seemed smug when she told me that their mother's house was going to be a "pretty massive undertaking" in itself without the "quaint lake house" to worry about too. I let it go though. She could be smug about her money all she wanted as long as I got my share of it, just meant I could be confident about my pay.

As I continued to speak to the family about the job in terms of what they wanted, the location, and how to get to the place in the first place, I quickly learned about the deceased's interesting quirk with family names. In order, the children I spoke to were Karen, Kyle and Kylie (twins I believe), Kevin, and Kayla. I think the husband was even named Karl, and yes, it was specified that it was with a K by a bemused Kayla after she realized I'd picked up on it. Kayla was the one that ended up getting "saddled with me" the most often, including taking me for an initial drive to scope out the property, and she was certainly the most sociable of the lot. She had a sense of humor for one thing and took a lot of pleasure in listing their pets and the K names the poor things were saddled with, such as Kujo. Yes, also with a K. By this point I probably had some expression of growing confusion on my face because Kayla was laughing pretty hard.

When I finally had everything in place to go up there on my own, something that had taken longer than usual due to Karen wanting to make multiple revisions, I was eager to explore. Especially because of one of the details Kayla had slipped to me during the first walk through.

This place doubled as an AirBnB spot along with being a winter getaway for the family.

Of course, I still needed to do my job by the usual rules. Since they had stayed in the cottage only a few months prior there was a few garbage cans to be dealt with, including sorting out the recyclables as I usually did, and some mild cleaning up to do that could be expected with somewhere that had experienced the day to day of someone's routine. I found a few things during this that seemed like potential sentimental items or things left behind by someone who had stayed over the summer and were set aside--a pacifier with a butterfly pattern for the "button", a Chiefs jersey that I remembered being told was their parents' favorite team, a small vanity plate that you can find at souvenir shops, a rainbow dinosaur pop-it, and a pair of dangling skull earrings that had each member in different rooms of the house. I had already put together one of the folded up boxes from my bag at this point and they all went in there so I could go through them in one call.

Then I was ready to check out the little "ledger" by the door.

Kayla had mentioned during the visit that one of the kids usually took care of the technical aspects for the AirBnB, so Kim had set up a little ledger like a motel so she could get reviews and messages somewhere she could actually look through them easily. Apparently this was well liked by most of the guests so it had something from most visitors, but that the family didn't have any interest in it now that they planned to sell the cabin. I kept it to myself but I honestly thought it was a waste to get rid of such a nice place, even if it was out of the way. Regardless, I'd made a note of the ledger during my walkthrough and had prioritized it as my first item for the "search" portion.

I took it over to one of the recliners by the fireplace and started thumbing through it, starting with the older entries and focusing on any that seemed interesting.

8/10/15

Beautiful little cabin, perfect spot for me and my family to spend time together this summer. I appreciate how cozy everything was kept and how easy it was to find, and it was so kind to let us use the lake equipment. The boys loved trying tubing!

I'll be putting it on the app too of course but easily 5 stars for me!

There was a cute smiley face drawn next to the review and under it a few drawings that were presumably from the aforementioned "boys"--a doodle of two people in a tube being pulled by a boat and a drawing of a deer along with "thank you!" scribbled in two different colors of crayon. Very sweet, I imagine that Kim loved getting that. In fact most of the reviews were around 5 stars, with a small scattering of 4.5s and 4s among them.

8/5/16

A little disappointed there wasn't more around here, I kind of expected this to be near a campground or something. I guess that's more on me though for not doing research or asking questions. The lake was nice and my boyfriend and I enjoyed fishing and swimming near the house. The house was also cozy in terms of the aesthetic and stuff but I wish there were central air or something, on hot days we were just stuck in one of the two rooms with the ACs. At least when we were stuck inside we could watch the deer out the window, they seem really friendly. I guess 4 stars.

Wow...rude. You got to stay at someone's house, be grateful. It sounds like they still had a good time anyway so not sure why they were so picky. Other than it being one of the few 4 star reviews the thing that caught my eye on this one was that they attached a printed out picture to the page. It was of the view outside one of the windows with one of the deer fairly close to the cabin, a few others hanging back closer to the tree line like they had sent it to scout for them. A sharpie had circled this deer and a marking on its back that I otherwise might have missed, a scar or out of place patch of fur that looked like a star. Under it, the person had written in the same handwriting as the review "I called this one Orion, if no one else named him then please keep it!"

Really? You were nitpicky about their house and then asked them to pick your name for one of the local deer? Personally I would have gone with Polaris or something but not my business. It was a cool deer though, especially since there was an easy way to tell him apart. Out of curiosity I went back to the drawing under the first entry I looked at and, lo and behold, the little doodle of the deer had a star on it also that I hadn't registered the first time around. Most likely because kids tend to have "creative visions" for their drawings that may or may not match up with reality, such as the boat that was pulling the kids having rockets coming out of the back. Still, it was a fun coincidence, and showed that the deer had at least been around for a year at that point.

6/22/27

Hunting out here wasn't what I expected. These deer are weirdly smart for being so friendly. When we're in the cabin the damn things will almost come up to the windows, especially this one buck, but once we're actually out there with the guns it's like they vanished. Fishing was fine though and I appreciate the dock out there to fish off of. 4 stars but only 'cause I really wanted to take a buck home with me, might wanna add a note to the listing that it might not be a good fit for hunters.

Like the other listings that had caught my eye this one had an additional detail, in this case a detailed drawing of the buck he'd mentioned that looked nearly photographic in terms of quality. Whoever this hunter was certainly had more talents than just shooting and fishing. The buck in question had a few traits circled with notes on them from the hunter, the picture itself labelled with "keep an eye out for this one".

The first of these traits was a the horns, which were drawn with unusually sharp prongs to them and labelled with "looked pretty gruesome, saw it sharpening them a few times on the tree closest to the back door". Next was the eyes, which it took until after I read the description to notice were unusual: "looked almost like goat eyes. I've seen a lot of deer and they ain't supposed to have sideways pupils like that". The legs were noted to be "pretty damn muscular for a deer" and that the hooves "had a weird amount of fur around the hoof". The last thing though was what stood out the most to me though, a band of scar that looked like a star and the note with it saying that it "looked kind of like a brand". In particular I was able to see more clearly that the orientation was wrong, with the point downward. A pentagram, not a star. Hell of a weird thing to have on a deer, especially branded. I mean, not that branding deer was normal to begin with.

I skimmed back to the review with the picture on it and held it closer to my face to inspect it more closely. Yeah, that was a pentagram alright. The drawing the kid had made was a star, but the picture corroborated the hunter's drawing. I also looked closer at the eyes but it was hard to tell if they were "goat eyes", but I can at least say with confidence that they were unsettling. The more I stared at it the more I felt like it was looking back at me.

I went back to the most recent entry I read and started skimming the reviews themselves a bit more, looking for the word "deer" and finding it pretty often. Some mentioning how nice it was to see it so close or how much the kids loved seeing it and others more weary or mentioning its behavior was unusual.

...deer stood in front of the car when we went to leave...

...the kids swore they almost got to touch the deer's nose it got so close to them...
I don't know what's wrong with it's eyes but I ended up shutting the windows...
It feels like the forest is empty unless I see it, that deer seems to be in charge as silly as that sounds...
...took one of my fish, I swear, I don't care if deer don't eat fish....
...found my youngest in a deer nest in the middle of the night, good thing it's so safe around here...

I became more and more concerned until there was a review that didn't just mention it, but was completely about it.

7/12/19

I don't know if you're aware, but you need to sell this cabin. Luckily I was here alone, but it is not safe for you or anyone else to stay here, especially little ones.

I noticed a deer with a pentagram scar, which was concerning enough, and then saw that people have been mentioning it for a long time. I'm not going to put the following on the app because I remember the nice young lady that I spoke with mentioned that her mother only reads the ledger here, and I need you, ma'am, to realize how serious this is.
Something is very wrong with the forest here. The deer is only the harbinger of the ill will hiding within the trees.
After seeing the deer the first night here I made my way into the woods to inspect the area more carefully, I was able to follow the signs of activity to a place deeper within and far from any trails. A place with signs of worship. I won't explain in detail what was there, but I can tell you that there was blood involved. There were signs of children, but disturbingly enough I can't tell if they were the cause or the source of the blood. I would normally say the latter based on instinct but I'm fairly certain I saw a figure watching me, and by the size my assumption is that it was a child itself.
Judging by the reviews I read it's becoming bolder, and I worry what will happen if you or anyone else continue to stay here. I finished out my own stay in order to make you a charm in the form of a windchime. Regardless of if you heed my warning, please, hang that above the stairs for the porch. It should help protect whoever is inside at the very least.
Please.

I turned the page but there was only two overall superficial reviews before the summer ended, one from a group of college kids who took the deer thing as some sort of ARG or something and the other an older couple who had been rented the lake house as an anniversary present from their kid. The later honestly was really sweet, with them talking about how glad they were that there was a ledger there so they could leave a review themselves. I closed the ledger and put it in a box I'd set up for myself before curiously peaking out at the front porch. It was another wrap around porch, something I was coming to like more and more in a house in terms of aesthetics, and attached to a beam above the stairs was in fact a windchime I had only barely registered on my way in. At the very least I had registered it was there, but beyond that didn't give it any mind.

Now that I was giving them my full attention, they were definitely not what I'd consider conventional.

The strings that the whole thing consisted of were separated by a large disk-like piece that, after quick inspection, looked to be obsidian or some other black stone with drilled holes in it for the strings. The strings themselves either held iron cylinders that made a high pretty ding when they struck each other or spread out around it into strands interwoven with white and purple stones. I recognized the purple as amethyst but the other was lost on me. At the end of each of these was something that looked like a blue-eyed eyeball with a purple border around it, and a particularly big one with more gems than the rest dangled from the middle by the longest string. I found out much later that these things were called "evil eyes", and the way they seemed to stare at me certainly felt malicious at the time. After looking around for a bit, sorting items as I went into the "keep", "call", and "donate" boxes I had ready, I eventually found a little two step footstool that I could use to take the thing down. Up close, as I was unhooking it carefully and wondering which box it belonged in, I realized that on the underside of the disk in an x pattern, seemingly helping to separate the strings, were two polished looking bones that I couldn't Identify and had been tied into the windchime with its own distinct blue string. I nearly dropped the thing in surprise but managed to catch the hook before any damage was done, the gems knocking against the iron in a flurry of noise that almost seemed to be scolding me.

I muttered an apology at it without thinking and set it on one of the tables until I could figure out what to do with the thing.

As I continued sorting, I made note that since they were selling the house that this was either going to be a long day or a two day job as the sun dipped lower and lower into the sky and the sky itself went from blue to orange. I didn't like the idea of coming back and I had the trailer I needed to bring the big items back with me so I turned the lights on in each room to keep me moving. It was a hell of a drive and I didn't want to make it if I didn't have to. A drive home at midnight with the job put behind me was a lot more appealing.

However, as the night finally fell and I was making another run through before figuring out how to get everything the truck, I heard a noise from the front porch. Curious, I went to the closest window to scope it out and my blood ran cold.

It was the deer.

I could see it pawing at the steps in the low light, almost testing its footing, and as it got onto the steps fully I saw those sharp and angled horns, an unnatural black that managed to still stand out against the dark landscape behind the thing. The pentagram on its flank looked more gnarled and raw than in any of the depictions, as if the scar had been continuously carved fresh, and recently. I could barely hear the fur around its hooves brushing against the wooden stairs like a broom as it got to the top on the stairs and looked up.

Right where the windchime had been.

Oh fuck, the windchime.

My eyes darted to where it sat on one of the tables, surrounded by all the other furniture I had either dragged in whole or taken apart to do so, but were drawn back at the firm steady knocking of hooves stepping across the porch towards the door. I could see its eyes now, dark with a distinct sideways pupil but fixed on the door for the moment. When relief washed over me I realized I'd been holding my breath, afraid of making contact with the beast.

Then it pawed at the door like a dog asking to be let in.

Shit.

I told myself it was fine, that the door was in good shape and I didn't plan on letting it in. It was just a deer. A weird fucking deer, but a deer nonetheless. Until it seemed to register I was there and looked right at me.

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I was trapped in that monster's gaze as it slowly reacted to my presence. Without breaking my gaze it slowly started to back up, much like I had seen other deer do when stumbling across a person, but before I could even consider being relieved by this it jerked its head to point its antlers at the door and lunged at it, slamming itself into the door antlers first. The sound made me jump and as I tried to assess the damage I heard a sound like someone popping bubble wrap and was drawn back to the deer.

The sound was its bones.

It was making unnatural jerking motions as it seemed to adjust its body to reinforce its neck and allow it to keep its head sideways, attacking the door with its antlers like a battering ram while still keeping its horrible gaze on me. I was able to stumble back and started making my way as far from the door as possible, pulling any furniture I could in front of me as I went, but before I could think of anything else the door was broken apart into cruel looking splinters that left a hole almost big enough for its whole torso. Its bones cracked again as it forced its head to a more "natural" angle and used its front hoof to almost nonchalantly break away any of the remaining door that it would have had to otherwise step over to come in. Once it was fully inside, the cracking started up again and I watched in abject horror as the thing reared back on its hind legs as its body jerked and forced itself into its desired shape. Bipedal. The whole time it never broke eye contact with me and seemed to relish the fear in my eyes. As I watched it walk towards me I started to shake, seeing it awkwardly use its front legs to shove and kick (punch?) furniture out of its way, and when it noticed it grinned at me. Fucking grinned. And it had teeth sharper than any wolf or bear I've ever seen.

As I helplessly tried to push myself against the wall to get further away, my hand scrambling for something, anything that I could defend myself with, it made contact with the table the windchime was on and inadvertently knocked it off and about a foot from where I stood.

It stopped.

Its eyes were finally off me and on the windchime, the grin on its face morphing into something like a snarl, and I took the opportunity to snatch it up and grip it like a shield in front of me, one hand grabbing onto an iron cylinder. As I stepped forward the thing stepped back, still focused on the windchime, and I wrenched the cylinder free to brandish it like a sword alongside the windchime. As it stepped back, I lunged forward myself with the adrenaline rush that only comes with feeling close to death and struck it somewhere near the ribs.

The sound it made I'd only heard once before, when I witnessed a hawk take off with a rabbit in its talons. It made the same horrible chilling scream as the talons dug into it.

The deer fell onto its back and scrambled, its bones snapping and popping as it tried to again adjust its body to get away, and I struck it again in the leg as it flailed dangerously close to me. It screamed again and the leg stopped making noise, seemingly stopping mid-transition as the rest of the creature resumed a form resembling a normal buck. It ran off frantically and the leg further contorted until the bone penetrated its skin as it forced itself to run as it normally would on that twisted limb. It was still screaming as I lost sight of it.

I dropped the cylinder and the windchime as I fell to my knees and threw up until tears were streaming down my face, dry heaving with nothing left to give. As I struggled to catch my breath I saw spots enter my visit and passed out right there.

When I came to it was barely dawn and only the hole and the vomit caked on my cheek proved that anything had even happened.

I shakily got to my feet, using my shirt to clean my cheek, and managed to get to my bag for my cleaning supplies. Robotically I cleaned the mess I'd made and, after considering the door, swept up the broken pieces and threw them off the porch towards the woods. Once I felt sure of my footing I immediately started dragging everything to the truck and its trailer, going one by one and feeling as if I was almost on auto pilot as I loaded up. After the last item I stood in front of the door awkwardly with the key, eyeing the fact that it was busted almost to my waist, slowly locked up despite this before staring at the woods. Blood barely stood out after the morning dew and my own work washed the portion near the door away, but it was there. And I knew that the deer was there too, watching me. Fuming about what I'd done.

I drove home and never looked back.

The family sold the house and I actually heard it was torn down. Rumors went around for a while why that was but I knew better. I'd heard about the kid that went missing a few months later, when the summer traffic started up again. The windchime is hung up on a decorative hanger I bought specifically to put it by the door, and its the only item I don't have specifically in the museum, for good reason. The ledger is though, and the windchime is still labelled "Kim" on the black disk.

Looking back, I think this was the closest I've come so far to being hurt on the job, unless you count some injuries related to lifting more than I could handle or just plain clumsiness. I still have nightmares every once in a while about that face grinning down at me when other things don't take its place. Don't worry though. More often than not I don't remember dreaming at all, and I have an occasional pleasant dream thrown in once in a blue moon.

I just have to make sure to keep the windchime in good shame and my dream catchers in order.

For the purpose of this story, and to keep anomality, the name is R. I’ve been working with a local hiking trail as a volunteer to guide folks around a set of trails that are some of the prettier sides of the south in the state of Georgia where I’ve grown up most of my life. I’m not really a nature person, and being outside in Georgia in the south during the summer is killer. If you aren’t prepared, heatstroke and bugs are notoriously awful during the summer. Almost every other billboard down here in the south either is a religious comment about not being condemned, don’t do drugs, and not leaving your child in a hot car by themselves for long periods of time.

In short, I wanted to get better with knowing some of the nature around me and maybe getting more social with a couple of folks. On weekdays I work over at a FedEx plant about 30 minutes into town and in the mornings on the week end is when I go to help volunteer for the parks. This particular one is known as Wheatberry Shores. The place is into the swampy areas of the south where, in particular, where the wetlands of water can be some of the deepest and be populated by alligators. Some parts, like the main trails, are usually more forest, thank God, so you don’t get nearly as swarmed with bugs so long as you have good bug spray.

The park itself isn’t a super popular destination, with only 4 active trails folks can go down and only 3 actually allowed to be traversed by the public. Travelling down the paths, each of them have different ‘difficulties’ as the place implies that mean different lengths and the pattern of the path. Each path is an offshoot of the main path everyone walks down to enter into the main trails. After talking with the folks at the main building of the park you then leave out the back end of the building and the trail is wide and open, leaving into the main bulk of the forest swamp that is the main attraction. When you go down, the first offshoot is on the left and titled ‘Weasel Woods -2 miles’. After Weasel Woods is on the right, named ‘Hickory Pass- 5 miles’, followed by ‘Lampfly Falls-10 miles’. Each path has a different thing towards the middle of each path. For Weasel Woods, there is a small animal exhibit where a few smaller creatures that are rescued by the park are kept and taken care of. I mainly volunteer there, helping with the twin flying chipmunks that have been kept by the park the last 3 years.

Hickory Pass is where most adults going by themselves go, where the largest collection of oak trees in the area are and where a sort of camping spot is. There is a fire pit, a bathroom, as well as a couple amenities out there so folks can camp out in the wilderness but also not feel stranded. Then there’s Lampfly Falls. This particular trail is the longest available to the public and also has a camping spot. It’s a long trek through some pretty rough terrain and where the park doesn’t quite keep up with in making the path very clear. I should mention there aren’t a lot of people keeping this place going and most of the time It’s me, two other folks, and the main director. Most folks don’t travel down Lampfly unless it was the summer, exactly when I’m volunteering.

You’ll notice I said there are 4 trails but only discussed 3. That’s where my little preamble here is setting up. Trail 4, unnamed, is just there. It’s roped off, nobody who works here goes down it, nobody does anything with it. As you are travelling down the main road to get to the offshoots of the different trails the path gets smaller and more upkept. Trail 4, unlike the other trails, just keeps going and isn’t the offshoot. According to the Director, they’ve had difficulties keeping the park up to snuff and being able to get to those back areas of the nature trails. They had a bunch of teens once go down the trail and get hurt, which lead to them closing the trail until more staff could be hired to care for the trail. The trail itself was noted to be almost 20 miles, obviously not in a straight line, which lead to a small isle off the bigger chunk of the mainland which then led towards the ocean. We’ve had a large number of seasoned hikers go down the trail and be fine, with some even saying it is their favorite trail and comping back every so often each season to see the changes!

Personally, I’ve been down the trail twice. The first time was when my parents thought they could do it and my mom learning really fast she was NOT cut out for being a trail hiker back then when I was really little. My dad was in the army so for Him it was nothing, and he carried me the rest of the way when my little 7-year-old feet gave way. The second time was last year when my mom tried the trail again, this time much more physically active and coasting it while this time my dad fell behind. She still doesn’t let him live it down.

Family feeling aside, both times were actually rather nice! The trail usually seemed pretty and yeah it was a bit overgrown but once you’ve gone once you get the general path and if you hike regularly, it’s pretty straight forward. Saddened they closed the trail when I volunteered, I asked if they ever thought of opening it again. The Directors response was…odd…to say the least. “Not worth it. Too many dangers and it isn’t well kept enough. If we can get someone to dedicate keeping the brush clear or cut the roots then maybe but as of now it isn’t worth it.”

I know its corny, maybe completely unworthy of the energy, but afterwards thought ‘Well if I’m already volunteering and it’s something needing done, why not?’ and next weekend I took the offer in clearing the brush and getting the path clear. Look, I’m gonna be real with you reader, I’m not athletic or weathered in ANY sense of the word. Just case I work a warehouse as my job means nothing. Yet, the idea that a family memory would forever be stripped from me was nagging at me. I’ve always been a sentimental kind of person and having good memories with my family is important to me. With some garden sheers, bags upon bags of mulch, and a Saturday with a podcast, I started making my path.

I decided on giving the path a real name, something memorable and important. Frigg’s Fortitude. My mom is pagan, and in particular we are firm respecters of the earth and have various imagery of Frigg in my mom’s kitchen. My mom found Her peace in Frigg and within Wiccan culture after some really bad experiences with my Dad’s Mormon side of the family (Of which my dad no longer worships either and is semi pagan or at least respects it). Either way, Frigg was a large thing for my mom and considering she also beat this path and I consider my mom to be someone I’ve always looked up to for wisdom, I figured it was the perfect name. Fortitude came with the knowledge the path would take a while to carve and that the path wouldn’t be easy. Going into it, I knew it would be difficult. Never the less, I was determined, guided with the idea that I was restoring something important to me and my family.

The next weekends were LONG. My first weekend I carved the trail for at least 8 hours from getting to the trail at 10 am and not leaving until a little after 6 pm. The body ached from the shoveling of the raw dirt, the scattering of the mulch, and the carving of the next shell of the trail as I slowly made my way through Frigg’s Fortitude. The first week left me sore as hell and it sure showed when I went to work the next week. The next weekend I decided to cut it back a bit and only do 6 hours and only on Saturdays. I figured by my tracking I was about halfway done with the trail and where I finished last Saturday was marked with a little red flag and that night I celebrated with a good, healthy Cheeseburger from Wendy’s.

Another week rolls by and as I’m hauling out my stuff to the part of the trail in my little 2019 Volkswagen Jetta Jacob, I’m stopped by another person who worked here, Bee, who asked what I was doing. Bee was the granddaughter of the Director, basically living and working here from the second story of the main building of the park. I told her the whole sap story and she I guess found it amusing but warned me they had some pretty hard rain last night and to be careful. I drove about as far into the trail as I could and then dragged my stuff the rest of the way. Sure enough, the only thought in my mind was ‘Fuck’. It was pretty washed at the halfway point, but I knew I had to start again soon so I could make up the progress. I diligently shoveled the ground to make the ground ripe and ready for mulch, planted the mulch, and made more little flag markers to guide the path through the woods. About 4 hours in, I was feeling that heat and needy a sit down.

As I drank, I realized at some point my podcast stopped loading on my phone and was working to reset it. It was an episode of the podcast that was one of my favorites that always got a giggle from me but for some reason the page wouldn’t load. In fact, it seemed like my service just completely died. I am out in the middle of swamp land sure, but my coverage was always great out here and usually was better than in town. I did the whole tricks, lifting the phone and reloading the page, walking back a bit of the trail, all the things. It just seemed like nothing was getting service, not even emergency service. Giving it up, I resumed my pace and just continued working the path. I finally got to where I was last week, placing a blue flag this time as I had no more red-colored flags, and with that I was about ready to collapse. I carried my gear back to the car, drove out, and decided on something else to get me in good spirits like a Starbucks or something.

Next Saturday comes; I get my things, travel to the site, and drive down the trail road yet again as far as I can before entering trail 4. When I got to my blue flag checkpoint, it seemed like where I marked was off from where I remembered placing it. I kept note with a distance marker for progress, a GPS map on my phone, and the little flags. Yet, as I was double checking my placements and map, not just one was incorrect…but they were all wrong. Each turn, each mark, each tree even was in completely incorrect spots according to what I tracked. The little red flags from before were still there, but they were completely veering off course and into different directions than before, yet still connected like a path. It’s like someone came and deliberately moved my flags and then took my blue flag and left.

Honestly, I’m just confused. I’m thinking that either it’s a prank or that maybe I’m just going crazy from working too hard. I won’t lie though; it freaked me out when I saw it but I didn’t think much of it after just chalking it up to some delusion from the heat on my part. I decided to continue forward with trying to finish this path (Albeit spending more on mulch than planned) but I am determined to get to the end and finish Figg’s Fortitude. This time, I swear it took so much more effort to get this path done, especially now that my distraction was gone and this time my service just didn’t work out the gate. I decided to focus on what I was trying to do, keep this path here.

It’s been a family memory that I want to preserve. I want future families to enjoy the path we enjoyed and maybe leave my mark here as the madman who decided to do all this shit unpaid for the hell of it. Sure, it was kinda dumb or in general a weird way to keep a memory, but it was the only distraction I had to keep myself working. It was at the end time as usual, 6pm, and I stick my now green flag into the ground that is at the halfway point. Tired as always, I make my way to the car and stick everything in. I felt exhaustion creep over me as I then moved towards the driver side of my car. As the summer sun was beginning to wane on the horizon, I felt a breeze of cool air come from Frigg’s Fortitude that suddenly travelled up my spine and jolted my eyes towards the path.

I felt my eyes just look down the road, not really focusing on anything but feeling like I just could keep looking down the path forever. The cool summer air was nice on my sore body. “R? You okay?” was then suddenly spoke from behind, from Bee. I jumped at the voice and clenched my chest a bit as my heart felt like it was choking my throat. “Shit Bee don’t sneak up on me like that. I missed what you said?” I asked. “Oh, just saying bye! I wanted to see how the trail was going but I can tell from the sight and smell you’ve had a good hard day huh?” She asked.

I laughed it off, talking about how it was difficult as always. I then posited a question to Bee, “Hey, did anybody go down trail 4 yesterday besides me after I left at 6? The flags were all different and my blue flag was missing at the end of what I worked on.” I asked. Bee shook Her head. “Just you dude, that thing isn’t worth walking if you were given money to do it.” I looked down the path, the darkness of the night becoming closer as I watched. “Cool…can you tell night watch to keep an eye. This is already exhausting as it is without having to keep getting set back every time.” I spoke. There was a bit of a sharp tone in my voice by accident, mainly from being tired. I think Bee understood because she nodded and agreed. Tired, I made my way back home and enjoyed my Sunday off, satisfied with my work on Frigg’s Fortitude.

The next week rolls around and what I find is either the most elaborate prank ever or is just straight up magic. The path of Frigg’s Fortitude changed over the week again. I don’t mean moved a few inches or a new water stream cutting the path; The entirety of the direction, arcs of the path, everything was different. I’m here at the trail now and not really sure what to do. I know for a fact I documented the path correctly and everything should go in the main directions that they should follow according to my maps. I just sit there dumbfounded, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

At this point, I ask everybody around the park what’s going on. I first turned to Bee and asked if maybe she knew anything about what was going on or if anybody had come up behind me or something to explain what was resetting my progress every week and moving my flags. She looked through a few select CCTV footage that was wired to the security office and nothing. Nobody came up behind me, nothing changed. I watched the footage with Her and the security crew too.

We saw me packing up the Jetta, driving away, and fast forwarded the footage only to find nothing. Of course, there’s no footage of the actual trail itself. All of the trails have no cameras on the trails themselves, just the entrances. However, clearly there’s nobody else out here but me. It makes no sense, how in the hell does a landscape just change? Me and Bee decided to walk back to Frigg’s Fortitude, which I tell the name of to Bee. We both look down the trail, the winding path covered in weeds, reeds, slightly brushing up to the swamps, unsure of what to make of it as it leads out onto the little isle of trees just out of view.

I lean against the back of my car and just look over the path, my brain trying to think what the next best thing to do is. I’m combing my brain, thinking that maybe the swamp land is the issue and because the majority of the land is surrounded by water that it could be enough. Bee pointed out however, that it wouldn’t explain why the flags would still be upright and able to make a clear and concise path through the forest. “Well…why not you come back early next week. I’ll come give a hand and We’ll plot out a course of action.” She explained. I laughed, “Think you can handle throwing some dirt around a cursed forest?” I asked, obviously not actually believing the path was cursed or the forest. She shrugged. “Well, I’m at least out here being paid by my grandma…and I’m bored.” She explained, pointing back over to the main building of the wilderness park. With not a lot of ideas and at least hopefully with finishing this damn path, I await the next week.

This time around, we come much earlier in the day. Bee got in contact with a couple of other folks from the park and this time I was going to get to the end of this road. We arrived before the sun even rose; Me, Bee, Tim and Ryan. Tim and Ryan were friends of Bee’s from outside of the park. She agreed to give them some under the table money in exchange for helping me with the road. After the Director gifted me and my crew some mulch and more tools, of which she did simply to help us with our goal and seeing our desire to finish the path, we set to work. Tim and Ryan worked together to dig the path while Bee and myself cut the mulch and guided the boys on the path to follow. This time, I pulled all the stops. I had no idea what was trying to stop us, if there was anything at all, but I was going to finish this road.

As Tim and Ryan wore, I picked up a shovel and helped dig through the trail. I felt my palms ache as they grazed across the wood handle of the shovel, my feet sore from the uneven path of the swampy grass. My eyes fuzzed as the heat seemed to become stronger and stronger with each push of the shovel into the dirt and each step forwards into the swamp. Eventually, Tim and Ryan seemed to just give out. They looked exhausted, drinking water like they had never felt the softness of liquid grace their lips once in their lives. After halfway through, we seemed to hit this wall of exhaustion. Even Bee, who for most of the journey simply was cutting mulch was sweating and panting as she shook from the heat chills.

As we worked, bugs of many kinds then appeared. They swarmed our ears and assaulted our noses as they swarmed and buzzed. They must have thought us corpses, covering us like cysts and trying to taste our flesh as they ducked and weaved from our hands and arms to swat them away. By my document, we were 3/4s of the way through by 2pm. The path I carved at first was elegant and droopy, allowing you to see all of the scenery. As we came close to the end, I forfeiting that goal and simply desired the end. I felt like my body was being tortured for the goal my soul had. My arms ached as I raised my shovel and gaped the earth to prepare for the trail we pushed ourselves to create. As we neared the end, the trail soon ending after crossing into the isle and then appearing on the other side, I felt an exhaustion unlike anything I had ever felt before. Tim and Ryan had long since left an hour ago, throwing the towel on the goal. Bee stayed, mainly as someone to bounce humor off of. However, even she eventually found no strength to speak.

As the afternoon came 4:30, Bee finally spoke as we closed onto the end. “I need water…” She groaned, stumbling down Frigg’s Fortitude and away from view. In my haze, I continued. Shaking, feeling ill and mentally drained, I pressed forward. As I came towards the end, a thick fog came around me as I, alone, continued to shovel the trail. My nose ran with snot, my eyes watering as a searing headache began in the frontal lobe of my brain and my mouth dry as a desert. Then, with a final, defiant push, I was through the fog and my shovel hit what I decided to call the end. Now on one knee, feeling the soggy dirt around me as I felt exhaustion finally take hold, my eyes glanced around the island forest and I could make out something in the distance.

My eyes went wide as I thought I was hallucinating. As I looked out towards the ocean, two things were visible. The first, a stone pedestal that was about my waist high carved of a grey stone with a pillar-like shape jutting from the ground with vines twirling around the outer rim of the half pillar. The second, much larger thing before me, which stood in the middle of the foggy forest, was an archway of pure stone.

"Anna, can you room the next patient?" I asked, glancing up from my notes.

"Sure, she'll be in Room 5," she replied, heading down the hallway.

I quickly reviewed the patient's history that Anna had written up. The lady had been complaining of a haze that seemed to come and go and occasional stabbing pains in her left eye that began several days ago. Nothing way out of the ordinary, really. It was probably just a combination of floaters and dry eye. In my mind, the diagnosis was already locked and loaded, but just out of precaution, the patient was dilated to make sure there wasn’t anything going on with her retina. Satisfied with my guess, I took off my readers, picked up my laptop, and entered Room 5.

"Mrs. Myers, it’s good to meet you. I’m Dr. Ronald."

"It’s nice to meet you too," she replied, her voice tense.

Mrs. Myers was a young lady, her hands clutching her handbag in the exam chair, her eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses far too large for her face.

"Sorry for the sunglasses, doc. Since yesterday, my eyes have been really sensitive to light."

Faint alarm bells started to ring in my head, but I pushed the thought aside for now.

"Oh, it’s no problem. Why don’t you tell me a little more about what’s been going on with your eyes?" I asked, trying to sound reassuring.

"Well, it’s just my left eye, really. Since Saturday, I feel like my vision's been getting worse, like a fog's been building up. And I get these shooting pains from time to time. It almost feels like someone is poking my eye from the back. I had lunch with a friend on Friday who had similar symptoms at the time. I was wondering if it’s a weird form of pink eye or something?"

"Could be. How about let’s take those sunglasses off, and we'll get a look at what’s going on with your eye."

"Oh, of course," she said, removing the oversized sunglasses.

Under the slit lamp, her eyes seemed normal enough, with the exception of her left eye being somewhat bloodshot. With no clear explanation for her symptoms, I took out my fundus lens and peered into the back of her eye.

I had caught no more than a glimpse of her retina before she shrieked and slapped the lens, knocking it rattling onto the floor. But even without that abrupt interruption, I would have dropped the lens in shock. In that brief, horrifying instant, I saw something that defied all logic—her optic nerve was a pitch-black void, an abyss that seemed to swallow light itself.

The optic nerve usually looks like a donut, with a dark orange outer ring surrounding a brighter inner circle. The inside of Mrs. Myers' optic nerve was pure darkness. A perfect little black circle, almost like a miniature black hole had manifested in the back of her eye, absorbing all light passing into it.

As my mind spun in a whirlwind of confusion, Mrs. Myers tumbled from her chair, collapsing onto the floor with a shriek that pierced the air. She clutched her hand over her eye, her voice rising in a crescendo of panic. Just then, Anna burst into the room, snapping me out of my stupor. We rushed to her side, dropping to our knees to help Mrs. Myers.

She was inconsolable, moaning and rocking back and forth, her distress palpable. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she wailed, her voice cracking with terror. "There's SOMETHING MOVING IN MY EYE!"

As her screaming reached an unbearable climax, Mrs. Myers suddenly looked up from her prostrated position. Her hand was still cupped firmly over her eye, but now we could see the blood trickling down between her fingers, a crimson stream staining her pale cheek. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched in horror. Something was moving beneath her skin, forcing her fingers apart from the inside. The sight was grotesque, a nightmarish struggle playing out just beneath her flesh.

With a final, blood-curdling scream, Mrs. Myers collapsed to the floor, her body convulsing violently. Her arms fell limply to her sides, revealing the true extent of the horror. Jet-black, spider-like appendages erupted from her eye, each one glistening with a wet, otherworldly sheen. They waved and writhed, searching for a grip on the slick linoleum tiles. Each movement left behind bloody scratches on Mrs. Myers' face, the lines of red contrasting starkly with her ashen skin.

The appendages moved with a life of their own, a ghastly spectacle of wriggling limbs that defied all logic and understanding. The room was filled with the sickening sound of their scraping against the floor, mingling with the faint, gurgling moans that escaped Mrs. Myers' lips. The sight was more than I could bear, a vision straight from the depths of a fevered nightmare.

Anna and I immediately fled the room, leaving Mrs. Myers' twitching body and the ever-growing appendages writhing in a pool of blood on the floor.

The next few hours were a disorienting blur. The police arrived, sealing off the clinic. Soon after, men in black suits took over, their presence cold and methodical. Anna and I were separated, each placed in stark, white rooms and interrogated, forced to recount every harrowing detail of what we had witnessed. The questioning was relentless, and it felt as though we were trapped in a loop of terror, reliving the nightmare over and over. Finally, we were released, but only after signing hefty non-disclosure agreements.

I’m writing this in the bedroom now. I know I signed the NDA, but somebody needs to know. The idea of returning to work seems impossible. I think I’ll take some time off, perhaps go fishing, or finally make a dent in the Netflix watch list I’ve been building up. But first, I need to take some Tylenol for this shooting headache behind my eyes.

I’m telling this story here because I’ve never heard anybody mention anything similar, I was wondering if anybody knew anything about the mirror goblins. I don’t believe in ghosts, that the dead get up to stuff which is why I’m not posting to one of the paranormal subs. That being said it might be nice to have somebody else’s 2 cents.

I’ve always been afraid of mirrors. I’ve always seen things in reflections, usually just for a movement when I glance at them in passing. When I was younger I saw things that were more upsetting. I saw a lot of unusual stuff in my parents' very scary basement, but that doesn’t really bother me. Of course you see scary things in a scary basement. What does kind of bother me is what I would see in the very normal bathroom mirror that my parents used to have. That’s were I would see the mirror goblins

When I was really little they would run away when I got close to the mirror and I couldn’t get a good look at them. When I was a little older around 8 or 9 they started to linger, and I felt that they were trying to make eye contact with me. I’m calling them mirror goblins because I like how the name sounds, but I’m not sure if goblin is the right word. They are small men about the size of a cat. Some were green, some were gray, some were flesh colored. Some had cloths, some rags and some were naked. All of them had long limbs, little button noses and always with a big smile. I never felt like they would hurt me but I thought that if I made eye contact with them they might try to talk to me. I knew that nothing good would happen if they talked to me. So if I saw them in the mirror (it was maybe 2 times a week) I just wouldn’t look. I would do things like brush my teeth in the hall, open the medicine cabinet when I was using the toilet or disrobe behind the shower curtain. I didn’t acknowledge them to anybody and they never spoke to me. They scared me quite a bit but then again a lot of things did when I was a kid.

Suddenly when I was 12 I stopped seeing them. This seemed normal, when you’re growing up you stop seeing monsters. So for a few years I mostly got over my fear of that mirror, used it as normal and didn’t see anything strange. I noticed something else around sophomore year of highschool. Some pretty awful things happened around then and I stopped smiling. That’s not really true of course. I would smile when I was laughing or having fun, it was just my resting face that became pretty glum. But even so my reflection kept smiling. But only in that bathroom. When I walked past my reflection it would often be smiling for a second before it became my gloomy resting face. It made me uneasy but not enough that I avoided looking in the mirror like I did when I was a kid. The bad stuff continued in my life and I was only feeling worse and worse. My reflection smiled longer and longer. By senior year sometimes it would take half a minute to stop smiling. It really started to really piss me off. I was miserable and it was only my face in the mirror that got to be so happy.

I was getting more annoyed about this but around february of my senior year something happened that scared the shit out of me. I was in the bathroom at around 4 in the morning due to horrible insomnia staring at my reflection. It just wouldn’t stop smiling. After a while it started laughing. And laughing. What I remember most clearly is how silent the house was, no fan, no clock ticking and no laughing. What I think is the weirdest about this is that I didn’t feel anything. I wasn’t scared or annoyed by this at all. I felt nothing.

When I woke up for school there was blood on my pillow and dried trickles of blood on my chest. In the bathroom there was a pristine razerblade on the sink and in the mirror there were cuts all over my face. The thing is that I had no idea where the blade could have come from, I had only ever seen them in box cutters and there wasn’t a box cutter at my parents house. I actually looked all over and couldn’t find one.

It wasn’t until years later that I was going through the medicine cabinet behind my parents mirror and found a slit in the wall that was filled with loose razerblades. Back in the day I guess they used to put old blades in the wall because you can’t put sharps in the regular trash. What that doesn’t explain is that the razerblades in the medicine cabinet were rusted and dull but the one on the sink had been in perfect shape. Otherwise they looked the same. So I still don’t know what to make of that.

I told everyone the cuts on my face were from falling in a blackberry bush, I doubt anyone believed me because the cuts were straight and uniform, but nobody said anything. A few days later I was feeling like cat piss emotionally so I left school early, went home and took a shower. I looked in the fogged up mirror and there was a small gray blurry figure standing behind me in the reflection. This jump scared me so bad I hit the mirror on impulse, shattering it. I had a few cuts from the glass on my hands and torso but this was nothing compared to how incredibly embarrassed I was. Waiting for my mom to come home to tell her that I got spooked and punched the mirror. I was expecting her to get mad, to tell me I had to pay to get it replaced, but when I told her she just looked worried said it way okay. Neither of us have mentioned it again.

My reflection returned to normal after the mirror was replaced other then a little movement in the corner of my eye that I think is normal to see in all mirrors. I went to college, started feeling better and now I work in education. I had honestly forgotten all about my mirror issues. I’ve been living at my current apartment with my partner for 2 years now and the mirror is the same as when we moved in, a broken shard from a larger mirror that is painted to the wall. Yesterday I saw a mirror goblin. This time I looked at him. This time he spoke.

“Wait.”

All I wanted when I was a kid was to go to summer camp. Every summer, I would beg my parents to send me, but they always said the same thing. "It's too expensive" or "It's too far away" or "We can't afford to drive out there when you get home sick." I know Summer Camps have fallen out of popularity these days, but they were just about the coolest thing to a kid in the early nineties. Every show had a summer camp episode, there were movies with summer camps, there were even music videos on MTV about summer camps, for God's sake. I felt like I was missing out on a big part of my childhood experience by not being allowed to go, but every year I was forced to sit at home and wish.

So, when Mom told me she had found a Summer Camp for me when I was eleven, I was ecstatic!

Camp Moonsong was an all-girls camp about an hour from our house and the fee for the sixty-day stay was surprisingly low. Low enough to make Mom suspicious that it was some sort of front for a sweatshop or something, and she read over the paperwork very carefully with my Dad. I remember just hovering outside the kitchen as they went over it, Dad not showing her level of dedication as he held paperwork in one hand and smoked with the other.

"They talk about not being responsible for injuries or accidents a lot in this stuff," I remember her saying sighing when Dad scoffed.

"They're just being careful, Wendy. It sounds perfect, honestly. She's been begging to go to one for years, and if we don't send her before she's thirteen, I think she'll miss her chance. You know twelve is usually the cut-off for these kinds of things."

They discussed it for a while, and when they finally came and said I could go, I was overjoyed!

I had my bags packed before the last week of school was even out, and on the second day of summer vacation, my Mom and Dad drove me to the camp for drop off. It was beautiful, one of those camps like you see on TV. It was in the middle of the woods with a bunch of little cabins next to a lake and I could see a boat house, hiking trails, archery courses, and all kinds of things that I was chomping at the bit to go try. We met the head councilor at the Main Cabin, a smiling blonde lady named Gladys, and after some hugs and checking over my stuff, my parents headed out, and I was shown to the Sparrow Cabin where I would be staying for the next sixty days.

That's where I met Lauren, Sandy, Heather, and Claire, the girls who would be my cabin mates.

Sandy and Heather were twelve and this was their first time at Moonsong but not at a sleepaway camp. Lauren was ten and she had never been to camp either, so this was a first for both of us. Claire, however, had been coming here for about three years, and she was the only one of us who didn't look excited. She was trying to put on a brave face in front of us, clearly not wanting to spook us, but her mood was absolutely off.

Claire was also our cabin captain so when the loudspeaker came on, welcoming us and telling us to meet at the pavilion for orientation, she led the way.

The pavilion was more like a small amphitheater, a stone stage with rows of concrete seats leading up and out of it. We took a seat in a section near the stage, all of us chatting animatedly, except for Claire, as the other cabins assembled. Each cabin had five girls, and there were six cabins in all, Sparrow, Magpie, Grouse, Dove, Hawk, and Crow. They had spread out a little, giving each cabin room to gather, and as we all sat chattering, the camp counselors arrived to start the summer orientation.

"Welcome, campers," Said Gladys, her voice echoing off the stone benches, "and welcome to another exciting year at Camp Moonsong!"

There were a few other adults on the stage, and she introduced them as the Activity Directors. There was a counselor for Swimming, Canoeing, Archery, Hiking, Nature Studies, Physical Challenges, and Arts & Crafts. Gladys told us how our daily schedules would be posted on the bulletin boards outside our cabins at first light and that each day would end with a marshmallow roast around the fire pit.

"And don't forget, the fire pit is where we choose that night's sleepwalker," she said, something that brought nothing but polite claps from some of the campers.

I saw more than a few of them that looked like Claire when she said it, and I realized there might be something a little strange at work here.  

Our first activity was Archery, so Claire took us back to the cabin so we could get ready.

"So, what's with the sleepwalker thing?" I asked, Heather chiming in as well as Claire went to get a shirt that was a little more comfy.

"It's nothing," she said, stripping out of her polo and slipping on a t-shirt, "It's just something that Camp Moonsong does. It doesn't mean anything, it's just tradition."

"What do you mean?" I asked, the four of us falling in behind her as we headed for the range.

She made a frustrated noise, rounding on us angrily, "Just don't worry about it. If you're lucky, it won't be a problem anyway. There are thirty of us, the chances are good that a few of you might never have to see it." she said the last more to herself than anything.

"See what?" I asked, but she ignored me as we came to the archery course.

We had archery, arts & crafts, and a trip to the lake that day, and by the time the sun set and the bonfire sprung to life, I found I had quite forgotten about the Sleepwalker. We spent a while roasting and eating marshmallows, singing songs, telling spooky stories, and then I saw Gladys step close to the fire with a box that rattled slightly. Some of the girls looked at it ominously, Claire among them, but Gladys was all smiles.

"Okay, campers. It's time to pick tonight's sleepwalker. You returning campers know how it works. If you reach into the box and draw the black ball, you are tonight's sleepwalker."

I snorted, not quite sure why this had some of them so worried. What? Were they going to come and scare us in our cabin if one of us drew the black ball? Would we have to scare people? What was this, I wondered, because it all seemed kind of ridiculous.

The box had barely gone through five people before a girl of about eight got the black ball. It was clearly her first time here because she seemed pleased but mystified as she handed Gladys the ball. Gladys asked her what her name was, and then announced that Brenda was the summer's first Sleepwalker. After that, we all went back to our cabins, even Brenda, and I remember sitting up a little with the other new girls and whispering about how silly it all was. Were they trying to scare us or something? Oooo, sleepwalkers we all said as we laughed but when Claire told us to go to sleep, she said something that took the starch out of our sheets.

"Wait till tomorrow morning, then we'll see if you still think it's so funny."

She was right.

The bugle woke us up the next morning and we all shuffled to breakfast in the mess hall. Amidst the chomp of cereal, toast, eggs, and bacon, I heard someone sniffling loudly. It wasn't normal sniffling, like the kind you get from someone who's homesick. This was different, and I didn't have words for it yet. I do now, now that I've grown up a little. It's the hopeless kind of sniffling from someone who's lost something that can't get back, like a mother or a wife crying for a husband or a child.

I glanced over to the Crow table and saw that it was Brenda. She looked terrible, like she hadn't slept at all, and the circles under her eyes looked like bruises. She wasn't eating, despite how the girls in her cabin tried to coax her, and her eyes seemed to weep constantly. The crow table was next to ours, and she seemed to be telling them, in between sobs, that she wanted to go home. They were trying to talk her out of it, saying that the chances were low that she would draw it again, and after a few days she would forget all about what she'd seen.

I didn't know exactly what to make of it then, but I would learn.

For the next week and a half, I watched as different girls drew the black ball. The ones who had been here before took it better than the new ones, and the new ones were always in tears the next day. Because of how the schedules were set up, we really didn't have a lot of interaction with the other cabins. We lived with the girls in our own cabin, but outside of meals and the fire pit, we didn't see the others during the day. Most of them stuck pretty close to their group during the periods in between activities, and none of them wanted to talk about what was going on if you asked them.

Then, about a week and a half after Brenda drew the ball, Heather drew out the jet-black sphere and was that night's Sleepwalker. I remember the look on her face when she drew it out, the look of uncertainty and fear, and Gladys named her the Sleepwalker of the Night. She went back to Sparrow Cabin, seeming unsure of what to expect, and as we got ready for bed, we all watched her a little apprehensively.

"So," Heather asked, "What happens now? Do I start walking or something? Do they come and get me in the night?"

"Maybe they're going to make you disappear!" Lauren said, and we all laughed nervously.

"Just go to sleep," Claire said, and it shut us all up as we looked at her, "It won't happen till then."

She slid under her blanket and slid a pillow over her head. So, we all settled in, turning the lamp off and nestling down for sleep. Heather was soon snoring, as was Lauren, and I yawned as I drifted off as well. I guessed if something was going to happen then it would happen, and before I knew it I was dreaming about swimming and friendship bracelets and all the other things I was going to do tomorrow.

I woke up in the middle of the night, filled with a need to pee worse than anything I'd ever felt.

I was coming back from the latrine, almost back in bed, when I glanced at Heather and saw something that stopped me in my tracks.

Heather's mouth was open in a silent O of a scream. Her hands were bunched up in the covers, and she was writhing slowly on the sheets of her small bed. Her eyes were closed, shut tight like they might be locked that way, and she sucked in breath like she might be screaming in whatever dream she was having.

I woke the others, showing them what was happening, and when Sandy reached over to shake her, Claire grabbed her by the wrist.

"It won't do any good, and it could make it worse. You just have to let her get over it on her own."

"But we can't just leave her like this. She's in pain." Sandy said.

"She could be in more pain if you try to wake her up. She'll come out of this at dawn so just let her be."

We went back to bed, none of us but Claire sleeping, and when the sun came up, Heather came awake shaking like someone who's been badly startled. She looked around like something might be after her, like this might all be a dream too, and when we came to comfort her she began to sob. Her eyes had the same dark circles that I'd seen on the other girls, and she walked to chow when the bugle sounded like a zombie.

She didn't eat breakfast, and when I asked her what she'd dreamed about, Claire shot me a nasty look.

"We don't talk about it. The worst thing you can do is make them relive it."

"But if we know what happens when you're the sleepwalker,"

"If you're lucky," Claire said, talking over me as my voice rose, "You'll never find out what it is,"

"No," Heather said, "No, I want to talk about it."

Claire got a pained look, "You don't have to," she whispered, "I know what it's like. It's not something you should have to relive."

"Wait," I said, putting something together that I should have a while ago, "You knew this was going to happen and you didn't warn us. Why didn't you say something?"

"Because it wouldn't have done any good," Claire said, "Knowing it's coming doesn't make it any easier.  It's terrible, no matter if it's the first time or the fifth. I got chosen twice last year, the knowing doesn't matter, it's terrible every time."

"Do you want to know or not?" Heather said, turning to us angrily, "Because I'm only going to tell it once and then I never want to talk about it again.”

We said we did and she got a faraway look as she began.

"I was in the woods, it was night and everything was dark. Then I felt something watching me, something like a tiger or a bear or something. It was big, whatever it was, because when it roared it shook all the trees around me. I started running, running through the woods as fast as I could. You say I was in bed, but my legs ache and my arms feel the pine needles that slashed at them. I ran and ran and ran, but it never seemed to catch me. It was always just out of sight, just out of reach, and the farther I ran, the more afraid I got. After a while, I felt like I might be going crazy. I was so scared, so absolutely terrified, and it just never ended. Then, just as the sun came up, I heard it roar and I heard the trees rustle as it jumped, and I fell down as something heavy hit me. Then I woke up and you guys were standing there looking at me."

She started crying then, and Claire gave her a hug as she assured her it was over and she was safe now.

Needless to say, Heather decided to stay in when we saw it was our turn to hike today.

She had spent a whole night in the woods and saw no reason to spend another hour looking at nature.

That's how it went that summer. Every night we drew balls from the box, and every night it was some girl's turn to spend it in a state of terror. Sandy got her turn, Laura too, and even Claire had to suffer it one night, but never me. Some of the girls went twice, but I seemed to be immune to the black ball. It never chose me, and if it hadn't been for the Team Challenge I would never have experienced it.

Team Challenge was Gladys's' idea, and she was clearly pretty proud of it.

It was the last week of camp, and I had almost thought I would get away without having to be the Sleepwalker. We were gathering for the morning meeting after breakfast, and all of us assembled in the amphitheater. Gladys stood up there, smiling like she had a big surprise for us, and I suppose she was right.

"Good morning, Campers. This week, I have something special planned. Today, we start the Team Challenges! Two cabins will face each other in three events, Archery, Canoe races, and Obstacle Course! The winners will be immune to sleepwalking for that night. The losing cabin, however, will all have to be the sleepwalker that night!"

No one cheered, but we all knew the stakes.

The way it shook out was that for three days the cabins would compete.

On the fourth day, one of them would get the buy and the other two would face off.

On the fifth day, the last two would go head to head to crown the best cabin.

Saturday would be the color war and then pick up.

Claire took us aside and told us we had to win this.

"Everyone in the cabin has been the sleepwalker at least once, well, almost all of us," she said, looking at me with jealousy.      

I didn't feel good about it. Quite the contrary, I felt terrible. Heather had been the Sleepwalker twice now, Sandy too, and I hadn't been picked once. I didn't want to, either. I had watched them go through it, and it looked miserable. As it happened, though, I had one the best times on the obstacle course, and I was one of the better campers on the archery range. I felt we had a good chance of winning this thing, and the girls agreed as we started making a game plan.

The Sparrows beat the Crows on Tuesday, and then we got the buy on Thursday. We were hopeful we could win this thing, and the incentive was on full display. The losing teams showed up to breakfast with bags under their eyes, shaking noticeably as they refused to eat. Whatever was going on, it was even worse in a group, and we prepared to win against the Hawks and take the whole contest.

We had them at Archery, but they smoked us at the canoe race.

We were certain we could whip them on the obstacle course, but then disaster struck. As Claire came across the final leg of the course, having gone last so I could go first and give us a strong start, she slipped and fell off the beam, the race going to her opponent. The Hawks won, and we would be the sleepwalkers that night.

We fought it, trying to stay up as late as we could, trying to stay up all night, but we were just so tired. By eleven we were all dozing, and by midnight we had lost the fight. I remember blinking owlishly as I watched Claire drift off fitfully, and when I opened my eyes I was in the forest.

We were all in the forest, looking around as we awoke into some kind of strange shared dream.

I was just trying to orient myself when I heard the roar that Heather had described, and it galvanized me in a way that nothing ever had. It was like a bear's roar mixed with something feline and something much deeper. I imagined it was what a tyrannosaurus rex sounded like, the scream of some extinct creature come back to life, and I started running. They were with me in the beginning, all of us neck in neck as we fled into the woods. It was always behind us, stomping through the trees like it was as tall as a redwood. It crashed, it rumbled, and as we ran for our lives, it menaced us from the darkness.

Heather was the first to fall.

I looked back, meaning to help her, but the darkness swirled up and took her. Her tear-streaked, terrified face was there one moment, and then suddenly she was swallowed by the gloom. Laura fell next, stumbled as she looked back at Heather, and I didn't look back to see her get gobbled up too. I kept running, kept showing my heels, and when Sandy fell too I didn't even notice right away. I was in a state of panic, something I would later call a heightened terror response when I went to college to study psychology. It was similar to the response prey animals have when they are fleeing for their lives, the kind of thing that gets them eaten by pack hunters when another one pops up on the side while they're focused on the threat behind them.

I ran and ran and ran, my legs pumping and my heart racing. I don't know when Claire fell or even if she did, but I felt the branches that reached out to slow me down and the rocks that battered my bare feet. I felt every mile that I ran and I felt every horrifying stumble as I nearly lost my balance. I kept running for my life, and when the sun came up at long last, I didn't stop. I heard it spring, heard it come up from behind me like a tidal wave, but if it hit me, I didn't know it.

I came awake like I meant to fight off an attacker, and the other girls were around me, looking as bad if not worse.

We lost the color war, all of us were too tired to focus.

Mom commented on the bruises under my eyes when she came to pick me up, but I just hugged her and said how glad I was to see her.

I never spoke about that summer, not until I wrote my senior thesis on the difference between irrational and rational fear in adolescence.  

I didn't think I would ever visit those memories again, not until today.

I've been working as a psychiatrist since I graduated, helping kids get over their trauma and trying to find them some relief. Mostly it is normal stuff, divorcing parents or concerns about school and friends. We talk about monsters in closets or stories that won't go away when they close their eyes, typical kid stuff, but sometimes I help them tell a parent about someone who is doing something they shouldn't so that person can go somewhere where they can't hurt them again.

Those are the good days, the days I feel like I've made a difference.

When the girl started telling me about the dreams, the ones she'd had after her mother said they had enrolled her in camp again, I felt myself beginning to hyperventilate. She described dreams of something big chasing her through the woods at night, about dreams that only came when she was at camp, and only when she was the sleepwalker. I didn't even feel it at first when the pen snapped in my hand, and when the girl said, her voice panicked, that I was bleeding, I looked down to see my hand had the jagged end of a pen buried in it.

I told her mother that she might want to find another summer camp this year, not voicing what I actually believed so I didn't sound crazy.

The mother seemed concerned, "But Jenny loves Camp Moonsong. She's gone every year since she was nine."

I strongly recommended she find her daughter another camp, and the two left, mollified, with a prescription refill.

I had never imagined the place was still open, never in my wildest dreams.

I sat in my office, trying to control the shakes as my hand throbbed like an infected tooth.

I'm afraid to go to sleep tonight, something I haven't been afraid of since that first week home from camp.

I'm afraid I might wake up in the woods again, fleeing from the thing that chases the sleepwalkers.The Sleepwalkers of Camp Moonsong

I found it during a stormy afternoon. It was a Sunday in August, and my cousins and I had been trapped inside our grandmothers’s old colonial house for what seemed like weeks, though in retrospect it could not have surpassed a week. It had rained every single day since our arrival. It felt as though we were cursed, and in our childish brains time stretched on incessantly as we quickly became bored of the few amusements we were able to find within the old creaking house. Yet, the rain carried on. Each droplet that landed on the massive French windows was a mocking reminder of our confinement within the old dusty walls of our grandmother’s house. 

Away from any parental attention and affection, and with only the strict gaze of our aging grandmother and her disinterested maid to chaperone us, we children quickly fell into a unanimous depression as the melancholy spirit of both the house and weather overtook us. 

As kids do, however, we found little ways to ease our boredom. The most recent of which was hide and seek, a game that could go on for a good while due to the vastness of the house. With each game, we discovered new hiding spots. Doors that lead to old storage rooms gone untouched for decades, crawl spaces filled with spiders and bugs alike, forgotten guest rooms, and once even a kitchenette tucked away in a room on the second floor. The halls alone to us children seemed to stretch for miles, it wasn’t unusual to find us hidden behind the curtains of one of the many windows, desperately trying to hide our protruding feet. 

It was during such a game of hide and seek that I discovered a door at the end of a hallway on the first floor. I found it quite strange as I believed that we had covered the entirety of the area and that there was simply nothing left to discover. I had hesitated at first, there was something incredibly wrong about the peeling black paint and rusted brass doorknob that seemed to beckon me from six feet away. It seemed out of place amongst the faded pink flowery wallpaper, as though someone had crudely forced it into the wall despite the obvious mismatch. It was unlike the other doors inside the home, as they were all a dull sandy brown, nothing about them ever stood out. This one did, however, because it was simply not meant to be there. 

I had not felt myself walking towards it. My body had moved of its own accord, and before I had registered what I was doing, my hand was upon the doorknob, the coolness of the brass sending an electric feeling up my spine. My heart began to pound in my ears and my breath caught in my throat. Something in my head told me there was something behind the door and I became incredibly unsure of whether I wanted to know what it was.  A cold air began to consume the hallway the longer I stood contemplating. Reason told me to run and something else compelled me to stay. I could hear my cousin’s footsteps drawing nearer to my spot as I waited for my mind to break the reins of indecision. 

In the end, it was the thought of losing that broke me. The thought of my cousin Rodney’s mocking face, once he found me cowering in a hallway, angered my 9-year-old mind beyond comprehension, so, I twisted the knob and swung the door open. 

Thunder blasted through the house. The lightbulb in the hallway went out. The terrified screams of my cousins rang throughout the house and came echoing back to me as ghostly howls while I remained frozen in my spot in the hallway. A strange stench wafted through the now open doorway, like moldy leaves and damp earth. I cringed as the cold dry air grew stronger, forcing its way through my nostrils, and drying my mouth as the stench of mold overtook the hallway. 

Beyond the darkness of the doorway, something clattered. Every movement in my body ceased, hairs upon the back of my neck rose into firm, terrified, little spikes, and my fingers gripped the doorknob so tightly my knuckles glowed white. 

Then came the footsteps, not of children running to find cover from the dark, but something slow, purposeful, and heavy. The sound filled my ears as they drew nearer and were soon accompanied by hollow, raspy, deep breaths that came in mortifyingly long intervals, each one closer sounding than the last.  Soon, I could tell that whatever it stood mere feet away from me, unable to see and worse still- unable to move, I prayed to God that it would not cross the threshold. 

The stench of mold was inescapable, it became the air. I could taste it in every breath, dry yet clammy,  if it weren’t for my sudden paralysis I would have gagged. The thing took another step. Another smash of thunder bombarded the house, accompanied by a strike of lightning. The fiery angry blue light illuminated every corner of the hall including the form of the godforsaken creature that stood in the doorway. 

It stood six feet tall on hooved feet. Red burning orbs had glared back at me from an emaciated face devoid of any features; save for a mouth forged from holes torn crudely into the shape of a smile on its mold-covered flesh. Two horns had protruded from its forehead, twisted and ugly the monstrosity they stood upon. The rest of its form was near skeletal and its flesh as black as the night sky. Moldy spores of orange, red, and yellow mold grew on every inch of its body save for the ends of its bony fingers, there it grew nails as sharp as talons, glinting as though they thirsted for blood. 

The second our gaze met the burning fire in its eyes blazed into an inferno, it shot an emaciated arm from the darkness- another strike of lightning illuminating its path- and heaved itself into the doorway. The carved slits on its face stretched impossibly to form a mock smile, at this, I felt a warm liquid run down my trouser pants as my bladder gave way.

It rasped, and from the carved slits in its face came a raspy, impossibly deep voice, in a childish sing-song tune: “Found you.” 

I slammed the door shut and ran. I heard a loud bang! As it slammed itself onto the door, I didn’t dare look back. I ran down the hallway, up the staircase into the room I shared with my cousins. They had all been there, staring at me as though I’d gone mad, and in the bright orange glow of our room, no longer subject to the gaze of that hideous creature, I felt as if I had. 

I could not tell them what happened, no matter how many prying questions were shot at me. I could not speak. I simply slumped into the bathroom, showered, and headed to bed. I had no explanation for what had occurred, despite how desperately my 9-year-old mind had tried to rationalize. I had been unable to sleep that night, haunted by the thought of that creature coming to steal me away, yet nothing happened. 

The next morning we were greeted by bird song and a bright morning sky, the rain had stopped. All thoughts of the day before soon fled from my mind as we all raced outside to play. The rest of my stay went by in a blur, the memory of that day blocked from my mind. I chalked it up to temporary insanity, though I truly had no idea what it meant, but as long as it allowed me to pretend what I had seen was not real, I did not care.

My parents and I moved away soon after, thus going to stay at my grandmother’s home during summer was no longer possible. As time went on, memories of my grandmother’s house began to fade, until they were no more than a blur in the collection of memories that made up my childhood.  The beast and the door were forgotten, and those eyes ceased to plague my nightmares. 

That was until today, however, when it all came rushing back. 

My grandmother passed away last week, you see. As such, the entire family has flown out to her house for the funeral, including myself. While wandering around on the first floor today, I found that same hallway from all those years ago. That stench of mold still dominated the air as though it were sealed within the walls, making my stomach churn. 

 I found the door too. The black paint was just as crude, its peeling flakes littering the brown carpet beneath it. The brass doorknob glinted just as brightly as it had on that fateful day. 

Yes, I  found the door alright, only this time it was ajar. 

Me and my friend decided to go abroad on a girls trip, however I was nervous about leaving my cat and none of my family could look after her for me. My friend suggested I find a cat sitter on an app and, after browsing through available sitters in my area, I found a young girl called Emily. She was 17 and doing cat sitting for a bit of money while she was in college. We agreed she would come to feed and play with my older cat Boots twice a day for the three days I was away; she was a sweet young girl and I trusted her implicitly.

While I was away, Emily sent pictures and videos and updates and asked if it was ok if a couple of her friends came with her to the last visit as they were going to hers after, and I agreed as long as they didn’t go upstairs - I had a pet camera as Emily knew so I could monitor the visits so I knew it would be fine.

I came back, all was as I had left it, however Boots didn’t quite seem herself. My normally confident, playful cat was now very skittish - staring at dark corners and suddenly darting from the room, hissing at thin air, and scratching at my bedroom door and yowling where she’d normally fall asleep next to me in bed.

This had been the first time I’d left her for longer than one night so I out the odd behaviour down to seperation anxiety… that was until weird stuff started happening in the house.

I would hear scratching at the door or walls when I could see Boots was asleep or outside in the garden. Things in the kitchen and living room would be moved when I knew I hadn’t moved them (I live alone) and Boots couldn’t possibly have done it. There would be handprints on my mirror that would show up in the steamed up mirror, I would randomly hear three taps on the walls, the doorbell would ring when no one was outside, and I would wake up at 3.03am every night when I usually was a heavy sleeper right through the night. I would feel as though someone was watching me, hear whispers behind me that would stop when I looked, and even family members who visited would comment on my house having a ‘creepy vibe’, which they’d never mentioned before.

The final straw came when I woke up at 3.03 as had become normal now, feeling as though someone was touching my face. I assumed it was Boots’ tail as she sometimes slept on my pillow above my head with her tail tickling my face, but this felt different. Bolting up in bed, I looked around for the cause and heard boots yowling and whimpering through my open bedroom door - I could have sworn I shut it but it was now open and when I looked through, I could see a shadow and what looked like Boots levitating, hissing and squirming to get down. I screamed and Boots dropped to her feet as if something had let her go after picking her up. Enough was enough. Mess with me all you want but DO NOT mess with my cat.

I grabbed Boots, locking her in her carrier, grabbed some stuff and called an Uber to my friends house. Hammering on her door to wake her up, she eventually answered, sleepy and confused. Tearfully, I explained everything to her and she said we could stay.

In the morning, having slept on the situation, we racked our brains to think what could have changed. Noting that it seemed to be since I’d got back from the holiday. I hadn’t watched Emily very closely on the pet camera as I’d trusted her, but my friend suggested we go back through the recordings to see if there was an explanation.

After Emily had left from her last visit and texted to tell me she had dropped the keys through the letterbox, I could clearly see Boots watch her leave, then gaze at the cupboard door, the tip of her tail flicking. I watched the cuoboard door slowly open, just a quarter of the way, then move back and forth as if someone was moving it that I couldn’t see. Boots hissed and ran out of view.

My friend gasped and told me to scroll back further. We caught other weird things, things in the shelf seemingly being picked up and dropped by an unseen hand, Boots’ toys being moved by themselves, weird orbs of light and the camera glitching.

However, scrolling back further, this activity only seemed to start on the second evening.

Scrolling back, I saw Emily emerge from the direction of the front door, with two other girls around her age, who I assumed to be her friends. I was annoyed as, as far as I knew, she said she only had her friends come with her to the last visit, but they all seemed to stay in the living room and left when she did and there was nothing I could do about it now. However, that’s not what bothered me.

I watched as the theee girls sat on the floor, cross-legged, as Emily produced a large black rectangle from her bag. Removing what turned out to be a black sheet, it looked to be some sort of board game, and it wasn’t until I recognised a planchette being placed upon the board that I realised what it was and what they were doing.

Their voices were too low to hear clearly what they were saying, but after a few minutes of watching them appear to ask questions and slowly move the planchette around, something seemed to happen. Their faves all went ghostly white, fhere was a large flash, Boots who had been sleeping nearby shot up and ran behind the couch cowering and the girls ran from the house, with Emily grabbing the board and planchette as she ran.

My friend looked at me with concern. “It doesn’t look like they closed the board,” she said. “I think they let something into your house.”

I’m not sure what to do. I googled it but it says I need to burn the board and I can’t get hold of Emily. Her number is blocked, her profile has been taken down, and I have no idea what to do. I don’t feel like I can go back home with Boots.

There's something in my head, behind my eyes. It's burrowing deeper. Going for my brain stem. That's what it wants. I know when it gets there it will have control. But I have to fight it. Feels like someone stabbed ice picks in my eye sockets. Hard to focus.

Slow down, David. They don't know what you're talking about, you idiot. Go back. Start at the beginning. Let them know.

Three months ago. April? No. May. The sky was the color of steel. Rain pelted my face. It hit the ground forming a mist that obscured my vision. I could only see shadows. I stood outside a building. Brutalist concrete architecture. A man. He stood outside the barbed wire holding an umbrella. Black suit. The only color was that ruby red ring.

I was there for a job. I don't know why. Unwanted. Dirty. They found me at the homeless shelter. Rows of benches. Half sick, hacking up their lungs. The other half on Fetty. A man approached me in a suit, handing me a letter and $400. They wanted to meet me.

Here I was. I shook the mans hand. He wasn't disgusted by me. Why?

"The money was intended to prune your appearance, Mr. Taylor."

I used it to buy food and sent the rest to my daughter. I just stared at him.

We went through security. They searched every inch of me. Guard tried to take off my wedding ring. Punched him in the jaw. They pinned me down. The man waved them off. Said to let me pass.

A room. Steel table, steel chairs. Single light above. Felt like an interrogation. Felt like a trap.

They asked me about my time in the service. What I did. Go behind enemy lines. Recruit resistance fighters. Gather intelligence. Locate traffickers.

They asked me why it ended.

It was a trafficker. They told me cesium, for making dirty bombs. Night raid. Found a shipping container. Inside, children. We were captured. We were killed. They kept me alive. Kept me there for years. Made me see things. Made me do things.

Rescue came. Got me out. But I was already dead. I was already a ghost.

Doctor after doctor after doctor. Untreatable. Discharge. Other than honorable. No benefits. No healthcare. No disability. Remembering made anger boil in my gut.

I calmed myself down. Breathing exercises. Not another episode. Not now.

They said they wanted to do some tests.

They strapped me in. Polygraph? Been here before.

Strap on my abdomen. Breathing. Sensor on my finger. Blood flow. Pads on my skin. Dilation.

The guards set up a light in front of my face. A bulb. Trigger held by the tester. A metronome was placed on the table. Ticking.

Tester: "Name."

Me: David Taylor.

Tester: "Age."

Me: 32.

Tester: "Are you ready to begin?"

Me: Yes.

The guards turned off the lights and left the room.

"I want you to look at my ring." he started.

He held his left hand out on the table. The ring. Ruby red, with a pentagram etched in blue at the center.

"These are the rules." he continued. "Every time I say 'Ezekiel', I want you to repeat back to me 'Ezekiel'. When I say 'Speak' I would like you to stay silent. Do not react to the light. Do you understand?"

I was confused, but I said yes anyways. I looked up at the man.

"Don't look at me, look at the ring. Please follow instructions." he snapped.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." I cowered as I looked back at the ring.

"Do you submit?" he asked.

"What?" I asked.

"Do you submit!?" he screamed.

"Yes! Yes I submit." I replied.

"Good."

The room was completely silent. It was dark. I felt alone.

Tester: "You're at a farmers market next Sunday morning. It's hot out. You're examining a display of homemade jams when you overhear an elderly woman asking the vendor about the difference between boysenberry and blackberry preserves. Ezekiel.

Me: Ezekiel.

The bulb in front of me flashed. Blinded me.

Tester: "You're waiting in line at a busy coffee shop on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. The person in front of you is struggling to count out exact change for their order, holding up the line. As you wait, you notice a forgotten umbrella leaning against the wall near the door. A harried-looking businessman rushes in, soaking wet. Ezekiel."

Me: Ezekiel.

The bulb flashed again. Disoriented.

Tester: "You're driving alone at night when you see a car wreck. A bloodied woman is moaning, bleeding to death. You stop. She holds out her bloodied baby begging you to take him to a hospital. You just bought a new suit, and you don't want to get blood on it. Ezekiel."

Me: Eggek.

What the fuck!? I screamed at myself inside my head.

Another flash.

Tester: Ezekiel.

Me: Ez..ikiel.

Tester: Speak.

I stayed silent.

Tester: "A man at the grocery store has his card declined. He looks ragged, and has a woman and a baby with them. The total is $12. He turns to you and begs you for help. You laugh at him. Ezekiel."

Me:

Tester: Ezekiel

Me:

Another flash.

Tester: Speak

Me: "No."

Tester: "A holy man is before you, dying of thirst in the desert. He has given his life for others, but was attacked and left for dead. He begs you for water. Ez-"

A sharp pain exploded behind my eyes, and I felt my head snap back. The room started spinning, blurring at the edges. I tried to focus on the tester, but his face kept shifting. Morphing.

Me: "I'd piss on his face."

My head was pounding. What the fuck just happened? Did I really say that? I blew it. I blew my chance.

Lights turned back on. Test was over. The guards came in and grabbed me, unstrapping the equipment. They dragged me out. I saw the man standing there, smiling at me through those thick rimmed glasses.

I was certain they were going to throw me out on the street. What did they expect? I lost it years ago. This was their fault. They did this.

They threw me in a room. The man was there. The man from earlier.

"I've been informed your test went well." He said, leaning forward.

"I don't… I didn't…" I stammered. I couldn't find the words.

"We'd like to offer you the position." He grinned. "Full benefits. Healthcare. Dental. We'd like you to start as soon as tomorrow."

"No…" I whimpered, backing towards the door. "I don't want to do this. I want to leave."

"I'm afraid that's not an option anymore." he said quietly as he placed a contract on his desk.

"Sign." He commanded. I looked directly at his ruby ring.

Stumbled forward. Not in control. My arm grabbed the pen. Signed the contract. It wasn't me. I didn't agree.

"Tomorrow. 9 a.m. You are dismissed." he told me, looking down at the contract.

They threw me out. In the street. In the rain.

I tried to run. I tried to get away. They found me. 9:30 a.m. I was there. They summoned that thing again. The thing inside me. They talked to it. It knew things. Knew things nobody could know. They made me look at things. It knew what it was. It knew where it was.

Once they knew they had me under their thumb they sent me out. They gave it control. Memory comes in waves. Everyone died. I killed people. I ate people. I forced myself to vomit the next morning. Tried to empty my stomach of the flesh and sinew.

I can't die anymore. I've tried. First thing I did was cut my wrists. Woke up the next day with "Not letting you go." painted on my wall. Pills. Asleep. Awake. Tried a gun. Blacked out before I loaded it. Woke up with it disassembled on the floor.

I was a slave. A slave to that ring. A slave to that sigil. But I know something they don't. It's resisting. It's learning to fight back. When they command it I can feel it. Their leash is getting longer. Their grip is getting looser.

It's coming for me. All of me. It's painful. But I'm not afraid anymore. I died long ago. If it wants this shell it can have it. I can feel it even now. Burrowing deeper — deeper as I fade away. I have no pity on those who thought they could control this thing. Take control. I surrender.

I know his name now. But I won't tell you. I only tell you this — I only tell you my story for one reason. Know, what when he comes and is crowned, that it wasn't me. It was never me.

Random question. Has anyone ever been to a poppy field before? 

Well if you haven’t no worries I’ll tell you all about it. First of all I live in California and poppies are everywhere here as well as being our state flower. Cool right ? Well I guess it's not that cool. Anyways poppies are quite abundant here, more so in the mountains if you ever drive through California during spring the mountains look like they are covered in a gold carpet of flowers. Those are the poppies. While they can be found everywhere there's something special about those golden poppies in the mountains. So, special in fact, the government in California protects that variant of poppies more than the other types.

 If you so happen to live near the mountains in California all of this is something you would already know. There's one thing that only people who live in the poppy fields know about, and that is the poppy queen. The poppy queen is an even more special poppy, because there is only one per mountain. The only reason I’m pointing this out is because this flower is something you do not want to get near. The mountain people of california call this flower by a different name they call it “The Mountain Siren”. The name if you can’t tell is a type of warning. The parents of children that live in the mountain regions tell their kids when playing in the mountains always go in pairs, and if you hear someone calling you come straight home. The thing is no matter who you ask, one thing is a constant, and that is if you hear someone calling you. Go Home. That is all you are ever told to do, they don’t give a reason, and they don’t tell you why. 

So, me being the rebel that I am. Lol. I decided to do the opposite. I planned to go with a couple of friends just in case. We planned where to go, and when we would go, all we told our parents was that we were going hiking and that's all. The day of the “Hike” three out of the five of us bailed out. So, it's just me and a guy, one of my friends knows he looks chill I guess. After talking about which route up the mountain we’re going to take we left. We talked for a while too…you know, get to know each other better and stuff. It was a long hike, but after an three hours of hiking we heard it. Someone was calling us up the mountain further, so we followed after the voice. It took us up the mountain a bit, and everything was fine until Mark, the guy that was with me, said we passed the same tree again. We looked at the tree for a minute not because it was interesting to look at but rather it felt like we couldn’t look away. Then I heard Mark start to whimper. 

“Sss..Sam something is behind me.”

“I feel something behind me sam.” 

I can’t turn to look at Mark. My eyes are stuck on this weird tree. I want to look back to look at him, because I can feel the dread in his voice and words. 

“Sam…I’m scared..I..I can’t see it but I know it's there.”  

“It's ok, just take a breath.” 

“Ok.”

I can hear his breathing starting to calm down. I tried to look away from the tree again to no avail. My eyes are glued to this ugly ashen tree with dagger-like branches. 

“ Hey Mark, are your eyes also stuck looking at the tree?”

“Ya, mine are too, I don’t know why but I can’t look away.”

I can look away from the tree, but now I understand why he started panicking. I can feel something caressing my back with sharp jagged nails. My heart is racing and hairs on the back of my neck are on its ends. Then I asked a question and I was terrified to get an answer too. 

“Who are you, and why are you messing with us?”

Mark screamed and then started crying. I heard him fall to his knees, and In his erratic crying I can hear him say he can’t see. After a few seconds I heard his voice break as he said he can’t hear anything now. Then I felt something run up my spine. It felt like fingers, carving its way up from my lower back to my shoulders. Then a whisper into my ear. 

“Would you like to see me?” 

“Would you like to look at me?” 

Its voice was a beautiful raspy voice, but it felt empty. I know it's talking to me but it feels “empty” that's the only way I can explain it. 

“Do you think the boy on the ground would like to see me?” 

By instinct I replied.

“No! I don’t think he would.”

“Ohhh. So,now you talk back sammy.” 

“How about we talk some more SAMMY?”

The way it's saying my name… I know it's grinning while it says my name. 

“Sure..I’ll talk with you, but can you let my friend go please?” 

There was a pause for a few minutes. There was a frustrated walking sound behind me as if it was mad at my response. 

“Fine. Under one condition Sammy.”

“Ok, I’ll do it. What's the condition?” 

“You’ll have to look at me that is all. Can you do that SAMMY?” 

That creepy way of saying my name again sends a cold sweat down my spine. 

“O..ok, I’ll look at you.” 

“Good, now look away from the tree, Sammy, and look at me.”

Look away from the tree? Wasn’t it the one making us look at the tree? I said quite for a moment thinking about what it just said. 

“What are you thinking about sammy? Don’t you want to protect your friend?” 

“Sammy?”

“Sam?”

“S-A-M?” 

I didn’t want to respond to it. 

“FUCKING LOOK AT ME SAM! LOOK AT ME! NOW!”

Its voice was different now; it was like several different voices yelling at me at once. 

“I’m sorry sammy. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” 

“Can you look at me please?” 

Now it was back to the voice that I heard originally. I can still hear Mark's low whispering so he must still be fine, But why? Can it not actually harm us physically if we don’t look at it? 

“I know what you are thinking sammy.” 

“ Are you sure you can risk your friend's life with that little conclusion? Can you sammy.” 

“If not”

“WHY DON’T YOU FUCKING LOOK AT ME NOW SAMMY!”

“TURN THE FUCK AROUND NOW!”

BANG….BANG

What in the world was that loud sound…A gunshot? I think it was a gunshot coming from the same direction of the town. 

Bang..Bang..Bang

“BOYS ARE YOU THERE?”

That sounds like the town sheriff, so with every ounce of strength left in my body I yell, I yelled with everything I had. From the distance I can hear barking and the footsteps of a dozen or so people. Then it spoke again, this time its voice was no longer empty; you could feel the anger, rage, and bloodlust in its voice. 

“Just you fucking wait sammy.”

“YOU ARE FUCKING MINE!” 

Then it went silent. 

I can feel the ground shaking with the amount of people that came to find me and Mark. When the shariff grabbed me, and turned me around by the shoulders. I realized I can no longer hear anything. Looking around I can see Mark crying in his father's arms then I tried to gesture what had happened to no avail. When we got to the sheriff's department I wrote down everything that had happened. When I was done the Sheriff just looked at me not the kind of look you would give a crazy person, but the look you would give someone that you would grieve for.

It's been over a decade since then and I’m now a park ranger for the area that I live. Obviously, I’m not going to tell you where this has happened for safety's sake. 

But if you ever visit california and go hiking up the mountains:

1. Go in pairs
2. Tell people your location
3. Bring a map 
4. If you hear someone calling you just go home.

The first time I saw something, I was deep down in the garage’s lower levels. I was patrolling the nearly empty garage, in a dim area, and heard a noise behind a vehicle.

I thought for sure it was a prowler, but as I got closer, I couldn’t find anyone. I thought the thief was hiding. So, I searched around the few cars and inside them, scanning through windows.

I saw a reflection in the glass of a silhouette standing right behind me.

The hairs on my neck rose as the person seemed distorted. Something was off as its neck and arms were too long. Its features were obscured in the murkiness of the garage. It was just a dark shape about five feet behind me.

I quickly spun around but there was nothing there.

At that moment, I felt a wretched vibe. I don’t know how to better describe it. A violent shiver ran through my body and my chest seemed to clench up like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. An impulse hit me – I didn’t care if someone was breaking into a car, I had to get out of there!

I ran as fast as I could to the nearest emergency exit which was two levels up and about two hundred yards away. I burst out of the garage. The streets were empty. I caught my breath and regrouped. I thought it had to be my mind playing tricks on me. I felt like such a pathetic coward. Some security guard I was.

So, I should back up a bit and explain things.

I was hired for the job three weeks before the very first covid lockdowns happened. Where I was, in Seattle, they started on March 23rd 2020.

I thought for sure they were going to just not hire me, but they told me that they were going to keep me on and instead furlough everyone else. I would act as parking manager, attendant, custodian and security as I had a background in security.

I actually started the job on March 13th as my background check needed to clear. The current manager there was retiring, and I only had ten days with him for training.

The garage itself was enormous. It was over 1500 spaces and had 6 levels and 4 sub levels. The best way to put this into context is it was the size of a giant indoor shopping mall. Those big ones built in the 80s.

Worse though, is that this garage was cobbled together decades ago. Two large garages were connected by a new structure. This caused the garage to be incredibly difficult to navigate as it was a bit of an octopus. A cement labyrinth. It had many dead ends. It had stairwells and elevators that only connected certain levels. And because of the current state of Seattle many of the emergency stairwells and elevators were locked off to prevent the homeless and druggies from sleeping in them.

A large apartment building sat across the street. Many of its residents parked in the garage, so it had to stay open. There were only around 400 parked cars peppered throughout the garage and because of the lockdowns, they didn’t move much. I would check the reports and on average 3 cars moved a day and they only left for a few hours. Probably to get food. Most of the residents worked in the tech fields, so they were able to work remotely. Nobody else parked in the garage.

After that first encounter, I was shaken but not stirred. Unfortunately, the garage only had security cameras at the entrance and exit. With everything going on in the world at that time, I thought for sure I was just seeing things. This was the very beginning of the pandemic and there was a real hysteria in the air.

I still patrolled the garage 3 times a day. There were some areas that I would quickly clear through, practically running through them. Nobody parked on these levels and they were creepy A.F.

I was told by the old manager that part of the Seattle Underground lay under the garage. There were remnants of an old hotel there. Most of it had been filled in when the new city was built over the old city. The Underground was a wild story in Seattle’s history. Because of the city’s original poor planning, they basically built over their first city at the turn of the century to make a better city. But then because of prohibition of the 1920s, some spaces down there, that weren’t completely filled in, became underground speakeasys, brothels, and gambling halls. A super shady place where many people disappeared. By the 70s, Seattle had cleaned many of these out. This information was never told to our parkers.

There were two places in the garage where there was access to the Underground. Both areas were covered with giant chain link fences bolted into the cement walls. A board was behind the chain link preventing any views beyond it. If anyone saw it, they would never know what was behind those barriers.

I always made sure that these fences remained firmly bolted down. One small area did look like someone tried to break through but didn’t succeed. Just going near these barriers creeped me out.

I thought about telling my boss about my first encounter. But I liked the autonomy of the job and just being left alone during this time. Most of my shift was spent watching YT videos in my office. Besides my boss seemed like a real flake. He had flaked on me twice at the beginning of my employment. When I first started, he said he would come by but never did. He said he had kids and was working remotely and lived two hours away. He then said we would have a call every Monday but then cancelled these meetings and just asked me to reach out to him if I ever needed anything.

I also couldn't call the old manager because I didn't have his number. When I took over the job, I inherited his work phone.

A week went by with no issues, and I thought for sure this was all behind me. During this time, the whole city shut down and the streets were mostly filled with the homeless and druggies. The whole world seemed upside down. I thought for sure it had to be some crazy person that got into the garage, and I was just a pathetic coward for running.

But then the big day happened.

I was already on edge as I was working down in the deepest subterranean level in a section near one of the fenced off areas that connected with the Underground.

As I fixed a light that had went out, I heard a banging sound. It came from around the corner. I got off my ladder and tiptoed over to the sound. It came from one of the mechanical rooms. That room helped ventilate the garage.

I walked closer. It sounded like a weak person pounding on the door from the inside. But the acoustics of the garage amped it up and it echoed off the concrete. As I got closer, the sound stopped.

I stood there frozen.

A child’s voice then yelled from behind the door, “Help me, someone please help me!”

All the air sucked out of me. I still stood frozen. The child’s voice then said, “Is someone there? Please help me! Is someone there?”

I said, “Why are you in there?” The child responded, “Someone put me in here. I don’t know why I’m here. Please let me out. I’m locked in here. Please.” The kid sounded desperate.

I took a step forward but paused. I remember warning signals pulsing through my brain. My body knew something wasn’t right. There was a tingle of that wretched vibe I had experienced before. I thought about calling the police. Where I was in the garage did not have a cell signal. I would have to go up at least two levels and towards an exit.

I said, “I’m going to get you help. I’m going to call the police right now. I have to go upstairs though, but I promise I’ll be right back.”

The child begged me not to go. He pleaded, “Please don’t leave me here alone. I’m so afraid. Please just let me out. Please help me.”

I repeated that I would call the police. The child pleaded, “They won’t come fast. I’m so scared. It’s so dark. There’s no light. Please just let me out.”

I clutched my set of keys. I had keys to every door in that place.

Something inside me was telling me to run. But the child started crying and begging me to just let him out. I thought to myself, I can’t be a coward.

I need to mention something about my past. When I was 10 years old, I was playing with one of my cousins at a frozen lake. My cousin fell in, and I didn’t think I could rescue him, so I ran for help instead. When I came back with my aunt, my cousin was dead. I blamed myself for his death all my life. Because I was a coward who didn’t try to save him myself.

It was that guilt that made me take a deep breath and flip through my keys trying to remember which one it could be. I stepped to the door and started trying the different keys.

I heard the click as I found the right one. I then turned the handle and pushed the door open and stepped back.

“It’s open. Come out.” But he didn’t answer. I stared at the ajar door for an eternity. Nothing came out.

I then heard the child sobbing. It was hard to hear what he was saying. But it was something like, “I can’t move my legs. I don’t know why I can’t move my legs. Please help, I’m so scared…”

I cussed myself out in my mind. I remember my head shook trying to disobey me. I then stepped inside the room.

It was extremely dark inside but the room itself seemed cavernous. Since it was the ventilation room there was one muted beam of sunlight coming from above. Nearby there was a large shaft that went up. Sunlight spilled in from the very top, which was five stories above.

I stepped to it and looked over its short barrier wall. It went another two stories down which seemed very odd to me as we were currently on the bottom level of the garage. It had to have been connected to the old hotel down there. But I didn’t want to find out.

I said, “Where are you?”

The child said, “I’m over here.”

It came from a dark corner. I said, “I’m going to help you, but you have to crawl towards me.”

I then heard something behind me like someone stepping on rocks. I turned and stared into this other dark corner. Something shifted in the shadows. It then stood idle for what seemed like an eternity. I stared into that blackness, searching for what it could be.

It shifted.

I held my breath.

It then moved towards me. Fast.

The child yelled, “Please don’t let him get me! Help me!”

I yelled back, “Come to me now!” But nothing did. I turned back to see a distorted body lumbering out of the shadows as it entered the light of the shaft. Its limbs were too long and the flashes of its skin that I saw were too pale. Its eyes and mouth looked like jagged voids. It was a streak of shadows and twisted limbs.

It was blocking the entrance door, so I made a quick decision as I was scared out of my mind! I climbed over the short barrier wall and entered the shaft. My plan was to climb up, but I quickly slipped and fell two stories down.

I hit the ground hard, landing on my butt. I’m a runner, so thankfully my legs absorbed some of the shock. It still hurt like hell. But the ground there was covered in dirt.

My adrenaline kept me going. I looked up and didn’t see anything chasing me. Nonetheless, I didn’t want it to see me, so I crawled into the nearby shadows.

It was like night down there, so I used my cell phone as a flashlight.

The shaft was adjacent to a room that had brick walls around it. In the distance, I saw an open doorway. I pondered going back up the shaft.

Something moved nearby. There was a column obscuring my view. I then heard a dragging sound. At first, I didn’t want to shine my light on it. But then I did.

I saw something crawling from behind the column. It was a black clump of limbs. Its arms dragged its body across the dirt floor. It seemed to have too many arms. Its long hair covered its face.

I quietly moved through the doorway to get away from it hoping it wouldn’t see me. The doorway connected to either stairs going up or a hallway into another area. I chose the stairs up.

My mind was racing. I couldn’t comprehend what I had seen and didn’t want to go back the way I came.

I thought of that weakness in one of the fences where someone had seemed to try and break through. It became my only hope – to find a way to the barrier gates and back into the garage.

I moved quickly and stealthily.

Upstairs, I stepped into a hallway. Old, worn wallpaper peeled off the walls. Most everything seemed to be made of brick or wood. I had to have been in that old, buried hotel.

I bolted down the corridor. My flashlight led the way. I entered a large space that looked like it was a bar and gambling hall at some point. There was a long dilapidated bar and several rotting tables and chairs. Twisted chandeliers hung from wood beams that held up the ceiling. Broken glass covered everything like dust. There was so much broken glass.

I remember the crunching sound of my shoes reverberating through the whole chamber. I tried to be as quiet as possible while still maintaining a quick run as I wanted to get out of there so bad!

My flashlight then shined across what I can only say was –

– a very dark shadow of a person. I flashed my light all around encountering more of these shadow people. My light passed completely through them, but you could still see traces of black shapes. They were like silhouettes made of dark smoke.

I then realized that there were many more of these shadow people all around me. More than a dozen. As my light beamed across them, they just drifted there watching me like statues in a graveyard. Their features obscured in a dark haze.

At that moment, I felt two powerful hands grab my shoulders. Bursts of red hot burned my skin from the touches.

I twisted and tripped over something. The hands let go as I fell on the dusty glass floor. When I fell, my light shined on a nearby staircase going up. I held my phone in my mouth and quickly crabbed to it. Shards of glass pierced my hands. I kept my eyes focused on the staircase never looking over my shoulders.

I got to the metal staircase and scrambled up.

I entered a crumbling brick and wood labyrinth, connecting rooms and corridors entangled with dirt and debris. It was musty and murky. The best way to describe it – it looked like the place had been bombed and was barely holding together. At any time, the wood ceiling could break and collapse in on itself crushing everything below. Walls were crumbling apart. Windows were filled with dirt. Doorways seemed to hold the place together.

I mad dashed through different rooms. Some were full of dirt and debris. Soom were filled with remnants from a past time. The bones of metal beds and vanities were strewn about.

I entered an empty brick room and recognized the new chain link fence and board blocking out what was behind it.

It was the garage’s barrier fence!

I ran to it, looking for a weak link.

Suddenly, I became incredibly cold. My body violently shivered, I felt like I was going to throw up, and that wretched vibe put me on my knees.

I turned to see what was behind me. It was not one but five human silhouettes. Their features were obscured. Yet their distorted shapes stood out. They had longer limbs and necks. Hunched backs. Bones bending abnormally. Hair matted. Tattered clothes. One wore what I believe was a bowler style hat. They stood there seemingly watching me even though I never saw their eyes.

I suddenly felt like I was choking. I knew I didn’t have long and somehow, I was able to squeeze more adrenaline out of myself. I moved to the fence and used all my weight and power to pull on it. Nothing would give as I went down the fence, tugging it for any weakness.

I looked over my shoulder and the shadow things were lumbering towards me.

I pulled harder and faster. None of the fence would give.

I could feel them right behind me like a strong fire scorching me. I could barely breathe. I was becoming light-headed. Things blurred as I kept pulling harder and faster down the fence trying to find –

The weak spot that I had noticed from the other side. The fence gave some pull! I had found it! I then pulled harder, and it pulled looser.

Everything was blurry and that dark place seemed to be swirling around me. But I held onto the fence and used all my strength to yank harder and harder. It gave way more. Enough were I thought I could climb over it and into the garage.

I began to climb but their hands snatched me and dragged me back.

Their touch burned. And each one seared me worse than the one before. I screamed, the pain propelling me to push harder.

I clung to the fence and yanked myself as hard as I could. Blood spilled down my mouth because I bit my lip almost off as I grunted and strained. Their force was too brutal. My arms felt as if they would break off. My body would be torn in half. But I wouldn’t let go of the fence.

I kicked my legs wildly and torqued my core with everything I had. Twisting like a wild wrecking ball. I felt that I broke through their clutches. I was depleted but my sheer panic, fear, dread, everything you could imagine gave me the burst of energy to plant my foot on the fence and fling myself over it.

My face smacked hard on the concrete below. My head rang like a bell. But I was back in the garage.

I wobbled to my feet. My head was spinning but I ran as fast as I could through the parking maze. I kept running as fast as I could and made it to an emergency exit.

I blasted out of the garage, ran across the street, and jogged maybe another ¼ mile away.

I stopped as I had to throw up. I will never forget the smell and color of that vomit. It looked like I had eaten black rotten eggs and smelled like when restaurants empty their grease traps. It was so nasty.

And I nearly passed out in it.

I didn’t know if they would follow me, so I went straight to the hospital and sat in the Emergency Room all night. My burns were borderline severe. But you couldn’t tell what they were really from. The hospital didn’t seem to care about them and was more worried if I had Covid.

The next day, I called the police. They didn’t find anything and refused to go down into the depths that I went. There were no signs of anything in the ventilation room. From the look of my bruises, the police thought I must have been jumped by a transient and fallen on a hot pipe and was probably concussed and possibly seeing things. They also said they didn’t have the time nor resources to investigate the matter further.

Later that day, I quit.

It’s been years now since that encounter. That place will always haunt me and has really f’d me up. I’ve seen a few therapists who never seem to believe me. I have nightmares all the time. During a lot of them I see the child whose voice I heard down there.

He kind of looks like my cousin. And he’s always asking for my help to save him.

Is he trying to still communicate with me? Was he a trick to get me in there or was he really trapped?

I’m going to go back down there to save him… I’ve hired some paranormal investigators to help me… I think that’s crazy… I think I’m out of my mind…

But at least I’m not a coward anymore.

'Ten.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah. I counted them many times, mom. I'm sure.'

I take a sharp breath, moving my thumb across the edge of the phone. My hand is slippery from the sweat, and my eyes twitch and dart from a corner of the room to another, like an addict. 'Okay.'

'Does that mean something good?' my 12 year old daughter, Rhea, asks from the other line.

I don't know what to tell her. I feel something dripping on the back of my neck, probably sweat from my hair. Or blood. 'Yeah, it's fine.'

'Ok, bye.'

'Bye, honey.'

That morning, when I left home, I knew what I had to do. I just hoped they'd start showing up after my return, not before, when Rhea and Jocelyn were home alone. I'd called Rhea and asked her to tell me how many... 'clients' had shown up at out door, waiting patiently. That's what I keep telling her: mommy sells newspapers, and she keeps them in the basement, where she prints them. That's why people keep showing up at our house.

When she said 10 people had already gotten there, my heart skipped a beat. That's too many. Way too many.

I understand they're eager, but stalking us?

With a sigh, I wipe my phone of the blood and put it in my pocket. My black boots are drowning in his sticky, slippery blood. I wish his blood was red. Over the last years, it just keeps getting darker.

His open eyes stare right into my soul. He's my Mona Lisa, watching me no matter where I go around the room, my bloody work of art. 'Til death do us part... and now we've parted, at least for another year.

Until I have to kill him again, because this fucking guy just keeps coming back.

After I'm done with the cleanup, I get behind the wheel and head south. That's what we agreed on long ago, when I still loved him. I like to say he lost his love for me throughout the years, but I know his heart never felt it.

The road is long and hard to get through. I can feel his eyes from the backseat and my knuckles are white from gripping the wheel too hard. Trees surround us - I'd have nowhere to go, and no one would hear me scream if I left the car. It keeps getting harder to carry out this fucking burden. I just hope I can put it to an end.

I keep getting flashbacks of what used to be. I'll fill you in. I don't even know why I chose this forum - I guess I hoped our followers would see it. I don't even care if they kill us anymore.

This rouse has been going for over 15 years.

It was 2009 and we were sophomores in college. The parties back then were more authentic - no one bothered to hide, or lie, or make themselves something they were not. Me, Juliet, Adam, Ophelia and Anthony used to hang out all the time.

This one party was back at this sorority house that I can't really remember the name of. We were all drunk off our faces and, in the dark of the night, when the music and the heat of other people had worn out, we resided to ghost stories and the so-called 'deep-talk'. Anthony had his arm around me and was staring into the distance, while telling these freshmen about a 'notorious' campus legend he was actually making up on the spot.

At one point, someone asked us how we came to know each other. Instead of the real answer (Juliet and Ophelia were sisters, and Adam and Anthony were mine and Julie's boyfriends), Anthony leaned in, eyes wide and sparkling, and lowered his voice.

'We're in a cult.'

The freshman, also drunk off his face, laughed and wiped his face. 'Yeah, ok.'

'You didn't tell them, did you?' I asked Anthony, pulling myself away from his embrace.

'It's no harm, relax. It's not like I'm recruiting them or something.'

Even though Julie and Oph hadn't been close enough to hear, they caught on the joke. 'Look,' Julie began, 'if you wanna laugh it's fine. It's not that big of a deal, anyway. Not like we've killed somebody, yet.'

'But we're planning to.' Oph said.

Anthony shushed her. 'It's late. Let's all go home.'

He gave us a fake warning look, but Ophelia's face was gleaming, as she continued. 'It's really a matter of time. You don't know what someone can do with enough ambition.'

At that point, some kid who we'd assumed had passed out on the couch lifted his head. 'What the fuck are you guys talking about?'

I let out a sigh. 'I thought you were sleeping. You shouldn't have brought it up, Tony.'

'Brought what up?' some other girl asked, passing by.

'We're in a cult,' Anthony said again. 'I don't get why you're all so secretive about it. It's the most fun I've had in my life.'

Some didn't believe us and told us to fuck off, but the few that did leaned in. This girl, Laura, had heard us say we wanted to kill someone and, even if I suspect she didn't really believe in our 'cult', started asking us questions, thinking we were some deranged people who were actually planning a murder.

'So, what is this cult about? What do you worship?'

'Oh, it's kind of a long story. Wouldn't even know how to explain it.' I sighed.

'Is it a deity? A god?'

Adam's face dropped. 'We don't believe in gods.' he spat out.

'Then? Is one of you the leader?"

'No,' I replied at the same time as Julie, who had said 'Yes'.

'I mean, it's not that easy. None of us met him yet. We are only a few of the members who get to talk to him. The others are initiates.'

The laughter around us started to dissolve, as more and more people gathered around, believers or non-believers, who just needed something entertaining to listen to.

At some point, one guy, Ronan, in an attempt to poke fun at us, asked us if we were actually just organizing orgies. Anthony turned to him, his mind damp from alcohol, and slapped him across the face.

The room fell silent.

'You think we're joking? People die trying to get in, and you think we're some weird sex-freak club who worship some... old guy? You have no idea, and even if you had, you wouldn't accept it. Some of you are that close-minded. You wouldn't know what it takes to be part of this. You're all in your 20s and walk around thinking you have some purpose on this earth, only to end up working 9 to 5s and shooting yourselves in the head at 40.

We don't strive for heaven and we don't fear hell. Our destiny is much more than a simple coin toss and trying to make it off the naughty list. There is no crime on this earth that isn't excusable, but even the smallest of deeds can be punished. We are loyal to ourselves and to him and him only. No other gods. No statues.'

His passion had startled us, but it was amusing. Anthony then added: 'if you want to know what it's like to actually be part of something greater, to guard your soul and lead it where it needs to be, then I'm here for any questions.'

'What about killing people?' someone asked in the back.

Anthony smiled. 'Every cult has objectives. We move towards evolution, whatever the cost.'

The next week had passed normally, and we laughed off our 'cult'. It became an inside joke between us, but no one really asked us about it. I think most people had forgotten our late night talk.

That was until March 11th, when a student, Sonya, threw herself off the 7th floor of the science building.

She had committed suicide, and there wasn't enough proof to pin it on anyone else. However, as I was walking to my dorm one night after dark, someone stopped me. I recognized the kid from the party.

'Did you do it?'

'What?'

'Did you kill her? Your... cult?'

My eyes widened, and his grip on my hand tightened. 'I'm... I'm not a cop. It's ok. I want in.'

'What?'

'I want in. Your cult. I'll... I'll pay you.'

'That was a joke, Christian. We aren't actually in a cult. We were drunk as shit and wanted to make fun of you.'

He let go of my hand. 'You don't need to hide from me. Don't try to play it off.'

I tried to walk away, but he grabbed me again. 'Look, we're really similar. I have had... urges throughout all my life. It stared with animals. I just wish I could do something greater with them. I want in. I want to help you towards your great plan. I don't know what it is that you worship, but I'm eager to find out.'

I freaked out and, seeing I could not escape his desperate pleas, I told him to just talk to Anthony.

When I met my boyfriend, a few days later, he had a radiating smile and took me to a way fancier diner than what we frequented.

'Hm, what's up with you? You've suddenly got money, or what? Were you a millionaire in secret?'

He shook his head. 'Remember that Christian kid?'

I frowned. That counted as an answer to him, who continued.

'He bought the whole cult thing. His dad died a while ago and he's got a fucking fortune on his hands. I told him I'd make him an... initiate if he made a donation to help our research.'

'What the fuck? What research? You don't even know what-'

'Look, he agreed to make donations from time to time, and I just blabbered about out cause and whatever. It's not like he'll go to the police.'

'He can! Some girl died and we indirectly tied ourselves to it, and now we're taking advantage of him and stealing his money? Are you insane?'

'The kid's a fucking psychopath already! He killed his dad, Emma. He says anything, I'll report him.'

'You have no proof.'

'He admitted it to me.'

I turned my head away, and he grabbed my hand. 'Thousands of dollars,' he said, kissing me on the cheek.

'Do the others know?'

'I'll tell them. Oh, and I gave our deity a name. Everything needs a name, if we're gonna worship it.'

'What is it?'

'Kannu. It came to me in a dream,' he said, and I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Over the next 3 years, out cult gathered more followers. The cult of Kannu, whose followers had no name and no race, no age, no gender. We were individuals striving to not be judged, and lived free, by our own rules. Me, Ophelia, Juliet, Adam and Anthony were the five fingers of Kannu's hand, and each of us had our undisclosed duties towards the deity, that involved donations from the other members. It was all thanks to Anthony, who's preacher qualities were undeniable.

The 'audience' helped, too - the cult mostly seeked isolated individuals with urges just like Christians, who wanted to believe their anomalies in thinking could help towards a greater cause. We'd tell them to hold back their killer instincts and wait for our call (which never came), and keep donating to our research. Authorities never caught on it - how could some serial-killer wannabe report us to the police? What could they say?

'Yeah, these guys took all my money and I haven't killed anyone yet.'

Seriously. Everything went really well in those 3 years. We'd made a lot of money off lying to people, and we even put some effort into this 'cult'. Me and Ophelia drew pictures, visions of Kannu, and claimed to read 'articles' to people of his doings in the past. We'd search up murders and disappearances and tie them to him.

Christian, our very first follower, had started doing drugs and claiming to see him. He was a devoted member and made donation after donation, treating us like gods and saying he was awaiting our call. He'd send us sketches of his 'visions', which were mostly bloodied corpses and screaming faces. He kept drawing faces over and over again, and one stood out in particular - Ophelia's, who was terribly annoyed.

'I knew he was in love with me, but I really don't like his drawings.'

Tears are streaming down my face as I hit the gas. In the backseat, his eyes are shiny, as if he'd been crying. he tries to hum to calm me down, but his throat is slit and the air gushes out of the cut, making him sound like a pig.

Ophelia and I were roommates. I came home, one night, and found the door open. Not unlocked. Opened.

Her body was laying in her bed, whose sheets had turned red, and her head was missing. That's all I remember. I don't know much else - everything was a blur after that. We couldn't find the head, and I threw out all of my red clothes, because I couldn't stand the color anymore.

Christian said Kannu came to him in a vision and asked him to kill her. The police had caught him drugged off his ass five days later and arrested him - 25 to life. No one cared that he'd spit out our names - they all thought he was a junkie.

When I visited him in prison a few weeks later, I did it just to ask him where he'd put the head. He said he left her intact. 'I stabbed her. I didn't cut her throat.'

That was our last conversation with him, before he killed himself in prison.

Grief does weird things to you. Anthony and I got married that year, and so did Julie and Adam. We thought that might help us stay united. It didn't.

The problem is, when you try to stop a cult, your followers might refuse. Telling them it had been a ruse for so long was out of the question. Instead, we crowned Christian as a hero and told them we'd go on a hiatus, as Kannu had received his sacrifice.

The hiatus didn't last long, because the majority of our audience had a certain thirst for blood and began stalking us and our families. Pregnant with Rhea, I told Anthony he needed to do something.

The cult began its activity again, this time with some strict rules: no one, apart from the four of us, could have visions. No one was to act on their instincts unless Kannu asked them, and Kannu only talked to the four of us. The symbol of the cult was a hand with it's pinky finger missing, symbolizing Ophelia's death. I began seeing these necklaces everywhere with the hand on them, and by now we'd gathered about 1000 followers. With their monthly donations, we could give up working and retire.

Even though everything had left a sour taste on me, I accepted this wicked way of living, knowing there was no way to back out now. There was no corner on this earth where we could go and hide, because these psychopaths could find us.

I didn't know at the time, but we would find Ophelia's head way later.

Nine years later, in fact. Intact. And, in that same day, Anthony would die for the first time because, turns out, when you mess with blood magic, even if you make up a name like Kannu, the real deity finds you. No matter what name you give it.

I have to stop now. If I speak too much about this, I fear it will feel... summoned. More than I already have to summon it.

I need you to know that I'm doing this for my kids.

As I step into the gas station, I fear the cashier will look over my shoulder and see Anthony's body in the car. Then, I see the cashier's hand necklace with a missing pinky finger, and I realize I have nothing to worry about.

The below is the story as I told it to the authorities... they did not believe me. I went to the media and again, they did not believe me. So, to you, Reddit, I write to you so that you may hear my story - please, tell the world because I seem to not be able to.

Beware of clouds that do not move, for they hide those who wear us.

I splash my face with water and look up at the mirror to see a face far older than me staring right back. I hated looking in the mirror lately. 31 years old with wrinkling eyes and greying hair. “Were my blue eyes getting even more pale?” I asked myself as I stared vacantly at them. This is why I wear sunglasses everywhere. This bloody job is aging me. I splashed my face again, washing my tired eyes. I put my glasses back on and wiped the water out of my short facial hair. In the mirror, I eyed the dirty bathroom behind me, the orange light of a soon-to-set sun pushed its way through the frosted glass windows and illuminated the body fluid-stained bathroom a colour that was reminiscent of an anxiety-ridden, Sunday sunset. Fitting, because on the other side of that door was a job I hated. I didn’t used to hate my job. In fact, I used to love it. But it wears at you, you know. Being a doctor. But what breaks you, is being sent to the middle of nowhere, away from your friends and your girlfriend to a town that shrinks year on year, with more missing people than there are actually people.

I sighed and walked over to the window. I tilted it downwards to peer out into the town. Flat as the eye can see. Brown sand and streets stretching between a bunch of old, unattractive buildings before the desert begins. I used to romanticise living in an isolated town out in nature. Good for the soul, I thought it’d be. Turns out, not all nature is great for the soul.  Staring out onto a flat plane of sand, as far as the eye can see, doesn’t stir up the endorphins. The sand isn’t reminiscent of exotic beaches or mystical dunes. It’s more akin to the dirt you’d find in a vacant lot behind an old motel riddled with drugs, gangsters and prostitutes. “Like the kind of place, you’d find in this dump.” I thought to myself.

I sighed again. I looked down as I pulled my wallet out of my pocket. I opened it to reveal two polaroid photos. One of the pictures was of my girlfriend, Kyra, and I at a wine farm back home. I had sunglasses on, a button up top and a glass of wine in my hand – I was actually happy in that photograph. “Your actions define you but your inner monologue shapes you.” Kyra would say to me. I nodded and looked up. I could see my apartment from the small opening in this tilted window. It was on the fire on side of town.

“At least rent is cheap.” I thought to myself. Gotta improve the inner monologue.

Of course, rent was cheap though. No one stays long enough for a landlord to even bother driving up the prices like they do in the cities. Most people just get up and leave one day, never to say goodbye to anyone. Never to contact their family again. It leaves the housing market right open. I looked down at the other polaroid. The boys and I at my best friend’s wedding. Dressed to the nines. We all had crystal tumbler with an expensive scotch in our hands.

The boys had all planned a trip to see me this weekend. I told them not to bother, there was nothing to do here.

“Drinking beers and seeing you is all we need,” Jordan replied.

“Don’t be a bitch, we’re excited for this,” Liam responded.

Chris just sent a gif of a little boy throwing a rock at another boy’s head. I laughed and so they continued with their plan to visit. I knew I should be excited to see them but the anxiety of getting through this work week was too powerful.

“Don’t be a bitch.” I muttered to myself as I looked through the window into the sky. The cloud was still there. It had come over during the weekend and covered half of the sky.

“It happens.” One of the locals said.

“Ya, it happens.” Another responded. It was the second one I had seen this year. A cloud that stays still for however many days and then disappears overnight. I was at the local watering hole when this one arrived… and by watering hole, I mean the pavement outside the liquor store. That’s where you drank in this dump. You bought a six pack and went and sat on the pavement drinking beers.

I looked at my watch. Thursday, 17h47. “12 hours and 13 minutes and I can leave.” I thought.

“Monologue.” I could imagine Kyra saying.

I forced a smile. “12 hours and 13 minutes and I GET to leave.” Good enough.

“Doctor Dan?” Liz said after knocking on the door.

“Ya?” I responded. Fumbling to put the polaroids back in the wallet, and that back into my pocket.

“Do you have a moment?”

I opened the door, exposing a long corridor with only half the lights working and two bulbs flashing intermittently. A pained groan drifted through the hall from one of the ward rooms. The hospital was far too big for a town this small. The two-story U-shaped building was ideal for the town back in the 70s, but the declining population had made the size of this place redundant. A clinic in a shipping container might’ve even been too much for this place. “A moment? I have a few. What’s going on?”

“More of a situation… a gentleman in the waiting room. He just walked in and sat down. He hasn’t said anything other than that he wants to see a doctor.”

“What’s the problem? Is he hurt?” I asked as we began walking. I peered into each room as we passed. Broken windows peered down into a dusty courtyard in the middle of the u-shaped building. Curtains missing from railings and old blood stains gone uncleaned. More rooms empty than occupied.

“There is no problem. That’s the problem. He seems fine. No signs of physical injury. No temperature.”  

“Name?” I asked.

“He didn’t say. I asked. I’ve tried collecting patient history, just like you’ve asked me to. But he won’t talk other than asking to see a doctor. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologise. You always do a great job.” I said. Liz was the best nurse in this place. She grew up here. Her fellow nurses hated her because her father owned the liquor store. That made them the richest family in town. It also made them the number one reason for hospital admissions. But Liz truly wanted to help. This wasn’t just a pay cheque for her. She always wanted to be a doctor, but her father couldn’t afford med school, despite his liquor “empire.”  She was smart though. Very Smart.

“This town is smaller than my high school. Surely you know his name, you grew up here, Liz.” I said.

“It’s the man from over Bracken Hill. The one in the caravan.”

“Ah. That recluse.” I thought as we passed another room. I peered and saw a tall but skinny man covered by a bed sheet, standing and looking out of the window. Only his feint, dark silhouette could be seen through the white sheet. Drug induced psychosis. He was admitted because he went around town telling people he’s seen god come down from the heavens and walk among us. Where the hell does one even get drugs in a shithole like this? “Please check on Mr. Swart later.” I said to Liz. The medication he was on was helping. He shouldn’t even be here but there’s no other place within days for him to go. Small hospitals like this, we have to do a bit of everything.

“Of course.”

We passed one last room before reaching the stairwell. I turned to look at the closed door.  I shook my head.

MRI

“Where is that bastard administrator?” I asked.

“Still hasn’t been seen since his tender ploy was discovered.” Liz replied. I fondled a small vial in my pocket. The administrator had friends within the minister of health and managed to get a budget increase for the hospital a few months back. I figured we could hire an extra cleaner or two, fix some windows, maybe even get new linen for the beds. Instead, he bought an MRI, an extremely high-end MRI. Incredibly powerful. For ultra-high-resolution scans. The type you would find in a prestigious university research laboratory, and now there’s one sitting out in the desert. “Who the hell would approve an MRI for a hospital in a town this small?” I thought when I watched it get installed. Well, that was exactly it. We were never meant to get the MRI. The administrator’s friend or relative or whoever was simply meant to be paid for it and that was going to be that. But the authorities received a tip off, and to quell the rumours, the administrator used the corrupt approval to actually get a bloody MRI. It was installed and the administrator never returned to work. Haven’t seen him since. I still get paid at the end of every month so I couldn’t care less about him but the thought of a machine worth ten times more than the annual GDP of this town sitting behind those doors disgusted me.

Couple of months back, a child from a nearby farm was dropped off. He was attacked by starved dogs owned by a couple too poor to feed themselves, let alone their dogs. The child bled to death in my arms, the couple locked up and dogs put down – all because of poverty.  I pulled out the vial from inside my pocket and rolled it in my hand.

Prozac.

“It’s only circumstantial.” I heard Jordan’s voice in my head. He knew nothing. He worked for a major corporate. Cushy job. Easy life. He didn’t understand the need for exogenous help. “You’re the strongest guy I know. Remember why you’re doing what you do. Your job has meaning. Worth. People have broken into tears whilst thanking you for doing what you do. You’re making a difference in people’s life. I just increase shareholder value for a bunch of fat old men.” He had said months ago. He and the boys were trying to cheer me up over a beer on a rare weekend when I went back to my home town to visit.

“Yeah. Try find worth amongst spreadsheets. Now that’s fucking depressing,” Liam had said. He was an accountant, and like most accountants, he both bragged about it and hated it.

Despite me disagreeing with him, Jordan’s intentions were pure. He was the one who, in high school, always wanted to help people. All the teachers told him to become a psychologist or a teacher. But he chose to go into business. “I did it for the money, so that I can provide for my family. I have the family… now I’m just waiting for the fucking money!” He would shout whilst looking at the cost of homes.

“Alright, Jords,” I said as I slipped the vial back into my pocket, “Let’s try it your way.” I hated the numbness of how those pills made me feel. It was good for some days but bad for most. Liz and I left, making our way down the stairwell as someone screamed in pain from down the hall. Mrs. Moses. That was common.

“I’ve been reading the documents. I know how to turn the MRI on now.” Liz said.

“You must be bored.” I said.

“I just figured we might need to use it someday. If it’s here, we might as well use it and help others.” She said.

“The department said that they’re coming to remove it one of these days.” I responded. They said that months ago but they’re so bloody inept that they can’t even send a team to pick up a piece of tech that the rest of the country desperately needs. “Couldn’t even run a fucking bath,” I thought to myself whilst thinking of the health department.

“Monologue.” I imagined Kyra’s voice. I was doing my best to catch myself in the midst of negative, angry thoughts. “Sorry, babe.” I whispered.

“There he is.” Liz said.

The man sat upright on a plastic chair in the hospital’s lobby. His clothes were as dirty as he was. He had long, blonde hair – or at least it used to be. It was sandier than the parking lot outside. He turned his neck slowly to look at me. I was met with wide eyes, exhausted of emotion. It was I was looking into a shell.

“Here’s Doctor Dan.” Liz said. No one called me by surname. I wish they did but I felt too bad to demand that of the nurses. Jordan had said I needed to be more assertive, but I had to save my emotions for other battles.

“Hi there.” I said to the man. Behind the dirt crusted exterior, there was a tinge of familiarity in that face.

“Hi, Dan.” He spoke.

“Shane?” I asked, finally recollecting where I knew him from, “I haven’t seen you since…”

“High school. Yeah…”

“Ya… didn’t you leave in grade 10 because of…” I stopped myself there as the memories came flooding in.

“Drugs.” He said softly. Shane was expelled for selling weed to other students. Everyone knew but no one told on him until at someone’s 16^(th) he brought meth. Even teenagers know when to draw the line sometime.

“Yeah…” I said awkwardly, “Anyway. What’s the problem, Shane? How can we help?” I asked. He sat there quietly. Staring out the front window. “Shane?”

“I saw him.”

“Sorry?” I asked.

“My uncle.”

“And?” I asked patiently. I wanted to tell him to hurry up. I know Jordan would’ve. He’s a good man but he’s assertive enough to get the ball rolling when he needs.

“Don’t you remember? From school?” I shook my head. I wasn’t cool in school and wasn’t at the party that got him expelled.

“The meth. A girl, Sammy, from another school, took some home with her. She died. My uncle made the stuff, and he went to jail after I got expelled.”

“And now he’s out of jail. Do you think he wants to hurt you?” I asked, “If he does, we can call the police.”

“No… no. He was killed in prison. Not too long ago – last week only. We buried him out there, in the sand. It’s his land.” He said. Pointing past the petrol station opposite the hospital. Bracken Hill. The sunset fell behind the small hill and cast a shadow over us as darkness set upon this dustbowl. “I dug the grave myself whilst my mother cried. I put him in there myself.”

“You sure it wasn’t someone else?” I asked.

“No. I saw him outside my window. He was peering in. His eyes black with white irises. He smiled at me. His skin was… tight.” His eyes looked up, to the windows of the secondary floor. My eyes followed him. A tall, pale ghost stared at us from one of the windows.

“Liz. Please go check on Mr. Swart.” I instructed the nurse, “My apologies, Shane. That’s just a patient. He likes wearing his bed sheet.”

“Where’s Dr. Simon?” Liz asked, checking her watch.

“That bastard wouldn’t help anyway even if he did arrive.” I complained. Simon. Fucking Simon. He was the resident doctor here. But when he was actually here, he didn’t even do anything. But at least he would usually be here. Today, he didn’t even bother showing up, so it was up to myself and Liz to run the show. I should pick up the phone and call him. In fact, I should pick up the phone and phone the department and tell them that Dr. Simon had been getting kickbacks from the previous administrator. He’s the only bastard in town who can afford a first-hand car, let alone that sports car he drives around these sand roads. The phonelines hardly ever worked anyway. The municipality would fix them and then someone would steal the copper. Rinse and repeat. The usual. I wouldn’t flog him off anyway, even if they did work, I needed him to sign off this bloody post in a few months so that I could go home and get a real job…

Monologue.

I sighed. A job that I enjoyed more. Liz took her leave to go upstairs.

“If you feel like you’re in danger, you should go to the police.” I said to Shane. He shook his head. A soft, pained moan sounded from the nearest ward. I made a mental note to check on the patient.

“Fair enough.” I said as I recalled when my bicycle went missing. I loved riding my bike – was the closest I got to feeling like I was getting away to from this place. Woke up on Monday after a long call and the entire bicycle, including the bike rack was gone. I called the policeman, yes, the single policeman and told him about it. He said it was a small town and it would show up. It had not since. So, I took the boring, 10-minute trek home every day.

“It happened when the cloud arrived,” Shane said.

“On Saturday?”

“Well, on Saturday evening, my motorbike went missing. I loved that bike. I would dig and make ramps for it up on the hill. I went looking for it and saw my uncle’s grave had been dug up. Sunday night… I’m looking out the window and there he is. He just walked off with his friends.”

“His friends?”

Shane pointed. At Mr. Swart under his white bed sheet in the window. Now that I noticed, he was staring right down at us. I looked at the sheet-covered man and back at Shane. It clicked. Damnit.

“Shane, are you making and selling drugs up there. Over the hill?” He nodded.

The bastard sold bad meth to Mr. Swart. He takes after his uncle and now there’s probably some sort of epidemic of meth-induced psychosis. I should’ve told him to go perform a common sexual act upon himself, but I decided against it. I have an oath to uphold. I went to the nurse’s station to grab a clipboard to begin taking a full history. I scoured around the station and couldn’t find a single metal clipboard. Only the wooden ones. I hated the wooden clipboards. My handwriting is terrible enough without those poorly maintained pieces of garbage worsening it.

I grabbed one and sat beside Shane. “Alright, first of all…” I paused. I eyed the dirty parking lot outside. Not a single car. “Shane. Who dropped you off?”

“I walked.”

“From Bracken Hill. That must’ve taken… awhile.”

“I left on Sunday.”

“Sunday?? I can run up there in probably an hour. Walk in maybe two. How did it take you four days??”

“I… got lost.” He said with a tear coming up his eye. It streaked down his dirty face, leaving the only clean line upon his gob. The idiot was so high he wandered in the desert for over four days. I grabbed the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and sighed.

“We need to get you fluids ASAP.”

“Mr. Swart isn’t in his room.” Liz said. I turned around. She stood behind me on the stairs.

“What do you mean? I can see him in the window.” I said as I peered up. The broken window from which he stared down at us from was empty. Only darkness lay behind the sharp glass. The sun was deep below Bracken Hill now and the moon shrouded behind the still cloud. I only just noticed how dark the hospital had become.  He was gone. A woman screamed in pain. Loudly.  It echoed down the halls. Goddamnit! I slammed down the clipboard.

“Liz, admit him now that he’s talking. Check him for dehydration, get him fluids. After that, go find Mr. Swart. I’ll go check on that screaming patient and WHERE IS DOCTOR SIMON?!”

I ran up the stairs in the dark. I opened the door to the half-lit corridor and looked around. Trying to figure out which way the scream came from. The flickering lights in the corridor to my left briefly illuminated a blackened foot entering a room at the end of the corridor. I flinched slightly at the site but just figured that it was Mr. Swart. The scream came from the other side of the hospital, so I made my way straight on. My immediate destination was a light switch. This bloody dump hadn’t even figured out automatic lighting yet. I walked across the main corridor connecting the hospital to the other side of the U-shape. At the end of the corridor, I fiddled on the on wall in the dark for a light switch when I saw something that made the hairs on my neck stand up. A dark liquid was smeared all over the floor. I’ve seen enough of that substance to know what it is. Light or dark. I reached into my lab coat and grabbed my Leatherman. Chris had given it to me years ago.

“All men should have a Leatherman. That’s why I didn’t get one for Jordan and Liam… bloody corpos.” Chris said with a giggle back then.

In a hospital, anything can happen. Someone could’ve ripped open their stitches falling out of their bed when getting up for the toilet. Unfortunately, I didn’t know of anyone in the hospital who currently had stitches… and, I had only ever seen this much blood once before… oh, God. I pulled out my phone and immediately sent a text to Kyra. “I love you, babe.” Keeping my hand in my pocket with the knife flipped out of the leatherman, I slowly crept down the hallway. I shouldn’t have been scared. A doctor should rush to help patients, but the corridor was dark, the scream was blood curdling and now the floor a mess. I used my phone as a torch. As I passed rooms, I could hear patients quietly sobbing as I, myself, began to realise the type of blood trail that I was following. This was no blood drip trail… someone, with severe bleeding, had crawled through here, or worse… dragged. My stomach dropped. I immediately ducked into the nearest room. I tried to steady my breath. I did not know if I could follow the trail.

“Don’t be a bitch.” Liam said in my head… well, fuck you Liam. Scariest thing that’s ever happened to you is a formula breaking in excel.  I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

“We tried to stop them.”

My head snapped towards the voice. An old lady in the bed of the room I pulled into. Dark skin wrinkled and leathery from years in the desert sun lay in bed under direct view of the cloud above from her window. She coughed twice before lifting a weak arm from her bed and pointing to the cloud. “The elders tried. We thought we did. Back up on the farm months ago… I offered them my own daughter. They put her on and left… but they’ve come back.”

“What the hell?” I asked. I didn’t have time for geriatric ramblings. I turned around and made my way out the door. Liquid dripped to the floor from the last room at the end of the corridor. I could hear the dripping. Slowly drops fell to the floor. I creeped further ahead. Forcing my legs to move. I approached the end room and turned into it. Only to find a similar scene to what I had seen in my first few months of being here. I went white with shock as I remembered the call. Up at a farm, thirty minutes’ drive from here. A lady on a phone screaming for a doctor. Apparently, a severe burn victim was seen walking down the main highway. No. No, she was wrong, not burns. The girl had collapsed and died by the time I had arrived and what I saw then was the same as what I saw now. Hanging from the wall by metal bolts through his hands, was the flayed body of a slim man. Lips and eyelids as removed as his skin. Exposed muscles still twitched as his nerves sent pain signals shooting through the body and mind.

“Oh, Lord…” I said softly, defaulting to my old religious habits. Strange. I had only been to church once in the past 12 years and it was in this town’s very church. I left early because it was not what I had remembered… it was strange. Their beliefs completely differed to what I had remembered learning. My hands were trembling. I needed to let the man down. If I call the policeman, he will only come when it suits him. This whole damned town is unreliable. I stepped forward to try and remove the corpse from the wall when something from the window caught my eye.

Black silhouettes of tall, slender men moving down the corridor on the other side of the hospital. They were prowling through the dark building. I could see them through the window as they moved between the open doors. Liz was too short and stout for that to be her. Fuck. My mind jumped to satanists or some murderous cult. I was in danger. I needed to help Liz but what could I do? I turned to the flayed corpse. I wanted to apologise for not being able to help but… its eyes. They turned to look at me. It opened its mouth. “S-s-skk. S-sky. Cloud.” It muttered as it eyed me. I turned and ran. I sprinted to the nearest bathroom and slammed the door shut, cowering in a cubicle which I franticly tried locking it but failed for the locks were no longer there. Just empty holes in the wooden door where the screws used to be. That was new. I put down the toilet seat, sat down and tried to calm myself. I felt a vibration on my arm. My watch.

“High Heart Rate. Your heart rate rose above 167 bpm while you seemed to b-“ I stopped looking at it. My head plunged into my hands. I looked and reached into one of my pockets. The vial. Prozac. I shakily opened the bottle empty the contents into my hand. “This would be easier,” I thought, “easier than being flayed by a bunch of murderous cultists.”

Inner Monologue. Don’t be a bitch. Seeing you is all we need.

“Fuuck,” I said as I carefully put them back in the vial and slipped them into my pocket. I wanted to see my friends… my girlfriend. I couldn’t give in. I started breathing in deeply and poured all of the pills back into the vial.

A cold chill swept up my neck as the sound of scratching caught my attention. The window behind me was tilted open. I slowly turned around to look and out of the window slowly crept a long, pitch-black arm ended by a hand with three long fingers and sharp claws. The arm started to bend and move down, as if about to grab me. I am a doctor, and it was my professional opinion that that was no human appendage. My mouth dropped and I tried to scream but I had no voice. Shock had grabbed hold. I fell to my feet and scrambled out of the cubicle. The arm began to flail wildly as a low, guttural growl sounded out from behind the glass. I crawled until I could find my feet and stumbled out of the bathroom and into the corridor. I stumbled back into the old woman’s room. I need answers. She had them. She was under her covers, grumbling, sobbing and gurgling.

“Ma’am… Ma’am, what are these things?”

The grumbling, sobbing and gurgling stopped. The bed sheet raised into the air, slowly, like a ghost rising from its slumber until its head hit the roof. Two, white lights shone at me from behind the sheet. A black hand reached out from under the sheet and pulled it away, throwing it to the floor. In its other hand, the half-mangled corpse of the old lady hung, partially devoured by a ceiling tall creature with glowing white eyes and a grin filled with teeth. Two arms, two legs. Like a human with an enlarged head with two small, white eyes. I screamed and grabbed the nearest thing to me - A bed pan. I threw it at the beast and it slammed into its skull with a soft thud. The metal pan just stuck there and then slowly started to retreat into the beast. The tall, blackened creature shivered and oscillated as the metal broke down and was redistributed throughout its body. I shouted and pulled over a wardrobe. It fell into the beast, knocking it into the broken glass window. It shattered what was left of the window and fell through into the courtyard below. I heard it hit the ground with a thud. The beast let out a grandiose howl, one that I could feel in my gut. It was as if a thousand ships in a dock signalled their horns at once from the gut of an alien beast. Thank the Lord maintenance was too lazy to bolt those wardrobes down. I needed to find Liz and leave. There was at least one more of these things.

“LIZ!!!” I shouted as I turned and ran, “LIZ?! WE HAVE TO LEAVE!!”. I sprinted to the nearest stairwell. The lights flickered. Darkness and light. Darkness and light. I ran down the stairs and out into the main foyer. Shane still sat on his chair. He just stared outside, straight ahead.

“I remembered where I was in the desert. Why it took me so long to get here.”

“Not now, Shane!” I snapped, “LIZZ!” I shouted again as I frantically searched for her.

“I wasn’t actually in the desert. I was with them. Behind the cloud.” Shane said.

Goosebumps crawled across my skin, and I stopped my frantic search. Shane slowly stood up and took his shirt off, revealing red, fresh scars across his torso. He looked like a poorly sewn shirt with huge hems around his shoulders, down his torso and up his arms. He unbuckled his jeans and they fell to the floor. His legs were the same. He was freshly sutured together… freshly sewn.

“They tried me on. I was too short. They put me back. But you, Mr. Swart, my uncle. You’re the right size., they can squeeze.” He simply stared at me with his mouth open and a vacant stare, as if his soul slowly leaked from his eyes. I looked into the parking lot and the one that had fallen out the window was hunched over an aluminium bench. I used to sit there to eat my lunch. Its body was oscillating and ululated gutturally as it began to absorb the bench itself. It’s skin beginning to reflect the flickering lights of the floor above. I turned my head to the stairs and next to them, the door to our supply closet creaked open. A human hand creeped out from behind and beckoned me closer. I moved quickly to it, leatherman in hand.

As I approached, it grabbed my hand and pulled me in. I had to stop myself from stabbing Liz as she slammed the door shut and locked.

“What in God’s green Earth is happening??” The nurse asked me, tears spilling from her eyes. “I saw Mr. Swart. His eyes were glowing, and he was eating another patient. His head split in half from his mouth to forehead so that he could swallow her head whole… oh god.”

“They eat humans and metal.” I said.

“And wear us…” Liz said through tears, “Mr. Swart’ skin tore open, and I saw something beneath it.”

I looked around the supply room and saw nothing of help until I saw Liz’s keychain on her hips.

“Come with me.” I said as I grabbed her hand. I pulled her out of the supply room and up the stair well.

“Unlock this door.”

“Why?”

“Just unlock it!” I shouted. She fumbled through her keys to find the right one when I noticed him. Mr. Swart at the end of the corridor. He was on the roof; belly facing the floor and arms and legs contorted backwards to hold onto the ceiling. His white eyes glowed as he began to crawl towards us. “Hurry.” I said.

Mr. Swart ululated with deep growls and clicks as he crawled along the roof towards us, picking up pace. His face split open down in the middle and exposed a head filled with hundreds of teeth. “HURRY!” I shouted as I launched my knife at the creature. It hit the roof-climbing beast right where it’s head split open and it screamed. It faltered for a slight moment and gave Liz just enough time to unlock the door. I grabbed the handle myself and swung the door open as the crawling beast reached us. It dropped from the roof and I narrowly dodged the creature before shoving Liz inside the room. I slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.

I flipped a light switch and white light lit up the only well-kept room in this shithole. The white, cylindrical tube of the MRI machine glowed under the bright light above. Clean, pearly-white tiles shone.

“Get in the control room.” I asserted as one of the beasts started banging against the outside. “Liz. I need you to show me what you’ve learned.” Liz opened the door and went into the control room.

“Begin turning it on.”

“Why?”

“No questions, Liz. Just do it.” She booted up a computer and I could hear the clacks of keyboard keys through the radio used to talk to me. I slowly walked to the other side of the room. Next to the MRI. I unclipped my belt and removed it from my pants.

“On my signal,” I said as I watched the door handle fall to the floor. The creatures were absorbing the metal inside, “turn it on.”

The door creaked open and Mr. Swart’s head peer around the door. His bright white eyes were wide and wild. He smiled with a toothy grin as his unnaturally long neck kept extending out from behind the door. With a croak, he kicked the door open and behind him stood another one of those beasts, not wearing any skin. I shivered as I stared at them. I held my belt out, like a whip. As if it would help. God, I wish I still had my knife – why the hell did I throw it?

“Come on! Try me on!” I shouted. They both croaked and growled as they ducked to stand into the room. The one without skin stepped forward and approached. Its hand split down the middle and a metallic bone protruded from it with multiple tool-like ends. They all appeared to be some sort of surgical scalpel-device. Warm liquid ran down my legs.

I held my belt buckle up as they approached. “Full power, Liz! 7T!” The belt buckle was ripped from my hand and slammed against the magnetic resonance imagery machine. I heard a second thud and stared at my knife now stuck to the MRI, covered in black gore. The creatures slipped and fell. Grabbing onto tiles and gripping the floor. They groaned and their croaks began to turn into screeches and their screeches into loud, thunderous howls. I watched as something with multiple spikes began to press its way out of Mr. Swart’s belly. It ripped through and slammed itself against the MRI. A bicycle gear. I shook my head in realisation. “Thieving prick!” I shouted. The creature’s screeched and cried as bits of metal began ripping out of their skin, tearing them apart. Their claws peeled back and their grip on the floor gave in. The scalpel-like bone of the unskinned one snapped and flew at the magnetic machine. It sounded like a thousand marbles thrown in a metal bucket. The racket was unbearably loud. The unskinned alien’s grip failed. The entire beast was ripped from the ground and slammed into the machine. It squealed like a pig being thrown in a grinder. Mr. Swart’s wearer’s grip gave in next and it too flew into the MRI. It slammed onto its alien companion. Stuck on the front of the MRI, they roared in pain and the quintessential sound of bones snapping, skin tearing and metal creaking as it bends filled the room. With a loud pop, their skin gave out and black gore sprayed the inside of the MRI machine as thousands of pieces of metal burst inside the magnetic mass.

The MRI shut down and I fell to my knees.

__________________

In my rearview mirror, I watched as the cloud, uniform and unbreaking, slowly sunk behind the horizon of a rising sun. I looked at the piece of paper folded on my passenger seat. I smiled.

“Dr. Fucking-Simon,” I shouted as the prick opened the door to his door house, “If I didn’t sign an oath I’d fucking kill you.” He wreaked of booze and his eyes were dilated. I shoved a piece of paper into his chest. “Sign this, or I go to the department.” He was so high, he didn’t even realise I was threatening him. He signed the papers and proceeded to pass out on his porch immediately after. I had offered to take Liz with me, but she wanted to get her family out first. I wasn’t staying for another minute. I backed my bags, threw all that I owned in that town in my car, and I left.

Now driving, I reached into my pocket as I drove away and felt the vial of anti-depressants. I smiled as I threw them out of the window for happiness was ahead of me.

I need help.

No matter how many times I think it over, no matter how many times I check the date, no matter how many times I look at the pictures, no matter how much I look at the stains on the concrete, no matter how much I tell myself it was a dream... I know for a fact it was real.

I died, and now I'm back.

Yesterday was normal, if not a little better than normal, since I went out to eat ice cream with friends. I woke up, ate breakfast, finished by deliveries, and then headed back home. A normal day, until I opened the door of my apartment to find a person robbing my place. I still don't know how they got in, the door was locked and so were the windows. I am also on the third floor and there are bars over the windows. Unfortunately that doesn't change the fact that they got in, and stabbed me.

I didn't know they had a knife, I was just trying to protect what little I had. I know now it would have been better to call the police... but I didn't. I attacked him and in return, I was stabbed in the gut and bled out on my apartment floor alone.

I still remember my last words clearly, "I hope mom comes to my funeral." Honestly, now that I have time to think it over, I feel like I could have said something more important. I guess in the moment I just wanted to see Mom again.

I woke up six hours later in my bed in a completely different set of clothes, with my wound fully healed.

At first I thought I might have been dreaming. It was the most logical explanation, especially since I woke up in my bed. That was until I saw the very obvious red stain on the floor, in the exact spot I died in. I had no idea what to do. I stood there in the hallway staring down at the evidence of my very own murder, now both the victim and witness to a crime that had now been reversed.

I covered the red stain with a mat, and cried for a while. Then considered my options, I could call the police, but I had no reasonable explanation. I could tell people, but they wouldn't believe me, or worse, they would lock me up. I could look for answers, but there was nothing to go off of, other than the robber, the knife, and how I woke up. The only thing I could think to do was continue on with my life as normal.

It felt surreal, eating breakfast, walking to work, delivering packages, and then going back home that day. I couldn't help myself but question if anyone noticed something different about me. Yet, nobody said a word, nobody glared at me or flinched, or even gave me more than the usual 'hello'. Honestly, at the end of the day I found myself asking if my death meant anything at all. Although after getting slightly frustrated at the lack of attention, I realized that if I had changed then people would ask too many questions and I didn't want that either. So I just went through the day feeling confused and annoyed by my current situation.

After work I decided to take a detour and walk through a nearby park. Its really small, but being alone in an open space allowed me to think a bit.
The few questions which I still am asking are; Why was I revived? Did the robber revive me or did something else do it? Is this temporary? Can I die again or was it just that one time?
I know I can answer that last one easily, but even after what happened I still fear death. I am not going to end my second chance for curiosity's sake. Even though my life is dull, I enjoy it. I am grateful to be alive, just slightly worried about what will happen next.

The time I spent at the park greatly lifted my burdens and I headed home feeling much more gratitude then I had been. In fact I walked home feeling kind of like a children's cartoon character that had just learned their lesson. Even as I am writing this I feel that way, because what other purpose did that nightmare serve? I highly doubt that I am supposed to become some kind of superhero now. I will still look for other reasons and clues to what this all could mean, and if someone is behind this, but for now I am just going to continue living my life as normal.

I just saw something. There is someone outside my window. I called the police and am in my closet now. I went through the hallway opposing that window, so they couldn't see where I hid.

It's been thirty minutes and the police haven't arrived yet. I don't think that figure was the robber, they looked too short. I have no idea how they got to that window. I don't want to die again.

It's been an hour and I still don't hear sirens. My phone is at fifty seven percent as of me writing this. I called again but all they said was they were on they're way. I'll continue writing until something happens, if I hear someone enter my apartment I'll publish this.

It's been three hours. It's nearly 12:40pm at this point. Where are the police? Why are they knocking on the window? If no one comes in the next ten minutes I'll just post this and run.

It's behind me. I can see it's eyes in the reflection. I don;t knwo want to do oh god help me please. Please someone help. I'm ttoo afriad to move. I'm not going to type it'll hear

I woke up again. I was killed by whatever was in there with me. I am currently in a donut shop two blocks away from my house, I got out of there as soon as I realized what had happened. I called the police, but it hung up on me when I did. I've tried so many people's phones, but none of them work. I am too scared to even tell anyone now. What if it silences them to? I have no idea if it can do that, but I don't want to test it.

One of my questions was answered last night though, I can die multiple times. Each time feels like sleeping, it's not darkness, just fuzziness for an instant and then I wake up again.

I don't know what that thing was but it was horrifying. I can't describe much of it, other than eyes. It blended in with the wall, but was just slightly off that I could see it's eyes in my phone screen's reflection. I think it's reviving me, for what purpose though I have no clue. I just know that whatever it is wants to kill me.

I went to work and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I think I'll stay in a hotel tonight, and then maybe go back to my apartment tomorrow. I'll go with someone though, just in case it's still there. Then they can call the police for me... or if not that, at least I'll have someone else who I can talk to about all this, other than whoever reads this after I post it.

After I arrived at my hotel room I called a work friend over, explaining I was at a hotel due to someone stalking me. It was a simple but believable lie. He asked if I had contacted the police about it, and I told him I had and they didn't do anything about it. That stuck up a nice conversation about how law enforcement just isn't reliable for crimes like these without evidence, it got my mind off things, even though I felt kind of awful for bad mouthing the police when they really couldn't do anything to help.

It's almost 11:30pm as I'm writing this, and I feel good about my plan. My work friend is going to leave in a few minutes, but there has been no sign of it.

It's here.

My work friend is currently in the bathroom, and I can see it out the window again. It isn't up close like it was before. It's in the parking lot below instead, looking up at me. It also doesn't look human like it had when it was in the window last night. I'm not taking my eyes off it until he gets out of the bathroom. It only appeared after he left, so if he comes back maybe- MAYBE it might leave me alone. I can type more after he comes out of the bathroom, but the line is about to drop out of my peripheral vision.

He sees it too. I'm not crazy. He sees it. He tried to call the police, but the same thing happened. I explained a little and he got pretty pissed that I didn't tell him, but agreed he probably wouldn't have believed me. We're taking shifts watching the thing, it hasn't moved for half an hour.

I can feel it touching me. It feels like pins and needles where ever it does. Then after it pulls away it itches for a while like a bug bite. I hate this. We don't know how it got in. I think I'm going to die again. I'm not worried about me dying though, I know I'll come back. I'm more worried about Mack. I don't want him to die because of this being I now seem to be carrying around with me. He is watching me type from his hiding spot under the bed. He can probably see what it fully looks like. If you're reading this after I've died Mack, I'll be okay I promise. This has happened two times already. I'm sorry I dragged you into this, please stay away from me after you get out of this. I don't want anyone to else to die.

I can't drop the phone.

My hands feel like they're asleep.

Why haven't you killed me yet?

Can I speak?

Please don't.

Where did you come from?

Why are you bringing me back?

Is it permanent?

What is it?

Why?

Will you kill us after I do it?

Please.

Why me?

So it was random?

Then why was I chosen?

The plea for help I began with seems almost foolish now. I started confused, and ended writing this feeling almost like I'd found the answers to all my questions. It spoke to me, and I wrote back to it. Mack is still hiding. In fact it's still watching me type this. It always was, because this is exactly what it wanted. I can see it's form move in the static of black shadows of the room and windows.

Before I wrote it off as my mind playing tricks on me, like when I thought there was something in the blackness of my bedroom, or down the hall. I'll wake up tomorrow, but today I'm going to die. I'm going to die, and wake up every day for the rest of my life, until the end of time. I asked how to stop it, because I know eventually I'll cave.

It answered me, but don't worry, it said they'll wake up.

I've always loved the Boy Scouts. The campfires, the badges, the camaraderie – it was my escape from the monotony of small-town life. But that summer, the summer of 1994, everything changed. It was the summer that never really ended, at least not in my mind.

My name's Jack, and I wa fourteen years old when Mr. Coldwell became our new Scout leader. Looking back, I should have known something was off from the very beginning.

It was late May, and our troop was gathering for the first meeting of the summer at the old community center. The peeling paint and musty smell were as familiar to me as my own bedroom. I took my usual seat between my best friend, Thatcher, and the ever-fidgeting Spork (yeah, that was his real name – his hippie parents had a lot to answer for).

"Where's Mr. Holloway?" Thatcher whispered, his freckled face scrunched up in confusion. Our old leader was nowhere to be seen.

Before I could respond, the double doors at the back of the room swung open with a creak that set my teeth on edge. In walked a man I'd never seen before. He was tall, impossibly tall, with limbs that seemed just a little too long for his body. His skin was pale, almost translucent, like he'd never seen the sun. But it was his eyes that really got me – they were the palest blue I'd ever seen, so light they almost looked white.

"Good evening, boys," he said, his voice surprisingly deep and smooth. "I'm Mr. Coldwell, your new Scout leader."

A murmur ran through the room. New leader? What happened to Mr. Holloway?

Mr. Coldwell smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I know this is unexpected, but Mr. Holloway had to... step down due to personal reasons. I'm looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you."

As he said this, his gaze swept across the room, and for a split second, I could have sworn his eyes lingered on me. A chill ran down my spine, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

The meeting proceeded as normal, but there was an undercurrent of unease that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Mr. Coldwell was polite, even charming at times, but there was something about him that just felt... off.

After the meeting, as we were filing out, I overheard Ziggy (our resident conspiracy theorist) whispering to Blink, the quiet kid who always had his nose in a book.

"I'm telling you, man, something's not right with that guy," Ziggy hissed. "Did you see how he kept staring at Jack? It's like he was sizing him up or something."

Blink just shrugged, but I felt my stomach do a flip. So I wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

As the weeks went by, things got progressively weirder. Mr. Coldwell seemed to take a special interest in me, always calling on me to demonstrate knots or lead discussions. At first, I was flattered by the attention, but it soon became uncomfortable.

Then there were the strange occurrences. Items would go missing from our packs, only to turn up in odd places. The forest around our usual campsite seemed different somehow – darker, more oppressive. And more than once, I could have sworn I saw Mr. Coldwell standing at the edge of the woods, watching us, when he was supposed to be back at the main camp.

It all came to a head during our annual summer camping trip. We were deep in the woods, further than we'd ever gone before. Mr. Coldwell said he knew a special spot, a hidden lake that would be perfect for our week-long excursion.

As we hiked, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. The trees seemed to close in around us, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers. More than once, I thought I heard whispers on the wind, but when I turned to look, there was nothing there.

We reached the lake just as the sun was setting. It was beautiful, I'll give it that – crystal clear water reflecting the orange and pink sky. But there was something else, too. A heaviness in the air, a sense of anticipation, like the whole forest was holding its breath.

"Alright, boys," Mr. Coldwell said, clapping his hands together. "Let's set up camp. Jack, why don't you and Thatcher go collect some firewood?"

I nodded, grateful for the chance to talk to my friend alone. As soon as we were out of earshot, Thatcher turned to me, his face pale in the fading light.

"Jack, we need to get out of here," he whispered urgently. "Something's not right. I saw... I saw something in the lake."

I felt my heart rate pick up. "What do you mean? What did you see?"

Thatcher shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. "I don't know, man. It was just for a second, but I swear I saw faces in the water. Dozens of them, all staring up at us."

I wanted to tell him he was crazy, that it was just a trick of the light. But deep down, I knew better. I'd felt it too – the wrongness of this place, the sense that we were in terrible danger.

"Okay," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "We'll wait until everyone's asleep, then we'll wake up Spork and Ziggy. The four of us can make a run for it, get help."

Thatcher nodded, relief washing over his face. "Yeah, okay. That sounds like a plan."

We gathered the firewood and headed back to camp, trying to act normal. But as we approached, I knew immediately that something was wrong. The camp was too quiet. Where were the usual sounds of boys laughing, arguing over who got which tent?

As we entered the clearing, my blood ran cold. Our entire troop was standing in a circle around the unlit fire pit, their backs to us. And at the center of the circle stood Mr. Coldwell, his pale eyes gleaming in the twilight.

"Ah, Jack, Thatcher," he said, his voice sending shivers down my spine. "So good of you to join us. We've been waiting for you."

As one, the other boys turned to face us. Their eyes were blank, pupil-less, reflecting the same pale blue as Mr. Coldwell's. Even Spork and Ziggy, usually so full of life, stood motionless, their faces devoid of expression.

"What's going on?" I managed to choke out, even as every instinct screamed at me to run.

Mr. Coldwell's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed just a little too sharp. "Why, Jack, isn't it obvious? We're having an initiation. And you're the guest of honor."

He gestured towards the lake, and I saw that the water was beginning to churn and bubble. Something was rising from its depths, something ancient and terrible.

"You see, Jack," Mr. Coldwell continued, his voice taking on an otherworldly quality, "this lake has been waiting for a very long time. It needs fresh souls to sustain it, to keep it alive. And you, my boy, you have the purest soul I've seen in centuries."

Centuries? My mind reeled, unable to process what was happening. This couldn't be real. It had to be a nightmare.

But as tentacles began to emerge from the lake, writhing and grasping at the air, I knew with horrifying certainty that this was all too real.

"Run!" I screamed at Thatcher, shoving him towards the trees. We took off, crashing through the underbrush, the sounds of pursuit close behind us.

Branches whipped at my face, roots seemed to reach up to trip me, but I kept running. I could hear Thatcher's ragged breathing beside me, punctuated by sobs of terror.

We ran for what felt like hours, the forest growing darker and more twisted around us. Finally, gasping for air, we collapsed behind a fallen tree.

"Did... did we lose them?" Thatcher panted, his eyes wild with fear.

I peered over the log, straining to see or hear any sign of our pursuers. The forest was eerily silent. No birds, no insects, not even the rustle of leaves in the wind.

"I think so," I whispered, not quite believing it myself. "But we need to keep moving. We have to find help, save the others."

Thatcher nodded, wiping tears from his dirt-streaked face. "What about Spork and Ziggy? And Blink? We can't just leave them."

The guilt hit me like a punch to the gut. In our panic to escape, we'd abandoned our friends to whatever horrific fate awaited them at that cursed lake.

"We'll come back for them," I promised, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. "But first, we need to get out of these woods and find someone who can help."

As we stumbled to our feet, a twig snapped somewhere behind us. We froze, hardly daring to breathe.

"Jack? Thatcher?" It was Ziggy's voice, but there was something wrong with it. It sounded hollow, like it was coming from the bottom of a well. "Where are you guys? Mr. Coldwell says it's time to come back now. The water's so nice and cool. Don't you want to join us?"

I grabbed Thatcher's arm, ready to run again, but he was rooted to the spot, staring at something over my shoulder. Slowly, dreading what I might see, I turned around.

Ziggy stood at the edge of a small clearing, his skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. But it wasn't really Ziggy anymore. His eyes were those same, horrible pale blue, and his skin seemed to ripple and shift, as if something was moving beneath it.

"Come on, guys," Not-Ziggy said, his mouth stretching into an impossibly wide grin. "Everyone's waiting. It's time for you to become one with the lake."

With a strangled cry, Thatcher broke free of my grip and took off running. I didn't hesitate, following close behind. The thing that used to be our friend let out an inhuman screech and gave chase.

We ran blindly through the dark forest, branches tearing at our clothes and skin. I could hear more voices now, calling out to us with sweet promises and terrible threats. The voices of our friends, of Mr. Coldwell, and others – older, deeper voices that seemed to come from the earth itself.

Just when I thought my lungs would burst, we burst out of the treeline onto a dirt road. In the distance, I could see the glow of streetlights.

"There!" I gasped, pointing. "The town! We're almost there!"

But as we ran towards the lights, I realized something was wrong. The town looked... off. The buildings were warped, the streets twisted at impossible angles. And the lights weren't the warm yellow of streetlamps, but the same sickly pale blue as Mr. Coldwell's eyes.

"No," I moaned, the last shred of hope dying in my chest. "This can't be happening."

Thatcher grabbed my arm, his nails digging into my skin. "Jack," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Look."

I followed his gaze and felt the bottom drop out of my world. Standing in the middle of the road, blocking our path, was Mr. Coldwell. But he wasn't human anymore – if he ever had been. His body had elongated, his arms now reaching the ground, ended in wicked claws. His mouth had split open, revealing row upon row of needle-sharp teeth.

"Did you really think you could escape?" Mr. Coldwell's voice boomed, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "This is my domain, boys. The lake, the forest, the town – it's all part of me. And soon, you will be too."

As he spoke, the road beneath our feet began to liquefy, turning into the same dark water we'd seen in the lake. I could feel it pulling at me, trying to drag me down.

"Jack!" Thatcher screamed as he began to sink. I grabbed his hand, trying to pull him free, but the water was too strong.

"Hold on!" I yelled, even as I felt myself being pulled under. The last thing I saw before the dark water closed over my head was Mr. Coldwell's triumphant grin.

I woke up gasping, my sheets soaked with sweat. My room was dark, the only light coming from the digital clock on my bedside table. 3:33 AM.

For a moment, I let myself believe it had all been a horrible nightmare. But then I felt it – a wetness on my skin that wasn't sweat. I turned on my lamp and looked down at my arms. They were covered in lake water, bits of algae clinging to my skin.

With trembling hands, I reached for the phone, ready to call for help. But as I picked up the receiver, I heard a familiar voice on the other end.

"Having trouble sleeping, Jack?" Mr. Coldwell's smooth voice purred. "Don't worry. The lake is waiting for you. It will always be waiting for you."

I slammed the phone down, my heart pounding. This couldn't be real. It had to be some kind of hallucination, a waking nightmare.

But as I sat there in my bed, shivering despite the summer heat, I knew the truth. The nightmare wasn't over. It was just beginning.

In the days that followed, I tried to convince myself that it had all been some kind of mass hallucination. Maybe we'd eaten some bad berries, or been exposed to some kind of toxic gas in the forest. But deep down, I knew better.

My parents were concerned, of course. Their son had disappeared into the woods with his Scout troop and emerged three days later, babbling about monsters and living lakes. The other boys who'd made it back – and there were only a few of us – told similar stories. We were all subjected to medical tests, psychological evaluations, even hypnosis. But in the end, the official story was that we'd gotten lost in the woods and our minds had played tricks on us.

But I knew the truth. And so did Thatcher, Spork, and Blink – the only other survivors of that horrific night. We made a pact never to speak of what really happened, but I could see the knowledge weighing on them, just as it weighed on me.

The nightmares continued. Every night, I found myself back at that lake, watching as my friends were dragged into its murky depths. Sometimes I was the one doing the dragging, my body no longer my own. I'd wake up gasping, my sheets soaked with sweat and something that smelled suspiciously like lake water.

Months passed. The town tried to move on, to forget the tragedy of the lost Boy Scout troop. A new leader was appointed, and the surviving boys were encouraged to rejoin. But none of us did. How could we, knowing what we knew?

It was a crisp fall day when I saw him again. I was walking home from school, kicking through piles of fallen leaves, when I felt a familiar chill run down my spine. I looked up and there he was, standing on the corner across the street. Mr. Coldwell.

He looked exactly the same – tall, pale, with those unsettling blue eyes. He smiled at me, a smile that was all wrong, too wide and full of too many teeth. Then he raised a hand and beckoned to me.

I ran. I ran all the way home and locked myself in my room, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. When my parents finally coaxed me out, I told them I'd seen a stranger who scared me. I couldn't bring myself to tell them the truth.

But that was just the beginning. I started seeing him everywhere – in the crowd at the grocery store, lurking at the edge of the school playground, standing outside my window at night. Sometimes he looked human. Other times... not so much.

The others saw him too. Thatcher called me one night, his voice shaking, to tell me he'd seen Mr. Coldwell in his backyard, just standing there, staring at his window. Spork's parents ended up moving away after he had a complete breakdown at school, screaming that the walls were melting into water.

I tried to be strong, to convince myself that it wasn't real. But how do you fight something that can twist reality itself? How do you escape when the very town you live in might be part of the monster?

As winter set in, bringing with it long, dark nights, I found myself sleeping less and less. I was afraid of what I might see in my dreams, afraid that one night I might not wake up at all. My grades started to slip, and I withdrew from my friends – what few I had left.

It all came to a head on a snowy night in December. I was home alone, my parents at a Christmas party. As I sat in the living room, trying to focus on my homework, I heard a sound that made my blood run cold – the slow, rhythmic drip of water.

I looked up, my heart in my throat, to see water seeping in under the front door. But it wasn't normal water. It was dark, almost black, and it moved with a purpose, creeping across the floor towards me.

I jumped up, knocking over my chair in my haste. The dripping sound grew louder, and I realized with horror that it was coming from everywhere - the windows, the walls, even the ceiling. The house was being invaded by the lake.

"No," I whispered, backing away. "This isn't real. It can't be real."

But I could smell it now - that unmistakable scent of stagnant water and decay that I remembered so vividly from that cursed camping trip. As I watched, paralyzed with fear, the water began to take shape. Tendrils rose from the growing puddles, reaching for me with terrifying intent.

I turned to run, only to find my path blocked by a familiar figure. Mr. Coldwell stood in the doorway, his pale eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Did you really think you could escape, Jack?" he asked, his voice echoing strangely in the water-logged room. "The lake has chosen you. It's time to come home."

I wanted to scream, to fight, to do anything but stand there frozen as the water crept up my legs. But my body wouldn't respond. It was like I was trapped in one of my nightmares, helpless to do anything but watch as the horror unfolded.

Just as the water reached my waist, there was a pounding at the front door. "Jack! Jack, are you in there?" It was Thatcher's voice, filled with panic.

The sound of my friend's voice broke whatever spell had been holding me. With a desperate lunge, I broke free of the water's grasp and ran for the door, sloshing through the ankle-deep water that now covered the floor.

I yanked the door open to find Thatcher standing there, his face pale and drawn. "We have to go," he gasped. "Now. They're coming for all of us."

I didn't need to ask who "they" were. I could see the fear in Thatcher's eyes, the same fear that had haunted me for months. Without a word, I grabbed my coat and followed him out into the snowy night.

As we ran down the street, I could hear the sound of rushing water behind us. I dared a glance back and immediately wished I hadn't. The entire street was flooded, a dark tide that was quickly gaining on us. And in the midst of it all, I could see figures moving - distorted, inhuman shapes that might once have been our fellow scouts.

"This way!" Thatcher yelled, pulling me down a side street. "Spork and Blink are waiting for us. We have a plan."

A plan? I wanted to ask what kind of plan could possibly save us from this nightmare, but I was too out of breath to speak. We ran through the deserted streets, the sound of pursuit always just behind us.

Finally, we arrived at an old, abandoned factory on the outskirts of town. Spork and Blink were there, looking just as terrified as I felt. They had a car - an old beater that looked like it had seen better days.

"Get in!" Spork yelled, already behind the wheel. We piled in, and Spork gunned the engine before I'd even closed my door.

As we sped out of town, I finally found my voice. "What's going on? Where are we going?"

Blink turned to me, his usually quiet demeanor replaced by grim determination. "We're getting out of here, Jack. For good. This town... it's not right. It hasn't been right since that camping trip. We think the whole place is under the lake's influence now."

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter night. "But what about our families? We can't just leave them."

Thatcher put a hand on my shoulder. "We don't have a choice, man. It's too late for them. If we stay, we'll end up just like the others."

I wanted to argue, to insist that we go back and try to save everyone. But deep down, I knew they were right. Whatever had happened at that lake, whatever Mr. Coldwell really was, it had infected our entire town. And we were the only ones who could see it.

As we drove through the night, leaving behind everything we'd ever known, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The lake had chosen us for a reason, and I had a sinking feeling that it wasn't going to let us go so easily.

Hours passed, and as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, I allowed myself to hope. Maybe we had escaped. Maybe we were finally free.

But then Spork, who had been quiet for the last hour, spoke up. "Guys," he said, his voice trembling. "Do you hear that?"

We all fell silent, straining our ears. At first, I didn't hear anything over the rumble of the car's engine. But then I caught it - a faint, but unmistakable sound.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I looked down in horror to see water seeping up from the floorboards of the car. Dark, murky water that smelled of rot and decay.

"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."

Blink let out a strangled cry. "Look!"

We all turned to see what he was pointing at. There, in the rearview mirror, was a sight that made my heart stop. The road behind us was gone, replaced by an endless expanse of dark water. And rising from that water, growing larger with every second, was a massive wave.

At its crest, I could see a figure. Even at this distance, I recognized the too-long limbs, the pale skin, the inhuman grin of Mr. Coldwell.

"Drive faster!" Thatcher screamed, but it was too late. The wave was upon us, lifting our small car as if it weighed nothing.

As the water crashed over us, as I felt myself being pulled under once again, I had one last, terrifying thought: The lake had never let us go. We had never escaped. And now, it was claiming us for good.

The world dissolved into darkness and the rush of water. I could feel the car being tossed about like a toy, could hear the muffled screams of my friends. Then, silence. A silence so complete it was almost deafening.

I don't know how long I floated in that darkness. It could have been seconds, or it could have been years. Time seemed to have no meaning in this watery limbo.

Eventually, I became aware of a light. Faint at first, but growing stronger. I swam towards it, driven by some instinct I didn't fully understand. As I got closer, I could make out shapes moving in the light. Familiar shapes.

I broke the surface with a gasp, my lungs burning as they filled with air. I was back in the lake, the cursed lake where it had all begun. Around me, I could see the other boys from our troop, all of them looking just as confused and terrified as I felt.

And there, standing on the shore, was Mr. Coldwell. But he wasn't alone. Next to him stood a figure that made my blood run cold - it was me. Or rather, it was what I might become if I gave in to the lake's power.

"Welcome home, Jack," Mr. Coldwell said, his voice carrying easily across the water. "You've been gone for so long, but the lake never forgot you. It's time to take your place among us."

As he spoke, I felt something brush against my leg. I looked down to see tentacles rising from the depths, wrapping around my body. But strangely, I wasn't afraid anymore. There was a part of me, a growing part, that wanted to give in. To join with the lake and become something more than human.

But another part of me, the part that was still Jack, the boy who loved camping and ghost stories and his friends, rebelled against this. With every ounce of willpower I had left, I fought against the lake's pull.

"No," I said, my voice stronger than I expected. "This isn't real. None of this is real."

Mr. Coldwell's smile faltered for just a moment. "Oh, but it is, Jack. More real than anything you've ever known. Why fight it? Embrace the lake, embrace your true nature."

I closed my eyes, concentrating hard. This was my mind, my reality. I didn't have to accept this nightmare. With a supreme effort of will, I imagined myself back in my room, safe and dry.

When I opened my eyes, I was there. Sitting up in my bed, drenched in sweat but blessedly free of lake water. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe it had all been a terrible dream.

But then I saw it. On my bedside table, where it certainly hadn't been when I went to sleep, was a small, smooth stone. A lake stone. And carved into its surface was a simple message:

"We'll be waiting."

I knew then that this wasn't over. The lake, Mr. Coldwell, whatever forces were at work here - they weren't done with me. Maybe they would never be done with me.

But I also knew that I wasn't alone in this fight. Somewhere out there, Thatcher, Spork, and Blink were facing the same battle. And maybe, just maybe, if we stood together, we could find a way to truly escape the lake's grasp.

As I sat there in the early morning light, turning the stone over in my hands, I made a decision. I wouldn't run anymore. I wouldn't hide. It was time to face this nightmare head-on, to find out the truth about Mr. Coldwell, the lake, and why we had been chosen.

The hunt was on. And this time, I wouldn't be the prey.

Little did I know, this decision would lead me down a path darker and more terrifying than anything I had experienced so far. The true nature of the lake, the cosmic horror that lurked beneath its placid surface, was something my young mind could scarcely comprehend.

As I sat there, the lake stone cold in my palm, a grim determination settled over me. I knew what I had to do.

I spent the next week preparing, gathering supplies and steeling my nerves. I left a note for my parents, telling them I loved them and not to worry. Then, in the dead of night, I slipped out of my house and made my way to the edge of town.

Thatcher, Spork, and Blink were waiting for me, just as we'd planned. None of us spoke as we piled into Spork's old car. We all knew what was at stake.

The drive back to the campsite was tense, filled with a heavy silence. As we neared our destination, the air grew thick and oppressive, just as it had that fateful summer.

We parked at the trail head and continued on foot, each step taking us closer to the nightmare we'd tried so hard to escape. The forest seemed to close in around us, branches reaching out like grasping fingers.

Finally, we emerged at the shore of the lake. It looked deceptively peaceful in the pale moonlight, but we knew better. We could feel the malevolence radiating from its depths.

"Are you sure about this, Jack?" Thatcher whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. We had discussed this at length. There was only one way to end this, to free ourselves and our town from the lake's influence. We had to destroy it at its source.

We began the ritual we had pieced together from old books and internet forums. It was dangerous, forbidden knowledge, but it was our only hope.

As we chanted, the lake began to churn. A thick mist rose from its surface, coalescing into the familiar form of Mr. Coldwell.

"You foolish children," he hissed, his form flickering between human and something far more terrifying. "You have no idea what forces you're dealing with."

We didn't falter. We couldn't. As our chant reached its crescendo, the ground began to shake. The lake's waters receded, revealing glimpses of the horrors that dwelled in its depths.

Mr. Coldwell lunged at us, his form now fully monstrous. But as he reached the edge of our ritual circle, he dissolved into mist.

A piercing shriek filled the air as the lake began to collapse in on itself. The trees around us groaned and twisted, reality itself seeming to warp.

"We need to go!" Spork yelled over the cacophony. "This whole place is coming apart!"

We ran, the world unraveling behind us. I could hear inhuman voices calling my name, begging me to stay, to join them in the depths. But I didn't look back.

We barely made it to the car before the wave of unreality caught up with us. Spork floored it, and we sped away as the forest behind us was swallowed by a void of nothingness.

We drove through the night, not stopping until we were several states away. When we finally pulled over at a rest stop, the sun was just beginning to rise.

We sat there in silence for a long while, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Blink spoke up.

"Is it over?" he asked, his voice small and uncertain.

I looked down at my hand, where the lake stone had been. It was gone, dissolved into nothing. In that moment, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.

"Yeah," I said, allowing myself a small smile. "I think it is."

We never went back to our hometown. We couldn't. The official story was that a sinkhole had opened up, swallowing the forest and lake. The town was evacuated, declared uninhabitable.

We went our separate ways after that, each trying to build a new life far from the memories of that cursed summer. But we stayed in touch, bound by the shared trauma we could never fully explain to anyone else.

Years passed. The nightmares faded, becoming little more than a distant, unpleasant memory. I convinced myself that it was over, that we had won.

But sometimes, on quiet nights, I find myself looking out at the horizon, half-expecting to see a familiar figure standing there, pale eyes gleaming in the darkness. And I wonder, with a chill running down my spine, if we really destroyed the lake, or if we just postponed the inevitable.

Because deep down, in a place I try not to acknowledge, I can still hear it calling. The lake. Mr. Coldwell. The things that lurk in the spaces between reality.

And sometimes, God help me, I want to answer.

But I don't. I won't. That chapter of my life is closed, the book sealed shut. Whatever cosmic horror we glimpsed that summer, whatever eldritch truths we briefly touched, they're better left in the past.

I'm an adult now, with a family of my own. I've never told them about what happened, and I never will. Some truths are too terrible to share.

But if you're reading this, if you've made it this far, let my story be a warning. Be careful of still waters and too-perfect lakes. Be wary of those whose smiles never reach their eyes. And if you ever find yourself faced with a horror too great to comprehend, run. Run, and don't look back.

Because not everyone is as lucky as we were. Not everyone escapes the lake.

Looking back, I should've trusted my gut from the very beginning. But desperation has a way of clouding your judgment, doesn't it? After six grueling months of unemployment, countless rejections, and a stack of bills that seemed to grow taller by the day, I was ready to take just about any job that came my way. So when the offer from Cipher Technologies landed in my inbox, it felt like a lifeline. A way out of the suffocating financial quicksand I'd been slowly sinking into.

The pay was good - suspiciously good, if I'm being honest. But I chalked that up to my own insecurities. After all, I had a solid background in IT, even if my last gig had ended... unceremoniously. No need to get into that now. The point is, I was qualified, and Cipher Technologies seemed legit. A mid-sized tech company specializing in data encryption and storage solutions. Nothing too flashy, but stable. Safe.

God, how wrong I was.

The morning of my first day dawned gray and drizzly, matching my mood perfectly. I'd barely slept the night before, my mind racing with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. As I stood in front of my closet, deliberating over which shirt screamed "competent new hire" the loudest, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, a few more gray hairs at my temples than I remembered. I looked... tired. Worn down. But hey, this job was going to change all that, right?

I arrived at the Cipher Technologies building fifteen minutes early, not wanting to risk being late on my first day. The structure itself was unremarkable - a squat, six-story office building made of glass and steel, indistinguishable from the dozens of others in this part of the city. But as I approached the entrance, a chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the morning air.

For just a moment, I could've sworn I saw a face in one of the upper windows. Pale, distorted, pressed against the glass as if trying to break through. I blinked, and it was gone. Just a trick of the light, I told myself. Nerves playing tricks on me.

The lobby was all sleek modernity - polished floors, minimalist furniture, and a reception desk manned by a woman with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You must be the new IT specialist," she said, her voice devoid of any real warmth. "Mr. Reeves is expecting you. Fifth floor, end of the hall."

As I rode the elevator up, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was making a terrible mistake. The doors opened with a soft 'ding', revealing a long corridor lined with identical white doors. At the far end, a man was waiting. Tall and lanky, with thinning hair and thick-rimmed glasses, he extended a hand as I approached.

"Ah, our new recruit," he said, his grip uncomfortably firm. "Welcome to Cipher Technologies. I'm Jonathan Reeves, head of IT operations. We're so glad you've joined our... family."

There was something in the way he said 'family' that made my skin crawl. But I pushed the feeling aside. This was a fresh start, a chance to get back on my feet. I wasn't about to let some baseless paranoia ruin it.

"Thank you, Mr. Reeves," I replied, mustering up as much enthusiasm as I could. "I'm excited to get started."

He nodded, a thin smile playing at his lips. "Oh, I'm sure you are. Now, let me give you the grand tour."

As we walked through the office, everything looked normal enough - rows of cubicles, the hum of computers, and the faint smell of coffee in the air. My new coworkers barely looked up as we passed, their eyes fixed on their screens with an intensity that seemed... off somehow.

We reached a heavy metal door at the end of a long hallway. Mr. Reeves gestured towards it with a flourish. "And this," he said, "is our server room. It's strictly off-limits to all but our senior technicians." He chuckled, but it sounded forced. "Wouldn't want any newbies messing with our precious data, right?"

I nodded, trying to ignore the goosebumps on my arms. There was something about that door that made me uneasy. It looked more like it belonged in a high-security prison than an IT company. Thick, reinforced, with multiple lock mechanisms visible. What kind of data were they storing that required this level of security?

"Of course," I managed to say, my mouth suddenly dry. "I understand."

Mr. Reeves clapped me on the shoulder, his hand lingering a moment too long. "Good man. Now, let's get you set up at your workstation. I have a feeling you're going to fit right in here."

As we walked away, I couldn't help but glance back at the server room door. For a split second, I could've sworn I heard something. A faint tapping sound, like someone knocking from the other side.

But that was impossible, right? It was just my imagination running wild on my first day of work. It had to be. Because the alternative... well, I wasn't ready to consider that just yet.

Little did I know, this was just the beginning of my nightmare at Cipher Technologies.

The first week went by without incident. I settled into my cubicle, familiarizing myself with the company's systems. My coworkers were friendly enough, though they kept to themselves most of the time. It wasn't until Friday afternoon that things started to get weird.

I was working late, trying to finish up a project. The office was nearly empty, just me and a few other night owls. That's when I heard it - a faint but distinct knocking sound.

At first, I thought it was just the building settling. Old pipes, maybe. But as the minutes ticked by, the knocking grew louder and more insistent. It seemed to be coming from down the hall.

Curious, I got up and followed the sound. My footsteps echoed in the empty corridor as I made my way towards the source. With each step, the knocking grew louder until I found myself standing in front of the server room door.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound was definitely coming from inside. My heart raced as I pressed my ear against the cold metal. That's when I heard something that made my blood run cold.

A muffled scream.

Human. Desperate. Terrified.

I jumped back, my mind reeling. What the hell was going on in there? I reached for the door handle, but it was locked tight. I rattled it frantically, shouting, "Hello? Is someone in there? Do you need help?"

The screaming stopped abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. Then, just as suddenly, the knocking resumed. Louder. More frantic. As if something was trying to break out.

I stumbled backward, my legs shaking. I had to get out of there. I ran back to my cubicle, grabbed my things, and bolted for the exit. As I left, I could've sworn I heard laughter coming from Mr. Reeves' office.

That night, I barely slept. I kept hearing those screams, that desperate knocking. What was behind that door? And more importantly, what kind of company had I gotten myself involved with?

The weekend crawled by in a haze of paranoia and sleepless nights. By Monday morning, I'd almost convinced myself it had all been a stress-induced hallucination. Almost.

As I walked into the office, the receptionist's plastic smile seemed more sinister than before. "Good morning," she chirped, her eyes cold and empty. "Mr. Reeves would like to see you in his office right away."

My stomach dropped. This was it. They knew I'd heard something. I was about to be fired, or worse.

Mr. Reeves was waiting for me, his thin lips curved into what I suppose was meant to be a reassuring smile. "Ah, there you are. How was your first week with us?"

I swallowed hard. "It was... interesting, sir."

He leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine. "Interesting how?"

For a moment, I considered telling him everything. But something in his gaze stopped me. "Just getting used to the new systems," I lied. "There's a lot to learn."

He nodded slowly. "Indeed there is. More than you can imagine." He paused, studying me. "You were here quite late on Friday, weren't you?"

My heart hammered in my chest. "Yes, sir. Just wanted to finish up a project."

"Admirable dedication," he said, though his tone suggested anything but admiration. "But in the future, I'd prefer if you stuck to regular hours. We value work-life balance here at Cipher."

I nodded, relief washing over me. "Of course, sir. It won't happen again."

As I turned to leave, he called out, "Oh, and one more thing. Stay away from the server room. It's... sensitive equipment in there. Wouldn't want any accidents."

I mumbled an agreement and practically fled from his office. As I settled into my cubicle, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every time I glanced up, I caught my coworkers quickly averting their eyes. The constant tap-tap-tap of keyboards felt oppressive, almost mocking.

Days passed, and the atmosphere in the office grew increasingly tense. Whispered conversations would abruptly cease when I approached. Twice, I caught groups of coworkers huddled around computer screens, looking at something they quickly minimized when they noticed me.

And then there was the server room. I swear the knocking got louder every day. Sometimes, late in the afternoon when the office grew quiet, I could hear what sounded like sobbing coming from behind that heavy door. But every time I worked up the courage to investigate, someone would suddenly appear, steering me away with a too-bright smile and an inane question about work.

It was driving me insane. I needed answers.

I knew I should report this to the authorities, but who would believe me? A story about people trapped in secret rooms, used as human computers? They'd think I was insane. And if Cipher Technologies really had the processing power Mr. Reeves claimed, they'd be able to intercept any calls or emails I sent out.

No, if I wanted answers - if I wanted to help those people - I had to do this myself. The guilt of walking away, of leaving those people to suffer, would haunt me forever. I had to at least try to uncover the truth, to gather some evidence. Maybe then, someone would listen.

So I made a plan. I'd stay late again, but this time, I'd be prepared...

One night, about two weeks after the initial incident, I decided to stay late again, Mr. Reeves' warning be damned. I waited until the office emptied out, pretending to be engrossed in my work. As the last person left, calling out a cheery "Don't work too hard!", I began my investigation.

First, I tried to access the company's personnel files. If someone was trapped in that room, surely there'd be a record of missing employees? But every time I tried to open the database, I got an "Access Denied" message. Frustrated, I turned to the internet, searching for any news about disappearances in the area. Nothing.

I was so engrossed in my search that I almost missed the sound of footsteps approaching. Panicking, I quickly closed all the windows and pretended to be shutting down my computer.

"Working late again, I see." Mr. Reeves' voice made me jump. He was standing at the entrance to my cubicle, his face hidden in shadow. "I thought we discussed this."

"I'm sorry, sir," I stammered. "I was just leaving."

He stepped closer, and I caught a whiff of something... odd. A metallic smell, like copper. Or blood. "You know, curiosity can be a dangerous thing," he said softly. "Especially here."

Before I could respond, a piercing scream echoed through the office. It was coming from the server room, louder and clearer than ever before. Mr. Reeves' head snapped towards the sound, his face contorting with rage.

"Damn it," he snarled, all pretense of friendliness gone. He grabbed my arm, his grip painfully tight. "Come with me. Now."

As he dragged me towards the server room, my mind raced. What was behind that door? What had I gotten myself into? And most terrifyingly, what was going to happen to me now?

The knocking grew louder, more frantic. Mr. Reeves pulled out a key card, his hands shaking as he swiped it through the reader. The lock clicked open, and he shoved me forward.

"Time for you to learn the truth about Cipher Technologies," he growled, pushing the heavy door open.

The stench hit me first - a nauseating mix of sweat, blood, and something else I couldn't quite place. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I felt the floor drop out from under me. This wasn't a server room. It was a nightmare made real.

Rows upon rows of glass cylinders lined the walls, each filled with a viscous, slightly glowing liquid. And in each cylinder... oh God. People. Dozens of them. Men, women, some who looked barely out of their teens. Their eyes were closed, bodies suspended in the fluid, with countless wires and tubes connected to their heads and limbs.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Mr. Reeves' voice dripped with a sick pride. He strode into the room, running his hand lovingly along one of the cylinders. "The future of computing, right here in this room."

I stumbled backward, my back hitting the cold metal door. "What... what is this? What have you done to these people?"

He turned to me, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. "Done? My dear boy, we've elevated them. Imagine the processing power of the human brain, multiplied by hundreds. No computer on Earth can match it."

"You're... you're using people as computers?" I choked out, bile rising in my throat.

"Not just using them. We've created a neural interface that directly connects human brains to our quantum computing network," he explained, his voice filled with a twisted excitement. "The fluid they're suspended in enhances synaptic connections, allowing us to overclock the brain's natural processing capabilities. Each person becomes a living, breathing supercomputer, able to process data at speeds that would make NASA's best machines look like pocket calculators."

A scream tore through the room, making me jump. In one of the cylinders, a woman's eyes had snapped open. She thrashed against her restraints, bubbles streaming from her mouth as she tried to scream.

Mr. Reeves sighed, pulling out a small remote. "Always a few glitches in the system. The human mind occasionally... rebels against its new purpose." He pressed a button, and the woman went still, her eyes rolling back in her head. "A small electrical stimulation to reset the neural pathways. Crude, but effective."

"Why?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Reeves laughed, the sound echoing off the glass cylinders. "Why? For power, of course. With this kind of processing capability, we can break any encryption, predict stock markets, even influence elections. The possibilities are endless."

He stepped closer, that sickening smile still plastered on his face. "And now, it's your turn to join our little family. Don't worry, the initial integration process is... only mostly painful."

As he reached for me, survival instinct kicked in. I ducked under his arm and ran deeper into the room, desperately looking for another way out. The knocking sound that had haunted me for weeks was all around now - the people in the cylinders, slamming their fists against the glass in a desperate bid for freedom.

I weaved between the rows of cylinders, Mr. Reeves hot on my heels. "There's nowhere to run!" he shouted. "You'll only make this harder on yourself!"

At the far end of the room, I spotted a control panel. Rows of switches and buttons glowed in the dim light. Without thinking, I lunged for it, my hand slamming down on the largest red button I could see.

Alarms blared. Red warning lights began to flash. Around the room, the cylinders started to drain, their occupants stirring to life.

"No!" Mr. Reeves screamed, rushing towards the control panel. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Before he could reach me, one of the cylinders shattered. A man stumbled out, coughing and sputtering. Then another broke. And another.

Chaos erupted. Confused, terrified people were emerging from their prisons, some collapsing to the floor, others lashing out in panic. Mr. Reeves was suddenly swarmed by a group of them, disappearing under a tangle of flailing limbs and screams of rage.

I used the distraction to make a break for the door. As I ran, I could hear shouting from the hallway. The rest of the staff must have been alerted by the alarms. I had to get out of there, fast.

Sprinting down the corridor, I headed for the stairs, not trusting the elevator. Behind me, I could hear the sounds of pursuit, and what might have been gunshots. My lungs burned as I flew down the stairs, taking them three at a time.

I burst out of the stairwell into the lobby, startling the night security guard. Before he could react, I was out the front door and into the cool night air.

I ran. I ran until my legs gave out and I collapsed on a park bench miles away. As I sat there, gasping for breath, my mind reeled. What the hell had I just witnessed? What was I going to do now?

One thing was certain - my life would never be the same. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a terrifying thought surfaced: Was this really over, or had I just made some very powerful enemies?

As sirens wailed in the distance, I realized my nightmare was far from over. It was only just beginning.

It's been three months since that night at Cipher Technologies. Three months of looking over my shoulder, jumping at every unexpected sound, and waking up in cold sweats from nightmares filled with glowing cylinders and muffled screams.

The day after my escape, the news was flooded with reports about Cipher. "Tech Company Raided in Human Trafficking Bust," the headlines screamed. The official story was that Cipher had been luring in skilled workers and selling them overseas. It was horrific, sure, but nowhere near the truth.

I watched, sick to my stomach, as they brought out body bag after body bag. Many of the "processors" didn't survive the sudden disconnection from the system. Those who did were rushed to hospitals, babbling incoherently about numbers and codes and things no human mind was meant to process.

Mr. Reeves was among the dead. The official report said he was trampled in the chaos. I knew better, but who would believe me?

I've tried to move on, to forget. But how do you forget something like that? The police questioned me, of course. I told them I was just a new hire, that I had no idea what was going on in that room. Technically true, I suppose. They seemed to buy it, or at least they didn't have any evidence to suggest otherwise.

I found a new job, a small IT firm on the other side of the city. It's mind-numbingly boring work, but after Cipher, boring is exactly what I need. Still, I can't shake the feeling that it's not over.

Last week, I was walking home from the grocery store when I saw a familiar face across the street. It was one of my old coworkers from Cipher, the one who always seemed to appear when I got too close to the server room. Our eyes met for a brief moment before he ducked into an alley. I ran after him, but when I turned the corner, he was gone.

Then there are the emails. They started showing up in my inbox about a month ago. No subject line, no text in the body. Just attachments - strings of binary code that make no sense to me. But sometimes, late at night when I can't sleep, I swear I can hear a faint knocking coming from my computer.

The news has moved on, as it always does. Cipher Technologies is old news now, filed away as just another corporate scandal. But I know the truth. I know what they were really doing in that room, and I can't help but wonder: was Cipher really the only one? Are there other companies out there, turning human beings into living computers?

I've thought about going public, telling the whole story. But who would believe me? And more importantly, who might come after me if I did? I've seen what they're capable of. I'm not sure I'm brave enough to face that again.

So I keep my head down. I go to work, I come home, I try to live a normal life. But every time I pass a tech company, every time I see a "Help Wanted" sign in a window, I wonder. And I remember.

The nightmares are getting worse. Sometimes, I'm back in that room, but I'm the one in the cylinder. I can feel the wires burrowing into my skull, can feel my thoughts being twisted and pulled in a thousand directions at once. I wake up screaming, my sheets soaked with sweat.

Other times, I dream that I never left. That my escape was just another simulation, a test run in the vast network of enslaved minds. In those dreams, I open my eyes to find myself still suspended in that glowing liquid, the real world nothing but a fading memory.

I've started seeing a therapist. I can't tell her the whole truth, of course, but just having someone to talk to helps. She thinks I'm suffering from some sort of PTSD, probably from the "traumatic events" at my old job. If only she knew.

Yesterday, I saw a flyer for a new tech startup in town. "Revolutionizing the Future of AI," it proclaimed. My blood ran cold. The logo looked familiar - a stylized cipher, not unlike the one I'd seen every day for those few weeks at Cipher Technologies.

It could be a coincidence. It probably is. But I can't take that chance. Especially not after what I found last week.

I couldn't help myself - I started digging. Looking into other tech companies, especially ones that seemed to appear out of nowhere with breakthrough technologies. And I found patterns. Employees disappearing. Unexplained leaps in processing capabilities. Strange power consumption rates.

It's not just Cipher. They're everywhere. Hidden in plain sight, building their networks of human processors. How deep does it go? Government contracts? Military applications? The possibilities are terrifying.

I've compiled everything I've found onto an encrypted drive. If anything happens to me, it'll be automatically uploaded to every major news outlet and tech watchdog group I could find. It's not much, but it's something. A failsafe. A warning.

I'm leaving town tonight. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I can't stay here. I've got some money saved up, enough to disappear for a while. I'll find somewhere quiet, somewhere off the grid. Somewhere they can't find me.

Because I know they're still out there. The ones who escaped, the ones who weren't caught in the raid. And they haven't given up. They're rebuilding, regrouping. And sooner or later, they'll come looking for the one who ruined their plans.

So if you're reading this, consider it a warning. Be careful what jobs you take. Be wary of too-good-to-be-true offers from tech companies you've never heard of. And if you ever hear knocking coming from a room you're not allowed to enter... run. Run as fast and as far as you can.

Because in this brave new world of ours, you never know when you might become just another cog in the machine. Literally.

As for me? Well, I'll keep running. Keep hiding. And hope that someday, the knocking in my nightmares will finally fall silent.

But deep down, I know the truth.

In this digital age, there's nowhere left to hide.

Hello nosleep Reddit-ers,

I need help. About 8 years ago I acquired what I now believe to be a haunted or cursed object. Yes, she happens to be a doll, but moderators, please hear me out. I really need help.

She is a small porcelain doll that I bought for $3 from an antique store I used to frequent in college. She was so sweet looking and I had never seen another tiny doll like her, so I took her home.

She is about 3" tall by 1.5" wide, she is hand-painted, made of porcelain, and has delicate articulated limbs. She didn't come with clothes and I never thought to try to buy or make any that would fit her.

I didn't know that she was haunted or cursed until a few years ago when I came across her again, having packed away many of my things from college.

I had put her in a velvet bag and hadn't disturbed her in a long time. My life had been going really well up until then. I was finally at a consistent and happy mental place since graduating college, and when I found her, at first, I was delighted. I had forgotten about her and as I said before, she is a very sweet looking little doll, so I admired her for a while before putting her back where I found her.

The weeks following my finding her again were filled with an onslaught of various life issues, bad luck, and a serious depressive episode-- the worst I had experienced since college.

A few months later, I was re-organizing art supplies in my basement and disturbed her again. Once more, I experienced another string of life issues, various things breaking, and a period of having a very bad mental space.

It was after that second experience when it finally clicked that each time I had disrupted her, my life and metal health went haywire for a while.

I thought I might be overreacting, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

It was shortly after buying her when I really started struggling with my mental health in college. I had her in my room when my roommate and I started having serious issues and they ended up moving out. She stayed on display while I struggled with the worst nightmares and night terrors I have ever experienced. She sat on my work desk in the same room I made my un-aliving attempt. You get the picture. In the worst times of my life, I remember her being there.

I've had an interest in finding a way to get rid of her before, but I've always put it on the back burner since I don't think there is a way to get rid of her without massively disturbing her and possibly pissing her off.

Well, just before I made my account and started typing this, I accidentally bumped the velvet bag she is in while looking for something, and found myself profusely apologizing to her before backing out of my basement and turning off the lights in the hopes that she would be appeased.

It was this reaction that made me realize that I can't do this anymore. I am, logically or not, actually afraid of this little doll and I don't know what to do with her.

I want her out of my house and I don't want to have to sell her to do it. That would require taking her out to take pictures of her, and then proceeding to upload her onto my phone, my laptop, or both, in order to make a listing. I don't know how much that would anger her and I don't know if uploading a picture of her would allow her to access my devices.

I was once advised to cut a hole in my wall and patch it up with her in it so that she could never be disturbed again, and so that once I eventually sell this house, I would be rid of her, but I don't like that idea at all.

I need her gone, but I don't want her going to just anyone. I need to find someone or some place that knows how to handle a haunted and/or cursed object, and can protect themselves from it. Any guidance as to how I can do that or where I can send her to would be greatly appreciated.

Let me start by saying this: I'm dying. This morning was one of the most bizarre and fucked up nights anyone could ever experience. I doubt anyone will take this seriously, but I don't care. I'm posting this while I still have a chance because my time here is extremely limited. Some would call me a crazy alcoholic, but I’d bet you’ll never find me online after this. This is what happened in my house last night.

 I work as a roadkill handler, I’m hired by the city to remove wildlife and other road obstructions. I’ve picked up tires, furniture, and even a refrigerator once. Most of the job, though, involves scraping, peeling, or popping the corpses of long-dead animals stuck to the asphalt like melted cheese on a hot grill. The smell of decay and hot tar lingers in the air, a constant reminder of the work that needs to be done.

Being on call means I always have to be ready for my phone to ring at the most inconvenient times. Immediately after arriving home, having a few drinks, and taking a shower, I received a call back. During family dinner, I received a call. It even happened to me in the middle of a date. 

I have one guaranteed day off with no work interruptions and another day off where I can be called if needed. Usually, Wednesday is my flexible day, while Sunday is my guaranteed day off. There are two other people in my area who do the same job, and we cover for each other if someone is sick or unavailable. This often leads to overtime and a bigger paycheck. The money is decent, and since I live alone, I don’t have many expenses.

One of those other guys is Kevin. He’s the guy they usually call for the main city area, while I deal with the countryside. After a night of too many White Russians, my boss called me at three in the morning, startling me from my heavy, drunken sleep. I ended up lying to him.

“Hello?” I rubbed my eyes.

“Hey, Partner, I’d hate to do this, but I’m getting multiple reports of something large on the side of the highway past the Chevron just outside Wraithwood.” 

I knew he would call me on a night like this. It feels almost like a sixth sense for him.  

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve felt like absolute dog shit all day today. I haven’t been able to get out of bed.” 

He cut me off. His words sliced through mine like a hot knife. “Well, why didn’t you call ahead to let me know?” 

“I’ve literally been asleep all day, sir. I’ll call Kevin to see if he’ll do it for me.” 

“Don’t do this again. We’re short staffed, and the longer something is on the road, the more of a hazard it is. If someone gets hurt, it’s MY ass. Let me know if Kevin will do it. Thanks.” 

He then hung up abruptly, and I could feel his irritation through the phone. It was clear he wasn’t happy with me. I was going to hear about this at the next monthly staff meeting.

I rolled onto my back, groaning in frustration. It was impossible for me to go back to sleep for at least a couple more hours. I grabbed my phone and called Kevin. His phone rang twice before he answered. He must’ve already been on the clock. 

“Hey, Ben. What’s up?” He asked. 

“I got called in to pick something up. I'm stuck sick in bed and I was wondering if you wanted to make a little extra?”  

There was a moment of silence before he responded. The sound of the eerie dead air was thick and suffocating. “Yea, I can do that. Where?” 

“It’s just down the road past the Chevron outside of Wraithwood.” 

“Did he say what it is?” 

“No sir,” I said. “He just told me it was big.” 

“Alright. Well, I hope you get to feeling better. Have any idea what’s wrong?” 

“I think I just have a cold or some sort of virus. Just been in bed all night,” I lied to him too. “And hey, Kev, can you let him know that you’ll do it? I kinda told him at short notice and, well..you know how that goes.” 

“Yea, I can do that. I’ll text him for ya. Goodnight.” 

I hung up and felt relieved that the situation was over. My shift was covered at least for now. I’d deal with the Boss later. Since I was awake and rarely had free time, I decided to make the most of it. I showered, made some coffee, and played some Playstation. 

Something wasn’t right.

After about twenty minutes of playing, an uneasiness overcame me. A chill ran over me like whispering secrets I wasn’t supposed to hear. With a sinking sensation, I realized something was very wrong. Dread pooled in the pit of my stomach, and an inexplicable sense of foreboding washed over me, as if some malevolent force had taken an interest in my little corner of the world. Then the phone rang.

The shrill ring shattered the eerie silence, echoing through the room like a warning bell tolling in the dead of night. My heart skipped a beat as I stared at the innocuous device, its screen illuminating the darkened room with an ominous glow. As I picked it up, to my absolute confusion, it was Kevin. I dreaded the thought that he had changed his mind and left whatever it was there. What he would proceed to tell me would change the course for the rest of my short life. 

“Hey, what's up?” I asked nervously. 

“Hey, I need you to look at this.” His voice was shaky, sounding terrified. 

Within seconds, a picture was sent to my phone. I put him on speaker and opened up the text. I had no clue what I was looking at. I couldn't tell if the thing had been disfigured from the impact, or if the image was just bad quality.  

It had gray skin, like a pig’s, with blue veins and bruises covering most of its body. Its head had a beak-like structure and large, dark eyes. Pointy ears with tufts of hair protruding out. Its feet were clawed, therapod-like, curled up as it lay there. The sight was truly disturbing. Kevin had to say my name multiple times to snap me out of my confused stupor. Nothing in the picture made sense and my mind couldn’t fathom it at all. 

“What the fuck?” I mouthed to myself. 

“I’m still going to grab it. How do I even report this? Do I check off deer?” 

He genuinely sounded frightened, and I didn’t blame him, considering he was actually there looking at the damned thing. 

“It could be a partially decomposed deer.” I said to him, trying to calm him down. But I knew that wasn’t the case. I had no idea what it was. 

“I don’t feel good at all, man.” He said in a croaky, hoarse voice.

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m nauseous. I..need..to sit down in my truck.”

I sat up and started making my way to the front door. Placing the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I put my boots on. “Hold on,” I stood up grabbing my keys. “I’m on the way.”

In hindsight, it might have been a stupid idea. I couldn’t leave him out there alone feeling the way he did. He really sounded ill, and I felt compelled to help him out. I hung up, and stepped outside. It was still dark and I could see my neighbor Bob Reynolds watering his flowers. He's always up this early in the morning messing with his lawn. The flowers were not happy. They were slouching and losing color. I waved at him as I got to my truck.

“How are you doing this morning Ben?” He yelled from across the way waving back.

“Gotta go to work. The usual. Can’t get those flowers to stand up?”

“I swear these fuckin' things make me want to shoot myself.” He replied, putting a finger gun to his temple. 

I laughed, “Well you have a wonderful morning, Bob!” I started my truck, reversed out and headed in Kevin’s direction. 

After fifteen minutes of driving through the pitch black night, the Chevron emerged in the distance. Its neon lights flickering erratically and casting shadows with an eerie, pulsating glow. Further down the road, Kevin’s red hazards blinked ominously in the darkness. As I slowed my truck to a crawl, I could see the creature lying there. It was even uglier in person; I was shaken, barely able to make out most of its features. I pulled up behind his truck, flipped on my hazards, stepped out and approached his driver side window. 

He was sitting there asleep, resting his forehead on the steering wheel and was breathing heavily. I tapped the glass a couple of times with no success and shouted his name, but he didn’t respond. Eventually, I decided to open the door and shake him awake. He lifted his head, barely able to pry open his eyes, which seemed to be glued shut. Sweat poured down his brow, and he was as white as a ghost. 

“Kev,” I said, trying to bring him back to the present. 

He started to open his eyes, their gleam reflected the moonlight through the slits. With a hoarse whisper he uttered, “Mom?” 

I shook him a little more, “No it's Ben.”

His eyes finally opened completely and he acknowledged me.

“Oh..yeah..that's right. I thought you were sick.”

“I lied. I have to help you get this off the road. It can’t stay here.” 

He stepped out of his truck and tossed his coat into the passenger seat. Opening up his backseat door and grabbed a bottle of water from a large pack he keeps back there. He chugged the whole thing down within ten seconds. “I was starting to think I caught something from you. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me.” He said, leaning against his truck. “I was feeling fine all day until I got here, in the middle of our phone call. I think I need a doctor.” 

I retrieved my flashlight and gloves from my center console. I put them on and clicked the light. “I don’t know what's wrong either, but we’ll get you to a hospital as soon as we figure out what to do with this. It could be an endangered species, a new one, or foreign. Let's throw it in my truck, go to my house, and I’ll make some calls. We can’t let anyone see this thing. After that we’ll get you to a doctor.” 

He nodded with whatever energy he had. I knew lifting this thing was going to wear him out completely, so we waited a few minutes for him to gather up his strength. Eventually the time had come. 

I hadn't been anywhere near the thing since I showed up, and now it was time to get up close and personal. With my flashlight, I headed towards the carcass. Kevin followed behind me, albeit slowly, his footsteps dragging. My flashlight illuminated the fog line to my left as we approached the abomination. 

A few steps forward and there it was. My god, it was horrid, heinous, vile, and despicable. This was not a deer. It had feet with claws, similar to a raptors. Its face was detestable. Its gray skin glistened in the moonlight, tufts of hair danced in the wind. It was about the size of a Great Dane, and its head was..unusual? Its skull appeared exposed, with what seemed like eye sockets on top. Two black orbs lay in those holes catching the beam of my flashlight as if it were looking right at me. Rows upon rows of jagged teeth lined its mouth, resembling those of a Mako Shark. It lacked lips, with the teeth protruding prominently. 

“You okay, Kev?” I asked him. 

“I don’t know,” he replied, making his way to the other side of the creature. “Let's get this done with.” 

I opened up the bed of my truck, opened up the toolbox and pulled out the blue tarp. I hopped back down and spread it across the bed like a blanket. Placing the handle of the flashlight in my mouth, I leant over and grabbed the thing by its back legs while Kevin took the front. On the count of three, we hoisted it into the bed of my truck. It landed with a thump, the tarp crinkling and shifting. I proceeded to fold the tarp over the corpse and shut the bed. When I turned around Kevin was gone. Mildly confused, I soon heard gagging sounds. He had wandered about ten feet into the grass and was violently throwing up. 

When he finished, he stood up, his knees wobbling, and then he collapsed. He passed out. Dropping like a sack of potatoes. Thankfully, he landed in the grass and didn’t hit his head. 

I rushed my way over to him and noticed he was still somewhat conscious. 

“My god!” I exclaimed. 

I grabbed his hand helping him up. He leaned on my shoulder as we made our way to the truck, dragging his feet behind and mumbling things I couldn’t understand. I could’ve sworn I heard him say, “Mom” a few times. 

We reached the passenger door of my truck, I opened the door, and leaned the seat back so he could lie down. He moaned and groaned, holding his stomach as I clicked the seat belt on. I shut the door and walked around to the driver's side. On my way, I started to feel nauseous. I placed my hand on the back of the truck and leaned over to take a moment. This was utterly intense. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Not even after my worst nights after heavy drinking. I shook it off and continued on my way. Once I got to the seat, I started the truck and put it in drive. I drove away, and since the road was empty, I made a U-turn. I needed gas, so I planned to stop by the Chevron for a quick fill-up. Kevin's red hazard lights flashed in the rear view mirror, their eerie glow pulsing like a heartbeat in the dark, deserted night. 

When we got there, I pulled up to pump three and turned the truck off. Kev was asleep and hadn't moved or said anything for a while. As I opened the door to get out, I heard a crackling sound coming from the bed. There was no wind. The noise grew louder, sending chills down my spine as I glanced back, feeling a cold dread creep over me.

I paused for a moment thinking my mind was playing tricks on me, but I swear I saw it move in my peripheral. Lifting up a corner of the tarp, I took a peek at it. 

It was still dead. 

I shrugged it off. I wasn’t feeling great, and maybe I just wasn’t paying attention to the weather. However, I noticed the gas station lights strobing riotously, as if they were about to burst. I walked to the front entrance of the store. 

I opened the door, and an electronic bell rang, but it sounded broken. It was like a toy with low batteries, starting with a high-pitched ding that quickly depreciated before cutting off abruptly, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. 

The clerk was behind the counter, leaning over with his head in his hands, looking pale. I walked over to the medicine aisle and grabbed some Dramamine. When I returned to the counter, the clerk was now looking up at me, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as if he were staring right through me.

“That be it?” He asked faintly. 

“No,” I slid him a twenty on the counter, “Need fifteen on three.” 

He struggled to grab the money, but he was able to make the transaction. Out of vertiginous curiosity, I asked him, “You okay?” 

“I don’t know,” he replied softly. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Everyone that’s come in the past few hours have been sick too. Maybe there’s an epidemic? Maybe I caught something from someone?” 

He handed me my change, “I tried to call for a paramedic, but the phones aren’t working. Not even my cell.” 

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, but the screen wouldn't stay still. Anytime I tried to click on something, it would jumble and flash like technical diarrhea. It didn’t make sense; I’d never seen it act like that before. The clerk's phone was doing the same. He looked up from his device, his voice shaky. “Maybe I’ll shut the store down and drive myself to the hospital. I suggest you get a move on, sir. Whatever is causing this interference hasn’t affected the pumps.” 

The fluorescent lights above flickered as if echoing his words, casting unsettling shadows on his face. He seemed to grow paler by the second, his eyes darting nervously to the darkened corners of the store. I snatched my medicine off the counter and offered him a pill, which he gladly took. I told him to get better and hurried to the pump. Quickly, I pumped the gas and started the truck. I took off back towards my house, the engine's growl the only sound in the eerie stillness of the night. As I drove, the shadows on the empty road seemed to dance and stretch unnaturally, as if alive. 

After about fifteen minutes, I started to feel dizzy. As I pulled into my driveway, I opened the door and threw up on the concrete. The acid taste lingered, and the night air did little to clear my head. I shut the door and glanced over at Kevin. He was still asleep next to me, looking as pale as a sheet. His breathing was shallow, and every exhale seemed to be an effort. He wasn’t doing well, and neither was I. Anxiety filled my chest, making me feel worse. The oppressive silence around the house was almost palpable, the shadows cast by the porch light seemed to crawl and twist on their own. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and took some breaths to get my bearings. The air was thick, almost stifling, with a sense of foreboding that gnawed at the edges of my mind.

I shook Kevin, but he didn’t wake, just kept breathing heavily. I pushed him again, and he started to shuffle around, sweat dripping from his brow. His shirt was soaked, and he was as hot as a skillet. He then startled me so much that I almost punched him in the face out of a knee-jerk reaction.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked at me, they bulged out of his head, and he let out a shrill scream. He started to look behind me, grabbing at me as if I was a human shield. He wouldn’t stop. 

“Kev!” I shouted. “It’s Ben! Calm down!” 

There was a moment of struggle, but after around thirty seconds of him panicking, I managed to grab onto his wrists and make him relax. He started to cry. I got out, opened up the garage door, and pulled in. Once the truck was parked, I closed the door and secured the electronic lock. The carcass and the blue tarp still lay in the bed of the vehicle. Walking over to Kevin’s side, I opened the door for him. He just sat there, looking off absentmindedly. 

“C’mon, man,” I said weakly. “We gotta go in and figure out what we’re gonna do.” 

He still sat there. Looking like a frightened toddler too scared to walk into the funhouse. He dreaded any movement in his vision. “I saw her, Ben.” 

“Who?” I asked.

“My mother.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked, reaching my hand out to help him. He obliged and managed to stand, though he nearly fell over from weakness. With my support, he was able to walk with me. 

“She died when I was a kid,” he said softly as we made our way to the door leading into my house. “I was eight, and we got into a car accident.” Someone t-boned the car on her side. I passed out when it happened. I remember waking up on a paramedic gurney.” He paused again as we walked into the house. He started to sniffle, tears welling up. I shut the door behind us and led him to the couch. 

“All I could do was ask for my mom. ‘Where is my mom? Give me my mom!’ But everyone ignored me. They just told me to calm down and put an oxygen mask on my face,” his voice trembling, “I sat up and saw her black Dodge Stratus completely totaled.” Tears streamed down his face as he sat on the couch. “I saw her body still in the driver's seat. Her skull was split in half vertically, and her left eye was dangling out by the nerve. She was looking right at me. I swear her other eye blinked! The paramedics just pushed me back down, and I couldn’t react. I didn’t even remember it happened until therapy when I turned sixteen after misbehaving at school. I saw her just now, Ben.” 

I was shocked. I only knew Kevin as a coworker and I didn’t really know anything personal about him until now. We never hung out or spent time together outside of work; we just helped each other out on the job occasionally. But hearing all this, things started to make sense. He was always quiet and reserved, always lost in his thoughts. It seemed like he worked all the time to keep his mind occupied. 

He continued. “I loved her. I never had anybody else since then. I’ve been fucked up ever since that day. I should’ve never looked up.” He lay his head in his hands and he sobbed. 

I sympathized with him. I’ve never been through anything like that, but I understood his pain. Suddenly he shouted.

“She was just behind you in the garage! Just crouched in the corner smiling! It wasn’t her! I look at pictures of her every night before I go to bed, and that was not her face! It looked like someone else was wearing her face! Split fucking skull and everything! The voices too. Oh my god, Ben. The voices don’t fucking stop!” His voice cracked with fear and desperation. 

I was confused. Was he having fever dreams? It made sense since his temperature was super hot. But the way he freaked out in the garage, he was awake. Fully lucid. I know he was because he acknowledged me and looked at me right in the eyes when he was done. Sleep paralysis? Couldn’t be, because he was moving and grabbing at me manically. Hallucinations with a fever dream are common, but why did his visions seem so vivid? 

“Voices?” I asked. “I don't hear anything.” I tried to keep him calm, but he was genuinely freaking me out. Was this going to happen to me? I was slowly but progressively feeling worse every minute. The Dramamine I picked up helped with my nausea, so I gave him a pill and some extra strength Tylenol with a glass of water. 

He chugged the water, his eyes half closed as he looked at me and said, “They’re just speaking gibberish. I don’t know what they’re saying. It sounds like English, but they have an effect on them, like sound mixing in music panning from ear to ear. It’s super freaky.” He placed his glass on my coffee table with a loud clunk that echoed through the house. He didn’t mean to make it so loud; he just doesn’t have much control over his body. “Well, let's get this shit done so I can get to a doctor.” 

Just then, the TV flipped on with an EAS message. The AI voice trailing behind.

“Warning: Nuclear plant leak detected in your area. Please remain calm and stay indoors. DO NOT use the telephone unless absolutely necessary to help keep cell and landlines open for emergencies.” 

Kevin and I looked at each other wide-eyed and confused. How could that be possible? The plant had never had a leak before in my lifetime. It’s heavily monitored and consistent. Have we been poisoned? The clerk at the gas station too? Everyone else? He guessed an illness had been going around, so does that mean it was going on all night without being announced until now, at almost six a.m? 

“Ben, what the fuck is going on?” 

“I don’t know.” I stepped aside and walked into the kitchen. “I’m going to try and call for help.” 

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, but nothing had changed. Even my house phone was useless. Calling for help was impossible. The screen flashed and jumbled so much that I thanked God I wasn't epileptic. It was a nightmare to look at. 

Kevin started to slouch further into the couch, holding his head and groaning. My head started to pound as well, a million knives lodging into my temples. My temperature was up too; my skin was on fire. My mouth was as dry as bone. I got myself a glass of water, and as a result of drinking it too fast I choked. Covering my mouth, I noticed red droplets. 

Blood.

I rushed into the bathroom next to the garage entrance and looked in the mirror. I looked terrible. White as a marshmallow, eyes sunken in, and sweat dripping down my temples. I opened my mouth to take a look and saw my gums bleeding. Not a lot, but enough to spray droplets out of my mouth. Then I heard Kevin in the living room shout, “Oh my god!” Peeking around the corridor, I saw him with wads of his hair in his hands, pulling it out. It didn’t look painful, it was just falling out every time he grabbed it. 

In these moments, a loud crash came from the inside of the garage. 

It sounded like metal objects clattering to the floor, startling us both. We looked at each other, and surprisingly, Kev stood up. He looked like he was about to faint, so I motioned for him to sit back down. I reached under the couch and pulled out my shotgun. A Stoeger Double Defense twelve gauge, already loaded. I slid two more shells into my coat pocket, and headed toward the door. 

I slowly opened it, lifting my gun as I did so. It squeaked loudly, echoing my own sense of unease. Flipping on the light, I watched it flicker with uncertainty before finally illuminating the garage. My toolbox lay on the floor, tools scattered about, and a slimy fluid coated the ground, glistening like oil and leaving a trail. It led from the back of my truck, the blue tarp draped over the tailgate logo. As I took in the sight I started to hear a squishy sound. It was unlike anything I’d ever heard before, seemingly all around the two car garage. 

My gaze followed the slime trail, leading me to dread the implications. No. No, it can’t be. It was dead. I cautiously approached the bed of the truck and peered inside. 

The carcass was not there. 

The squishing grew louder, more prevalent, accompanied by a low-pitched gurgle emanating from beneath. The next thing I did, still haunts me. 

I crouched and took a peek. 

The stench was unbearable, forcing me to breathe through my mouth as I gripped the shotgun tightly. I saw it. There, floundering like a fish out of water. It’s face…oh god. Its face was just as horrifying as before, and as it noticed me, it looked directly at me. I swear there was recognition behind its dark, spheroid eyes, and for a moment, it smiled at me. 

Its jagged, nasty teeth made unsettling sounds as they curled around its mouth. Then it began convulsing, a sickening mix of bones breaking and mending. I panicked and ran. In hindsight, I should’ve taken the chance to shoot it, but fear overwhelmed me. My instinct to flee was quicker than my instinct to fight. It made rippling, gasping noises as I sprinted up the small steps, slamming the door and locking it. 

I walked further into the kitchen, turned to face the door with my gun ready, and collapsed onto the floor. I couldn’t hold it any longer. I vomited violently, blood streaking through the mess like a disturbed watercolor painting. Kevin stumbled into the kitchen, leaning against the wall for support. His hair was now patchy, about forty percent of his hair was gone. “What the fuck was that?” he asked, his voice trembling with confusion. 

I wiped my mouth and held the shotgun up facing the door. “That goddamned thing is alive!” 

“What?” 

“It’s fucking alive! It’s in there!” 

His eyes widened in shock and turned his head towards the garage. The silence was deafening, each moment stretching out painfully. He slid down the wall, sinking to the floor in shock and exhaustion. Minutes dragged by as we waited anxiously, expecting the creature to slam into the door or attempt to break through in some way. But nothing happened. The first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, casting long shadows across the kitchen. Exhaustion weighed heavily on us both. My eyelids drooped, and I found myself slowly lowering my gun, dozing off. 

I've been trapped in an alternate dimension for 2 months [part 2]

part 1

part 2

Hey, guess what? I survived another day to add to the first post. While I waited, I decided to loot the house next to the one I'm in currently, and I somehow lived. Guess my terrifying, monstrous creature neighbors were sleeping in? Anyway, I got a few useful things, lots of chips (this is like the real world, as in buildings are still here as well as whatever is in one, for example a TV would be here, just haven't found a good way to power one, I guess)

Any who, have part 2. ^(Hey, that rhymes!)

-----

I turned on the cobblestone floor, feeling sleepy as my eyes opened from the light casting out of the hole in the cave entrance.

How long was I out? Pretty bad fucking dream, must've been a long one. I looked around my surroundings, expecting my bedroom and a bed under me..

Ugh. Not just a dream.

I, in my half-awake state, began to try to recall the past events. Remembering what happened without much effort, I opened my eyes wide, still shitting bricks from yesterday, or whatever creatures of disgusting forms call the light returning. I look around the cave. Oh yeah, I just remembered. I'm pretty fucking scared of the dark. With the fact I am wherever I am (no idea), and also a victim of claustrophobia, I'm pretty sure I'd actually shit out a brick within the span of my lifetime. 3 days, assuming.

(looks like I survived longer, huh.)

I backed up away from the cave's tunnel, until i feel the giant boulder covering most of the cave's what would be an entrance. I jumped forward when I felt the boulder against my shirt, until I realize how stupid I am being. I looked around after realizing my stupidity.

What the fuck is that?

Hm... YESSS

I see a backpack a small bit deeper into the tunnel. I only see the straps, since it's pretty god damn dark in here, but I know those are backpack straps. I waltzed over there, my back against the cave wall so I know nothing's behind me. When I got close enough, I grabbed it and sprinted back to the ray of light coming from the hole, and I crouched down. It was a medium-sized dark green camo backpack. Where... the fuck... did this come from? I'll get to that later.

It's body as shit. Dried blood splats across the front and back of it. Ignoring that, I find the zipper and unzip it. It takes a little yanking, but it comes through fairly easily. I decide not to waste any time and I dump it all out.

A large, black flashlight, a red IPhone (I'm using it to type this in the future, hooray!), beef jerky, a somewhat eaten bag of saltines, a little case of triple-A batteries, and a small shovel, one you can hold in one hand.

Fuck... yes. I'm a lucky son of a bitch sometimes.

I celebrate silently, looking for a button or something to turn the flashlight on. I see an in-dent on the side, and I click it. It turns on, illuminating the cave.

The cave further on, a meter or two from where I was sleeping into the cave, I watch the walls fade into a light pink and spots of white.

The cave was also a living thing. Of. Fucking. Course.

I almost scream as I see the rock walls mix and churn and transition into pink flesh and bone until it's completely morphed. moist, light pink tube entrances the size of a human every few feet, from top to bottom. In one of them, I spot someone's leg sticking out of the tube. I swallowed my own vomit, hearing the mushy sounds of the meaty, moving tubes of flesh and bone on the walls digesting its prey. Was this related to the backpack?

how did I miss all of this?

Guess I was way too tired to see this.

I slowly stepped away, looking at the boulder and slowly placing my feet and hands on ledges, climbing up the boulder and wall beside it with the backpack. Just as I escape, I hear an alien-like noise and then the hole where I just went out from filled with flesh and bone. and instantly, I feel a tube-like thing attach itself to my face. It tries to yank me inside as I scream and panic. At the end of the tube, maybe 3 feet away, I see a face... It's mine.

The face across me had it's eyes closed, but it looked bludgeoned and beaten relentlessly for an entire day, it's face looking swollen around the eyes and "lips". A wet sound began to emerge as I felt myself being sucked into the suction tube made of flesh. Thinking quickly and without seeing anything outside, I take off the backpack, opening it as the tube sucked me further in, reaching my chest.

The face across becomes closer and began to resemble me even more the closer I was to my end. It was now 2 feet away. Unintelligible voices rang from every directing as I used my other senses to open the backpack, scrambling through until I felt the small shovel. I grabbed it quickly and tossed the backpack, yelling profanities at the face that was morphing into mine. I stabbed the outside of the meaty body of flesh and bone. Whatever I did clearly had an effect on it. The eyes of the face across was a few inches away.

It's eyelids bursted wide open, revealing nothing behind them except a black, gooey brain and the skull. It opened its mouth, screaming like a maniac, as if It was in intense pain. It definitely wasn't a human scream though.

It spat me out, causing me to tumble down the boulder and gash my knees. I grabbed the backpack as I fell to the ground on my back.

My shirt had black goo across it and the creature retreated back into the cave. Not thinking about the giant gashes against my knees, I pant heavily, traumatized by what just happened. I limped away from the boulder, never wanting to return again. I tried to remember the way to the stairs, because I think I can get out of the forest. Nevermind, I have a better idea; go up the mountain.

You see, the cave, being a cave, led inside a mountain. the cave entrance was slightly angled (cuz it's a mountain) which is why the boulder could fit relatively well in front of it. so i get away from the boulder and then climb the mountain, avoiding anything relating to medium sized holes (reminded me too much of a cave). After a well-spent half-hour of climbing, i reach to top, towering over the forest.

I can see a large town a bit away through some light forestry.

since I slept for a really long time, I woke up at around 7:00 (checked the I-Phone when I got it.

I found an indent in the mountain, grabbing sticks and making a miniature hut just for the night, which took about, like, 3 hours.

Should I remain in the forest? or do I go to the town?

both options are dangerous, but the town most likely has more monsters. They are definitely not going to to as dangerous as the ones in the forest, so should I go quantity over quality or go stay in the forest, where there's probably less creatures, but DEFINITELY more powerful?

Oh yeah, I forgot how exhausted I am.

I'ma go curl up under the sticks and I'll try to see if I can figure out what to do in the morning, since up here is way safer since there's no trees, just flat mountain terrain.

I hope my mom misses me :)

There are sometimes bizarre events in a person’s life which forever go unexplained. They tend to linger in the mind as sort of hunger, or an unscratchable itch. For the past 30 years, there has been an incident which has been gnawing at me; one that to this day, I have not been able to put to rest. I’ve had temporary moments of escape, as well as times which I have not thought about the incident, but the memories always find a way to reach me. I wanted to share my story with all of you, out of the hopes that someone will be able to give me any kind of information as to what I may have encountered all those years ago. My name is Lucas Anderson.

I grew up in the small town of Westbridge, located in the western most part of Massachusetts. My whole childhood was overall, uneventful, as I didn’t have too many neighbors around me and there was nothing interesting within about an hours drive from the town. The whole place seemed sort of stuck in time, and I doubt it's changed much since I left. There were a good amount of farms in the area alongside a vast expanse of woods which covered the gentle slopes of the neighboring mountains.  As for its history, Westbridge first started out as a small settlement, whose population was mainly Catholic, European immigrants that weren’t welcomed by the puritans of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. We had only one major church in the town that was constructed around the year 1900, close to Mount Burlock; one of the largest mountains in the area. There were earlier churches built in the area, but they had been previously destroyed.  

My parents made sure that we went to church every Sunday and got me and my siblings involved in every parish event possible. As a child, I  hated having to wake up early on Sundays, but I had some fun helping out at events because my closest friend, Adam, would always be there. I spent a lot of my early childhood with him going around town on our bikes, sometimes for hours, pretending that we were knights or wizards embarking on dangerous quests. We basically just went to the local convenience stores to buy junk food. Adam and I would sometimes lie and say that we were just going to ride around the neighborhoods, when we would actually venture out a lot further, going so far as to the secluded woods near mount Burlock. For us, there was no greater adventure than navigating and unfamiliar wood, where even our forefathers never dared lay any road or trail. One day however, we got an adventure that was much more than we originally bargained for. 

Adam and I were both ten years old. He was visiting my house when I got the idea to take our bikes down to the woods. He was hesitant at first, but I eventually convinced him. My mom was busy trying to clean the kitchen so it didn’t take much to convince her. 

“Hey where are you two going?” She asked peeking her head around the kitchen door 

"We’re just gonna ride our bikes for a while!” I shouted, already with one step out the front door 

“Alright, but don’t go too far and be back before 7.” 

Adam and I chuckled quietly to ourselves as we peddled down my street, racing to see who can get to the end the fastest. When we got onto the main road we were met with a sign that read: “mount Burlock, 3 miles.” 

When Adam and I reached the dense tree line, we decided to bring our bikes along, since neither of us owned a bike lock, and rested them against a tree with a noticeable chip in its bark. We played the same games that we usually did, mostly seeing who can climb the tallest tree, and sword fighting with the largest sticks we could find. When Adam and I were lucky enough to come across a small brook, we would throw stones into it and see who could make the largest splash. Before we knew it, the sun was starting to set and my digital watch read 6:30 pm. I told Adam we should leave, and he just said “alright.” We looked at each other for a little bit, both puzzled. 

“Well. Lead the way” I said, waving my hands at Adam.

“What do you mean? I thought you were keeping track of direction”

“No, that was your job, you brought that compass with you right?”

“Wasn’t it  you  that called the compass stupid?”

This exchange went on for some time, until we both just gave up. Adam and I agreed which direction we were mostly likely to have come from and started our long way back. The minutes ticked by and there was still no sign of the road or even our bikes. I began to panic a little when I glanced at my watch and saw that it was now 7 pm. I could hear the bell of our church ring out five times, as it did every hour. The noise was soft and muffled by the dense surroundings of the forest. I looked at Adam.

“Do you hear that? We must have been going the wrong way! The Church bell sounds like it's miles away.`` He yelled at me 

“ Just trust me for once. This has to be the right direction.”

And so, we walked on. As the light shining through the trees began to dissipate we picked up our pace and began to jog. Soon, all of our surroundings became shrouded in darkness and the forest became even more foreign to us. The beautiful maple trees now loomed over us as pitch black giants reaching out with heavy limbs to cover us from even the smallest shred of moonlight. Adam stopped for a moment. As we tried to catch our breaths, he pulled out a small flashlight from his backpack and turned it on. It gave off a tiny bit of light, but it was almost completely useless. As he motioned the light around, the tiny beam landed on a tree. I recognized it, the large piece of bark was missing from its side. Adam and I ran towards the tree. I was almost able to let out a laugh, but it was cut short by what I saw. The bikes weren’t there. We both wildly spun around in different directions, frantically checking to see if we had the wrong tree by mistake. There was no mistaking it. It had to be that tree. In my frantic search, Adam stopped me. 

 “What time is it?” He asked partially, still out of breath. 

 “8:50” I responded, surprised with the words that came out of my own mouth.

“8:50?! Why didn’t we hear the  bell when it struck 8? How far away are we?”

 I tried to keep my composure, but I could hardly hear what Adam was saying over the pounding of my heart.

“L… Let's just wait until 9.” I responded. “I bet we just didn’t notice the bell strike before. At 9, we’ll listen for the sound, and  head in that direction until we reach the church.” 

Adam turned off his flashlight and the next few minutes were agonizing, as we waited in the pitch black forest. I hadn’t noticed before, but it was completely still, there was barely any draft, and I couldn’t make out so much as a cricket’s chirp. The piercing silence was broken by a metallic thud. Adam and I rejoiced for a moment, realizing that we can’t be too far from the Church. Looking back, there was something off about the sound. The church bell is low with a few seconds of silence in between each of its strikes. This sound was much higher in pitch and the time between strikes was inconsistent. Adam and I didn’t care, we ran towards the noise, trying to cover as much distance as we could before losing it. When the noise stopped, I decided to climb a tree to see if I could find the church steeple peeking out from the dark canopy. Adam helped give me a boost, and I was able to find my way up the tree by feeling around for the sturdiest branches. I finally reached the top, and to my dismay, the church steeple was nowhere in sight. There was nothing besides the ever present shadow of mount burlock, which now stood in front of me as the figure of a looming giant. 

“Are we close?” Whispered Adam from the base of the tree. 

“N….No.” I responded hesitantly. “ I don’t see anything. The church must be on the other side of the mountain.” 

“What?! That’s impossible! We couldn’t have gone that far!” 

“ Wait…I think I see something.” 

 In the distance, I could make out at least twelve or fourteen lights peeking out through the trees. Dim, and flickering, they were slowly ascending up the mountain.

“What is it?” asked Adam 

“I think it’s the police, or someone from town looking for us. Our parents are gonna be so pissed dude.” 

We tried getting their attention with the flashlight, but that didn’t seem to be working. The lights were still moving up the mountain. Adam and I started to yell in desperation, praying that our cries could be loud enough for our rescuers to hear. For a minute, It looked to be working. But then we noticed something that took us by surprise. One by one, the lights went out; all of them. We both stood in silence again trying to make sense of our situation. 

The stillness of the forest was suddenly broken by a strange noise. It was a soft rustling. I could tell it wasn’t close, so I figured it was just the wind brushing through the leaves. It was then I remembered that there hasn’t been even the slightest breeze since we first entered the forest. The noise was becoming louder, as did the beating of my heart. As I stood at the tallest point of the tree, I could see in the distance that bushes and small trees were bending and breaking, as some figure was tearing its way toward us.

 I screamed for Adam to run without even considering how I would get myself down from the tree. I tried to make my way down the branches as fast as possible but I knew it was hopeless as the rustling of branches turned into what sounded like a heavy, uneven gallop. I  stayed in the tree, pressing my face against the rough bark, praying that whatever was making its way towards me would just move along. The gallop came to an immediate halt. It was right beneath the tree and I dared not look down. For about a minute, there was complete stillness, as I held my breath and desperately recited prayers in my head. Eventually, whatever was beneath me began to shuffle its way back into the brush. I just hoped Adam was able to get far enough away that the thing couldn’t. After a few more agonizing minutes, I made my way down the tree. Then, without a thought in my head, I ran past the point of exhaustion. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, scraping my skin on all of the sharp sticks and thorns that protruded from every direction. I ran without any aim, just hoping that somehow I would make it out of this labyrinth. 

I don’t know how long I was in those woods, but eventually, I made it out onto a road, but that didn’t slow me down. Neither did the flashing of police cruisers nor the faces of concerned bystanders. I only stopped because one of the officers grabbed me. I don’t remember any of this, but I am told that I passed out from exhaustion and landed myself in the hospital. 

When I awoke, both of my parents were sitting next to me. They were just happy that I was mostly unscathed, save for a few nasty cuts and bruises. Thankfully, Adam was safe as well. The police had found him not long after me. In the following years, this story became a sort of urban legend that Adam and I fueled. We would tell the other kids in the town about the strange lumbering beast that lived near the mountain. For the first month however, this experience deeply shook me, and it was a long time before I could get a full night's sleep. Sometimes I could feel my eyelids getting heavy, and just as I was drifting off, I heard the odd gallop thundering in my ears, and I was always shot awake with the church bell ringing through my window.

Every year since I was born, on the morning of July 22nd, my parents have sent me to stay with my grandma for exactly two weeks. I remember asking her about it and she said it was just because she wanted to see me. I knew that she knew something, but every time I brought it up, she would brush it off quickly.

My grandma died suddenly on July 16th this year. None of us expected it, especially my parents. I was in bed trying to sleep the night she passed, and I got up to use the bathroom. I passed my parents room and I could hear loud whispering from inside their room. I put my ear to the door and listened.

“Well what the hell are we going to do then, Bonnie?!” My dad yell-whispered

“I don’t know” my mom replied

My dad grumbled “there’s no way we can find anyone who will let her stay with them for two weeks.”

“I know” my mom sighed “she will just have to... stay”

“No!” It sounded as though my dad slammed a hand down on some sort of hard surface. “We’ve gotten through this every year for 28 years. We’ve kept her away from it for 18 years. What if something goes wrong? How about we go away, huh? Just up and leave for two weeks?”

“Honey,” my mom tutted “you know we can’t. It’s not that simple, you know that. We will just have to deal with it when it comes.”

My dad sighed heavily and they both went quiet for a while. I stopped listening and headed back to my bedroom. I couldn’t understand why they wanted me out so badly and I sat up for hours going over what they could have meant.

Yesterday, my parents were acting as if they were worried about something. Every time someone knocked on the door, or someone walked past our front windows, they would turn their heads quickly towards the front door. I tried to ask them about it, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. I was frustrated, and I stormed off to my room and stayed there for the rest of the night.

This morning, I woke up and my parents were already downstairs. They were both sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. The bags that had formed under their eyes were deep and purple, as if neither of them had slept a wink for days.

Again, I tried asking what was going on, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. I tried to talk to them about grandma dying, I tried to talk to them about school, and each time I got a short, distant answer. Frustrated and hurt, I went to watch tv away from them and before I knew it, the day flew by.

By nightfall, my parents joined me in the living room and sat together on the couch. We still didn’t talk. I was half way through an episode of some series on Netflix when I looked over to my parents and they had both fell asleep. As soon as I went back to my show, someone knocked on the front door.

Three loud knocks. I sat in my chair for a couple seconds and the three knocks came again, but this time they were louder. My parents stirred a little, but didn’t wake up, so I went to go answer it.

When I opened it, in front of me there was a tall man dressed in a suit. His face was pale and his eyes were bloodshot and wide. His mouth was warped into a huge grin. A grin that looked far too big and shouldn’t be able to fit on his face. He kind of looked like my dad’s best friend, but he died quite a few years back and I had only seen photos of him. I looked up at him and fearfully stepped back. I was about to close the door when he spoke.

“Trick or treat.”

I looked at the man and laughed nervously. “Um... you’re three months early, sir.”

The man took a small step forward and loomed over me, his voice deeper as he spoke again. “Trick. Or. Treat.”

“Like... like I said, it’s not Halloween.” I panicked and swung the door shut, walking back to join my parents in the living room.

I sat down tried to convince myself this guy was just wearing a really realistic mask or something. Not even a minute later, someone was pounding on the window facing me. I sat frozen in my chair as my parents jolted up from their sleep and looked at each other in what I can only describe as terror.

They both jumped to their feet and my dad picked me up off my chair by my arms, screaming at me. “Did you answer the door?!”

I stared up at my dad, still frozen in fear and said nothing.

“Mila, did you answer the door!?” My dad shook me by my shoulders

“It was some weirdo!” I yelled “I think he had a mask on and he was ‘trick or treating’. I thought it was a prank.”

My dad let me go and ran over to my mom, who was staring at me wide-eyed with the most fear I’ve ever seen in someone’s eyes. “We fucking fell asleep, Bonnie! We fell asleep! Fuck! We’re supposed to let him in! Why didn’t we tell her not to answer the door? Or to wake us if someone knocked at the door?! Fuck!” My dad screamed, my mom started to cry.

“What?” I cried, desperately looking at my parents, “let him in? What do you mean?”

Before anyone could say anything else, all the windows in the house began to shake. My dad beckoned me over as he held my sobbing mother, and we all sat on the floor in the middle of the living room, huddled together.

The shaking went on for what felt like hours. I have no idea how long it lasted. Through the banging and shaking of the windows, my dad’s yelling and my mom’s crying, I couldn’t think straight. I had my hands over my ears but it was no use. There was far too much noise to drown out and I could feel the vibrations of the windows shaking through the floor.

My dad screamed apologies to whatever it was that was outside, and my mom’s sobbing only got louder. My dad let go of us and stood in the middle of the room shouting, “she didn’t know. She’s just a kid, please. She didn’t know!”

“Dad?” I wiped my face of tears.

“Shush!” My dad pointed at me and put his finger to his lips. “Please!” He continued “please, we’ve never failed you before. She didn’t know. Please!”

I watched in horror as every lightbulb around us exploded until we were surrounded by darkness and broken glass. My dad screamed and pleaded once more before dropping to his knees and putting his head in his hands.

Then out of nowhere, the shaking stopped. My dad picked himself up slowly, leaving my mom and I sitting on the floor and motioning for us to stay put. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The air felt hot and tight on my chest.

My dad turned to us as if to speak and the front door burst open. I could see a tall figure slowly enter the house, and once it got closer, I could see that it was the trick or treater. My dad took a few steps towards him, and despite mine and my mother’s objections, he only waved his hand back at us as if to tell us to shut up. He walked towards the man and I’ve never seen my father look so small in comparison to anyone.

He looked up at him and cupped his hands together. “Please. Please I’ll do anything, just give us another chance.”

The man didn’t speak a single word, he simply raised his hand and slapped it down onto the back of my dad’s neck, dragging him towards my mom and I. We cried and we pleaded with him not to hurt my dad, but he charged over to us and picked my mom up the same way, dragging her away from my feeble grip.

“No!” I screamed “please, please let them go. It’s my fault!”

The man looked down at me, grin plastered on his face and turned away with both of my parents and walked them down to the basement door. My dad told me not to try to help them, but not to leave the house. They were forcefully led into the basement and the door was closed and locked behind them.

The screaming lasted for hours.

I waited on the couch, too scared to move, curled up, crying, listening to my parents screaming.

I didn’t get even a minute of sleep. How could I?

The screaming stopped this afternoon, and I was convinced my parents were dead. I sobbed on the couch for the rest of the day until it went dark and I heard the basement door unlock and two sets of footsteps. I rushed to them to hug them but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw them.

Both of them had grins on their faces. They were wider than a human mouth should possibly be able to stretch. I stared at them, mouth agape, and took a couple of steps away from them.

“It’s okay, honey.” My mom said through her warped grin “mommy’s fine. We’re fine. See.” She pointed at her smile. “Happy.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

My dad laughed, his smile somehow seeming even bigger than before. “It’s almost time.”

“F..for what?” I finally spat my words out

“For trick or treating, of course!”

The three knocks came again.

My parents stared down at me with huge grins and wide bloodshot eyes. They simultaneously pointed to the door while keeping their eyes on me. I backed away slowly, heading towards the front door, turning the knob and opening it. The trick or treater stood there once more, his smile stretched wider than it did before and his eyes looked more bloodshot.

“Trick or treat.”

I stood shaking at the door, staring at the man. I felt breath on the back of my neck and I turned around quickly to see my parents looking up at the man, all three of them smiling together. My parents passed me, joining the trick or treater at the door. “Treat” my dad said, letting out another laugh.

I swung the door shut quickly and bolted it. I figured that would buy me some time. The banging on the window started first.

I ran down into the basement to see if I could escape from there, but what I saw made my knees buckle from under me. Both of my parents were tied to tables, both of them with a smile cut in to their faces and multiple other wounds. Fatal wounds. Their eyes are wide and bloodshot. I have tried calling the police but I keep getting redirected, and every time, someone answers the phone laughing. They sound like my dad.

I’m still in the basement, looking at the bodies of my parents. Whatever the fuck walked out of here and is out there with the trick or treater was not my parents.

What is going to happen to me?

The windows have stopped shaking now.

My husband had a foot fetish.

He even told me about it on our first date.

And despite the fact that I was never too into feet myself, I appreciated that he was upfront about it, and opened myself up to it over time.

Not on the giving side, of course. I've always just personally found feet disgusting...

...But on the receiving side.

Which worked out perfectly, because my husband's particular foot fetish, was licking toes.

Yup, really getting in there with his tongue and slobbering all over each of my toes. One by one.

Now, it took me years of exploring my husband's kink, to build up enough tolerance not to burst out laughing from the tickling sensation within 30 seconds.

And after four years of dating, and nearly ten years of marriage, I eventually became something of a pro at getting my feet licked and maintaining my composure.

In fact, I got so good at it, that whenever my husband would lick my toes, I could completely tune it out, often multitasking things like filing my nails, reading a book, and streaming a show, as he licked away. Heck, sometimes I'd even fall asleep while he did it.

Which is why, on that fateful night in 2019, when I was lying in bed in the dark, my feet dangling off the mattress, and I began to feel a tongue slither its way up and down each and every one of my toes, I could not have been less bothered.

Truth is, I probably wouldn't have even noticed that something was off, were it not for the fact that it felt as if my husband was trying a new technique. Something that he had never implemented before in the fourteen years that we had been together...

...The bite. Yes, after feeling him suck each and every one of my toes, I then proceeded to feel more intense pressure, as I felt his teeth begin to clamp down on my feet.

"Feeling adventurous?" I called out in the dark, before shaming him, as he sometimes asked me to do. "You're a naughty, naughty boy and you're gonna pay for that."

I reached over to my bedside table, opened its drawer, and removed a pair of handcuffs that he sometimes liked me to use on him after he was finished with my feet.

"Don't make me restrain you." I called out again.

But rather than play along, and flirt back from the foot of the bed as he always did, he suddenly stopped biting my feet.

"Honey?" I asked "Why'd you stop?"

But he didn't reply.

For a moment, there was only silence...

...Until suddenly, I heard my husband's cell phone ringtone go off in the bathroom.

RING. RING.

"You gonna get that?" I asked.

But he continued to remain quiet, ignoring my question.

"Fine, I'll get it." I said, as I hopped up from the bed and tiptoed through the dark, over to the bathroom, its door having been closed since I retired to the bedroom earlier that night.

As I approached it, I couldn't help but notice that light was emanating from underneath the crack between the rug and the door.

"Honey, you left the light on in the bathroom again." I called back to the bed, as I began to open the bathroom door. "I'm gonna have to punish you even more-"

But before I could finish my sentence, my jaw dropped and I began to shake...

...As I saw my husband's lifeless body just lying there in the shower, its limbs mangled, its skin pale, as whatever blood remained in it poured down the drain.

I simply froze, as my mind began to race.

If that's my husband. And he is dead. Then who the fuck was just licking feet?

I thought to turn around, and stare back into the dark bedroom. But I was too terrified to see who might be standing behind me.

So I opted to instead walk over to my husband's body, and remove his cell phone from his pocket, which was still ringing, over and over and over again.

RING. RING.

I looked down at the phone, as I held it in my hand, and saw an incoming call from an "Unknown Number."

I answered it.

"Hello?"

For a moment, there was silence...

...Until a quiet, raspy voice simply whispered back over the line.

"I'm under the bed. Want to play some more?"

Suddenly, chills ran down my spine and my body went into fight or flight, as my heart began racing and I began to hyperventilate.

Not knowing what else to do, I gathered myself and in a single motion, turned around, darted into the bedroom and ran for the hallway, as I tried to slam the door behind me.

But just before I was able to close it, I saw what looked like the silhouette of a man crawl out and block it from shutting, as he writhed on the ground like an insect.

And as I pushed and pushed, trying to keep whoever or whatever was in my bedroom from getting out, I saw his body wriggle a few inches more into the hallway and suddenly felt...

...His tongue lick a single one of my toes.

"Aaaaaaaargh!!"

I screamed at the top of my lungs, before stumbling back, turning around and running down the stairs, as I saw whoever or whatever it was chase after me on his hands and knees.

SLAM.

I stood there, outside my house, leaning against the door, as my body shook and tears ran down my eyes, before eventually willing myself to run to my car.

As I backed out of my driveway and peeled off down the street, I looked back at the door, only to find that he never opened it, for some reason choosing not to chase after me.

Thirty minutes later, I was at the police station, reporting what had happened.

And an hour after that, the cops were combing my house.

But the strange figure who had killed my husband and licked my feet...

...Was gone.

Five years later, I still can't fall asleep at night unless I'm under the covers, for fear of feeling a tongue lick my toes.

And while I haven't stopped mourning my husband, if I ever date again, I think it's fair to say I could never date someone with a foot fetish again.

I've tried to move past what happened.

Tried to move past the shocking events of that fateful night.

But whenever I tell someone my story and they bring up the urban legend of "The Licked Hand," I tell them, it's no legend at all...

...And it licks feet too.

I don’t want to keep this sort of thing under wraps. I am making these posts for the sake of my own well-being as well as for you guys and your safety. I need help piecing this puzzle together. I fear the further I dig through these tapes, the further I am led like a lamb to slaughter. For those who haven’t read my previous post, I will include a link to this at the bottom. Without wasting any more time, this is how the nightmare progressed.

I don’t remember much from when I was young. I remember often having bad dreams and I remember being on the road. A lot. I practically lived my whole life in my dad’s car. Unlike the routine Detective Crawford has instilled in me, when we were on the road there was no routine. We would park up in some old rickety-looking town with my dad turning to me with a grin.

“Welcome to your new home.”

He said this every time. We left at irregular times. Some stays lasted weeks while others lasted only a couple hours. After seeing that motel room in the “Proud” file I seem to remember one of the lessons my dad taught me. I don’t remember the name of the town, but I remember it having a name that was quite unremarkable. We were there for a couple of days, and my dad left me in the motel while he went to “work”. He never told me what “work” was. I remember that room specifically since unlike the other motels we stayed at this one had two separate beds. My dad gave me some loose change and left me the keys so I could come and go as and when I pleased. With all the brain power an eight-year-old could muster, I decided that the best use of this money would be spent on an ice cream. I bought a small vanilla ice cream cone (that was all I could afford with the shrapnel my dad gave me) and made my way back to the motel room. On my way back, however, I remember bumping into someone.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going”

Looking up from my ice cream there was a girl in front of me. She was an inch taller than I was and had long blonde hair. I remember feeling flustered when I saw her.

“Sor- Sorry. I didn’t see you”

“Was your ice cream more important than the people around you?”  She sneered pointing at me.

It was.

“No! I- Sor- Sorry, Sorry.”

“God I’m just messing with you, but you do owe me one for getting ice cream on my shirt. What’s your name?”

I nervously laughed. “It’s James, and you?”

“Anna. It was nice to meet you, James. See you around”       

“See you- “

She ran past me before I could even finish. I remember watching her as she left. She made me feel a certain way, but I couldn’t explain how. As I walked up the stairs to our room my dad was already on the balcony.

“Stay here a minute James, there’s something you should know.”

I paid close attention to my dad when he spoke. Probably because I was already in a losing battle with my ice cream and there was no hope of saving it now.

“You see James there’s lots of people in this world. We all play a different role but regardless of what role you play we’re all still people, but some people are best left well enough alone. You see James some people don’t abide by their role. Some people like to chase storms. They race towards them at a hundred miles per hour and they won't slow down to the cautions people throw their way. They chase tornadoes, James. Swirling pillars of destruction that suck people up into them and never let go. They are spun around in the air James. Round and round and round again. For eternity. Do you want to chase Storms with these people James?”

I remember crying.

“No! No, No, No! I don’t want to chase storms. Please I don’t want to spin, I don’t want to spin!”

“Hey, hey, It's okay James. Don’t worry. If you stay with me, I promise you won’t end up like those people.”

After seeing the “proud” file I’m starting to think back on my memories of my dad in a different light.  I shouldn’t even be calling him my dad, but I don’t know what else to call him. Come to think of it he never actually told me his real name.  If my suspicions were right, then my dad had abducted me when I was a baby. Everything he told me about my mum dying during childbirth was all a lie. There were 3 more files on the “Road Trip” camera. I was the only one at the station given it was so late and Detective Crawford wasn’t answering any of my calls. I had told my “dad” that I would be back shortly before I left. I didn’t want to raise any suspicions and risk him making a run for it just as I was gathering enough evidence so a clear case could be filed against him. There was no point calling the police, I was the police. If this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life then now more than ever, I had to act.

When I arrived home none of the lights in the house were on. I thought it was better this way. I don’t think I could act like everything was fine if he got up close to me like he did when I came home earlier.  I opened the door and locked it behind me before tiptoeing up the stairs and into my room. My “dad’s” room is right next to mine and given that his door was closed I guessed he was asleep. I laid on my bed and flicked open the camera screen. There were 3 more files I had yet to watch.

File 2, “Romans”. The video lasted 3 minutes. The video was shot from a first-person perspective, the same as many of the “Born” tapes and showed three police cars parked on a dirt road next to a field of wheat. The person filming seemed to be hiding in a tree as the camera seemed quite high up and far away from the police below. The police seemed to be in disarray running between one another. Even seeing them this far away you could tell they were tired. Bags under their eyes and large sweat patches staining their white shirts as they ran from field to car and car to field repeatedly each time saying something into the radio. Crying could be heard throughout, but it wasn’t the baby this time, it was the person filming. Why were they crying? The video ended before I could find out why.

File 3, “Visitors”. The video lasted 13 minutes and seemed to be filmed in another motel room. The camera this time was placed in a corner facing a door with a large bed in the frame to the left. After 1 minute, a knocking could be heard as I boy who looked around 3 years old (maybe younger) could be seen jumping off the bed and running over to the door.  I don’t know if it was me. For one I don’t really recall what I looked like at every age I turned and even if this was me, I certainly don’t remember. The boy struggled with the doorknob for a few seconds before opening it. Inside was a bathroom. From the corner of the door, a leg stepped out into the frame. It was a man. He was completely naked save for some black socks, white boxers, and a red devil mask. The boy seemed amused giggling as the “Devil” danced around on all fours making weird sounds like

“Ug! Ah! Shaaa!”

The “Devil” soon became enraged at the boy’s amusement as they clapped their hands and reached out toward the mask. The figure then stood up in one quick motion slamming the door so violently that it sent the boy falling backwards. The boy began to cry. After 6 minutes of the boy crying the door reopened. The figure was now dressed in a white gown far too big for them as their sleeves came so far past their hands they draped only inches off the floor. The figure's face was covered in white makeup and the eyeshadow was so heavily applied that the eyes looked completely black while their lips were a bright shade of red and their cheeks two large dots of pink. Curling around their face were locks of bright blonde hair. It was the same figure as the “Born” Tapes. The boy began to cry louder at the sight of them, but the figure remained calm. Crouching down beside the boy the figure began to stroke their hair and hold their hand, but the boy still cried and even tried to move away. The figure then grabbed the boy by the face and turned him to face the camera while pointing towards it. The boy then stood up wiping away his tears and walked towards the camera. The entire time the figure remained standing by the door with their hands together in front of them. The boy then picked up the camera and walked back to the figure who took it. The video then ended.

File 4, “House”. This video lasted 20 minutes. The video started facing the back of a man who was kneeling. They were in a church. No one was there but the man. It was dark. Very dark, but you could still make out the man illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the stained-glass windows. There was no sound at all. The man seemed to be sitting in the middle of an aisle in between rows of wooden benches. The floor was made up of large grey tiles. There wasn’t an ounce of colour except the light that was projected on the man. The man was dressed all in black, but their head was hidden from view. They seemed to be praying. The man then steadied himself as he raised himself on his right foot using his hands to push himself a little. Even this slight movement on the stone tiles echoed throughout the church. The man was now stood up completely with his back still facing the camera. The man began to slowly turn towards the camera-

“That box is still on my bed James”

I spiralled. My heart raced so fast I thought it was going to burst out from my chest. It was pitch black, but I still saw him. My dad was standing at the foot of my bed looking down at me. I couldn’t see his face in the dark, but he might as well of been wearing the makeup as I fumbled with the camera closing it and sitting bolt upright. I didn’t hear him come in. How long was he standing there?

“S- S- Sorry Dad I must have forgotten about it when I came home. I’ll get it right no-“

“No, No. It's okay James. It's okay. Go to bed. I’ll see to it”

His voice cold as ice as I watched him shuffle out of the room.  I didn’t dare look at the camera again as I hid it under my pillow. Sleep was the last thing on my mind as I lay there paralysed. I think he knows. I think he knows I know he isn’t my dad. I stared at my open door all night. I stared until my eyes became sore and fought to close. I stared as the golden hues of the sun rising seeped through the crack in my curtains. I could make an excuse now. Something about needing to go to work early. Yeah. Yeah, that seemed good. I paced quickly to my door, already dressed since I hadn’t even time to change by the time I got in last night, and past my dad’s bedroom on the way to the stairs. I couldn’t fight my urge to look as I turned my head. The sight froze me where I stood. The bed was still as neatly made as the night before, and the box was still on it. This isn’t what scared me. The box of cameras that was under his bed is now gone. I don’t know what my “dad” did last night, but I knew I had to get out of that house.  I didn’t care about making a noise anymore as I raced down the stairs slamming into the door as I unlocked it and drove like a bat out of hell from the house for the second time in the last 24 hours.

I’ve contacted Detective Crawford. We’re currently investigating both the “Born” and the “Road Trip” Tapes. This isn’t the end. I’ll update you soon with what we find but I don’t know how long this will be with the rest of those cameras now gone.

Part 1- https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1e9jhdz/the_born_tapes_my_life_has_been_changed_forever/

Hey guys, I just wanted to ask a question of the reddit community as I'm having a bit of a weird experience. Everyone knows that website mods are fairly strict, right? If you've ever written a story for a writing forum then you'll almost certainly have fallen foul of one rule or another and seen that dreaded "Your post has been removed" message pop up a few minutes after you hit submit. They're pretty cool on most sites and let you rework whatever didn't fly, setting up your series properly or making sure there's plot or whatever, but this situation has me a little concerned.

I recently popped out a story about a sort of grey laziness-ghost for one of the horror forums. Bit of a commentary on my own procrastination tendencies, it was this creature that sapped the protagonist's will to do things and made him into a pile of goo - I'll fully admit it was self-indulgent and not my best work. Anyway I put it up a week ago and not a minute later saw the damn notification pop up. Checking what was wrong though I found it was a rule I hadn't noticed before:

"Not scary enough."

Obviously since it was a horror forum the scariness of stories is a given, so this was a rule I hadn't broken before. Confused, I asked what they meant exactly, and the message came back:

"Your story needs the character to show Fear to post here. Please show us the Fear."

Weird. My story had my character being scared of the lazy ghost, but re-reading showed me that it was more about the procrastination than the fear and it could honestly have done with him reacting more. Grumbling a little I made the edits and re-submitted. The notification popped up again, even quicker this time.

"You're still missing true Fear, Alex."

This is where I started getting concerned and wanted to ask opinions from the community. I don't have my name on my profile anywhere and haven't mentioned it in any posts, and yet the moderator seemed to know it. Maybe I'd linked to something connected to my name in the past, but it's strange for a mod to find that and then use my first name in an official message, right? It came from the proper account and everything.

Either way I was creeped out, and also annoyed that this person was seemingly targeting my story. I lashed out a little, editing the work to make the MC almost comically terrified, screaming and gibbering at the sight of a dumb ghost that definitely didn't merit the reaction. Submitting again, I specifically asked for a different mod to review it.

The notification came in seconds this time, the number glowing red in the dark background of the app.

"Not your character's Fear, Alex. We mean yours."

I stared at the message, a trickling feeling running down my spine, before another one came through. "How can you write Fear if you don't know it yourself?"

This is where I became really unsettled. This didn't seem to be about the story any more, something else was happening. Maybe the mod account had been hacked or something, but the fact they knew my name was worrying me.

'Everything is about the story, Alex"

A knock suddenly sounded at my front door, the sharp sound making me jump.

"Come and let us in, Alex. We'll help you write."

What the hell was going on? This couldn't be related, the knocking had to be something innocent that just seemed related to the message. Thoroughly spooked, but not wanting to let some weird trolling attempt by a random mod get to me, I went to answer the door. Nothing was there. Just the darkening street outside my house, empty, a chill in the air making me shiver.

A sense of dread growing inside me, I locked the door and returned to my tablet. No new messages, the app was silent. I breathed out a shaky breath, feeling foolish that I'd let myself get wound up by this.

'Y̷o̷u̷ ̷s̷h̷o̷u̷l̷d̷ ̷h̷a̷v̷e̷ ̷c̷h̷e̷c̷k̷e̷d̷ ̷t̷h̷e̷ ̷p̷i̷n̷n̷e̷d̷ ̷p̷o̷s̷t̷.̷'

The warped words came from behind my left shoulder. I flew out of my chair, eyes wide as I stared into my dim room.

'Who's there?!' I shouted at the empty space. Seconds dragged by, marked only by the rasping of my breath. I was alone in my room...

'S̷t̷o̷r̷i̷e̷s̷ ̷n̷e̷e̷d̷ ̷F̷e̷a̷r̷,̷ ̷A̷l̷e̷x̷.̷ ̷W̷e̷ ̷w̷a̷n̷t̷ ̷t̷o̷ ̷s̷e̷e̷ ̷y̷o̷u̷r̷ ̷F̷e̷a̷r̷.̷'

This time I saw it, a shadowed form hovering in the corner of my room, hooded and near formless, barely more than textured shadows. Menace emanated from it, darkness seeping from its shape like greasy smoke as I stared at it in terror. The thing held me in its powerful gaze.

Barely aware of what I was doing I picked up a stapler from my desk and hurled it at the figure. It passed straight harmlessly through, striking the wall behind the monster.

'A̷b̷u̷s̷e̷ ̷o̷f̷ ̷m̷o̷d̷s̷ ̷w̷i̷l̷l̷ ̷n̷o̷t̷ ̷b̷e̷ ̷t̷o̷l̷e̷r̷a̷t̷e̷d̷.̷ ̷Y̷o̷u̷ ̷h̷a̷v̷e̷ ̷b̷e̷e̷n̷ ̷g̷i̷v̷e̷n̷ ̷a̷ ̷3̷ ̷d̷a̷y̷ ̷b̷a̷n̷.̷'

All at once the figure lunged, icy tendrils engulfing me and dragging me down into a pit of screaming, tormented unconsciousness.

They let me breathe again about three days later, and I haven't slept since I gasped back to life. The figure is still here, hovering silently, unblinkingly, watching everything I do. I can't leave, can't eat, and I barely dare to take my eyes off it. So my question to the community is: Do the mods know where you live too? And how do I make them leave?

The wind over the grass made it look like the ocean. Each blade is so closely bonded you can’t distinguish one from the next as they dance in a line. It was a private dance for me and him. The green of the field was nowhere as brilliant as the green in his eyes. We would lay for hours commenting on the clouds, pondering over the trees, or our imaginations riding the waves of foliage bringing our boat further away from the shore. It was our haven. It was our ocean. I haven’t been back since it happened, but I know the waves will be the same, too similar, so close to my memory that I'll have to look away.

Our town was the old kind with enough history to fill our local library. The only changes to historic downtown in the last 50 years was the stoplight on the corner. It amazed me and Henry almost as much as our ocean. We pressed the walk button so often that the beep was as familiar to me as the chime of the church bell in the square. As soon as the man on the screen told us to walk Henry would look at me, grab my hand, and say.

“Run” the rush we felt as the cars stopped just for us was electric. We skipped from one white rectangle to the next. In our minds, we were Moses parting the seas avoiding the pharaoh fast on our heels. On one such summer afternoon, me and Henry skipped all the way to the barbershop. Old man Stevens had owned the shop for fifty years. Now his son owned it and he took to perching outside like a gargoyle. He said it made him feel young even though a large portion of his time outside was spent sleeping. The awning over his head was older than him and was faded and cracked. Me and Henry didn’t notice our hands were still intertwined until he looked at us, his white beard slick with sweat.

“And where are you boys headed?” His voice was warm milk adding to his Santa Claus appearance. He had missed a button on his yellow corduroy jacket. The same hands that had held a sharp blade against the entire’s town head had lost their dexterity and stability.

“Well,” Henry started, always the braver between us. “We are going on an adventure.” His green eyes twinkled, and his smile was crooked. He had the kind of smile that spread even to adults and Mr. Stevens smiled back at him.

“An adventure, eh? I hope you boys are prepared. Adventures can be dangerous.” He took a sip from the iced tea that sat by his side. The ice clinked as he sipped, and droplets fell into his beard. My mother had once said the food in his beard could feed the entire town for a month.

“Oh, we know,” Henry replied, looking at me. “Me and the captain here are prepared for anything the seas could throw our way.” Henry always made me captain despite my protests. Captains were supposed to be brave and proud, and I knew what I was. My father would yell at me every night for being a Nancy boy too shy to face his own shadow. I only played sports of any kind with Henry. The rest of the time I spent my nose stuck in a book. It was Captain Nemo and Columbus that inspired us to take to the seas. If only I had read about astronauts instead. Me and Henry could’ve wandered the barren plains and made up martians. Instead I was Captain Ahab leading us to destruction.

“Where are you sailing today, Captain?” His gaze turned to me, and I wasn’t shy enough to ignore an adult. I stared at his nose as I spoke.

“The um grass field by Hawkinson’s farm? You know how when it like blows , how it looks like the oocean or like um.” I let my words drift off. I felt the energy sucked from the air, not uncommon when I was the one talking but this was different. As soon as I mentioned the field Mr. Stevens's smile shrunk and his eyes glazed.

“You, boys, should be careful out there.” His next gulp of iced tea was shakier and more tea went into his beard than his mouth.

“What do you mean?” Henry asked, deciding to sit on the sidewalk next to Mr. Steven's chair. I followed suit. I sat next to Henry leaning against the barbershop's candy cane. Having Henry in between me and someone else always made me feel more comfortable.

“You said those fields you called them oceans?” His gaze was far off again. Henry nodded towards the old man in the chair. “They do look like an ocean don’t they.” He almost chuckled but it was dry, and he coughed from the effort. “Well, me and my first mate used to explore those waters too. Before Mr. Hawkinson and his family lived there it was owned by Tobias...” His eyes seemed to be searching for something. “By my first mate's family and we would spend hours in the grass searching for buried treasure.” Henry was engrossed in the story and the prospect of treasure. I listened faintly as the cars passed me on the road. Picking at the crevices between sidewalk panels. “But you boys listen find somewhere else to play because there are fucking sharks in that water.” Mr. Steven’s cussing brought me back to the present and me and Henry shared a look of glee at hearing an adult swear. He looked intently at us and we were afraid he would scold us for joking. Instead he stood shaking with the effort. “Leave that place alone or those… those sharks will tear you to pieces and no one will find you.” He vanished into the barbershop and left me and Henry sitting there.

“What the” Henry lowered his voice to only where I could hear. “Fuck was that old man on about?” Me and Henry laughed hysterically. We were in tears by the time we finally stood. “Well, captain, should we set sail?” Henry’s resolve settled me, but Mr. Steven's words echoed in my head.

“But what about the sharks?” I asked, my mind went to great whites. I knew our ocean couldn’t have sharks swimming in them. But the way Mr. Steven’s had acted still filled me with dread.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Henry asked, beckoning me closer. He leaned in and whispered into my ear. “Sharks are afraid of me.” He puffed out his chest and took my hand. We ran all the way to the fields.

Today our ocean was choppy, and despite the sun shining brightly overhead I still smelled a storm coming.

“Maybe we should come back tomorrow,” I said. Me and Henry were standing right outside the entrance. Standing this close without the distance the hill provided I saw how dry and spread apart the grass was. The motion of the waves wasn’t as organized here. Too many individuals trying to leave the herd.

“Are you scared?” Henry asked this, not like my other friends, the few that I had. He genuinely wanted to know, and I knew that if I was he would be content to sit up on that hill with me. The thought was tempting but I didn’t want to disappoint him besides I was tired of waiting. I was tired of thinking everything to death.

“No, let's do this.” The resolve in my voice was new and Henry took note. I tried to puff out my chest like he had. This made Henry chuckle as he motioned towards the field.

“That’s why you're captain.” He said and we ventured into the great unknown.

We had been going to watch this field for a week. My books about the seven seas had inspired us to find one. We had both been there before but never with the hearts of sailors never together. We hadn’t gone inside yet, content to watch from afar. It hadn’t seemed ready for us yet. Now as we finally made the leap my heart was fluttering.

The field wasn’t that large but inside it seemed to stretch on forever. It wasn’t seconds after we entered the field that we lost all semblance of direction. Henry in front of me was the only thing that kept me from total paralyzing fear. I was scanning in every direction searching for a shadow that would swallow us up. Every blade that brushed by my body was the rubbery skin of a great white sent to cut me with its teeth.

“Do you think Columbus played games on board while he was sailing to find America?” Henry asked in between swings. He was slashing the grass from in front of him like a brave jungle explorer.

“I’m sure they at least tried Tic Tac Toe.” My eyes wandered to the crew of the Santa Maria trying to beat Columbus in games. I bet Columbus was a real sore loser.

“I bet they drank a lot too. Adults always have so much fun when they drink.” He stopped swinging altogether and stopped where he was. He looked at me a little sheepishly as I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Is your dad still…?” I let the words drift off, they didn’t need to be said.

“Not as much.” He said, “It was worse right after my brother died.” He was drawing a picture in the dirt. It was a family of stick people. I remember thinking they looked happy. “I don’t get it.” He said erasing the picture. He buried his head in his hands. I started rubbing his shoulder.

“Adults get old, and they get unhappy, and they have kids so they don’t have to be unhappy alone.” I spoke the words I had thought everytime my father came home drunk.

“Are we going to, you know, get old and unhappy?” He turned towards me with tears in his eyes. I held out my pinky in our familiar way signifying the greatest exercise in trust we had. He joined his pinky in mine.

“As long as we are together we will never get old and unhappy” He echoed my words, and we shook our pinky’s. We sat there smiling for a second. The last time I ever smiled at him.

A sound erupted from every direction. The sound was not natural. It was screeching metal and yelling garbled together with a thumping bass that shook the earth. We propelled ourselves off the ground, staying low like cornered animals. We spun in a circle trying to find a source. I looked at the sky and saw that darkness had started to descend. Had we really been in there that long?

“What is that?” I asked not daring to raise my volume above a whisper even among the deafening noise. It was instinctual making myself smaller in the face of whatever this was.

“I don’t know, maybe like a farm machine? Maybe an earthquake?” His voice was wavering, something I had never heard it do. I knew he didn’t believe that but our minds were grasping for any sense of reason. “Whatever it is, we need to get out of here.” He could hear how scared I was and adjusted his voice to make me feel better. He grabbed my hand, and we took off as fast as our legs could carry us in the direction we came. The grass seemed to darken from green to gray to black as we ran. Henry was faster than me, but he kept his hand on mine so I wouldn’t fall behind. The steady rhythm of our feet and his red Nikes streaking ahead of me was the only comfort I felt. The sound droned on and got louder. We had to yell to hear each other over the sound booming from all around us.

After what felt like an hour of running the grass was fully black and started to resemble tendrils shooting towards the sky. Their sway that was our comforting ocean was now a deadly dance attempting to spear us with their points. My breath was labored, and my entire body started to replace adrenaline with pain as time went on. I was about to slow down when I stumbled into Henry’s back who had stopped dead in his tracks.

Silence after an eternity of noise can be far more alarming than any shrieking siren. The silence came all at once and it was deafening. My heartbeat hammered in my chest but besides that, the world seemed to die away.

“Why’d you stop?” I asked, dusting off my pants. As I dropped his hand and went to his side my eyes caught our obstacle. It was a hole. More than that it was a perfect circle of darkness. The dim light from the sky didn’t show any sides to the hole. It simply began and decided not to end.

As soon as my eyes landed on it, I couldn’t peel them away. The darkness, the absolute lack of any light. It was mesmerizing, it was maddening. I grabbed a rock from the ground and dropped it into the hole. As soon as it entered the mouth of the pit it disappeared. I listened for the sound of a rock falling or at least hitting the side, but it never came. I thought of when I saw a sinkhole on TV but that was nothing compared to the tear that had ripped apart the world.

“Henry, I think we should go.” I turned to face him for the first time since we had encountered the hole. He was a foot away from the edge. The white tips of his shoes shone brightly against the steep drop in front of him. “Henry?” I walked towards him and put my hand on his shoulder. “Let's get out of here man.” I looked into his eyes and wanted to cry.

His eyes were the same indescribable black pit plastered on the floor before us. His gentle sloping cheeks that I had studied with his every smile had always led to the beautiful green. Just as our green ocean had rotted and turned black Henry’s eyes were gone, replaced by voids.

As I saw the absence of his eyes they began to very slowly shimmer and grow on his face. The ground was following suit, and it was slowly growing towards Henry’s feet.

“Henry please , we have to go.” I shook his shoulders and started crying. I wanted to run but I wouldn’t give my friend to this thing. It wasn’t bravery, it was necessity. I wasn’t anything without him “HENRY PLEASE!” The black on his face was getting dangerously close to his nostrils. Would it suffocate him before he fell?

“Henry, you promised!” The words caught in my throat but I forced them out, launching them at him. “You promised you’d stay with me I need you… I need you.”

I was starting to buckle under the weight of the situation. I stood side by side with him prepared to go down with the ship and my first mate. The white tips of his shoes were peaking over the borders of the growing void. I felt his cold hand like the hand of death around mine. I looked up at his eyes and the threat was retreating a forest of green growing out of the blackness. He looked at me, his breath even.

“Run.” He said calmly and then he took off like a dog who had lost his leash.

The hole didn’t want to let him go and it increased the rate it was swallowing the earth around us. Henry kept his hand firmly on mine as he pulled me ever forward. He would run and then seemingly out of nowhere he would turn left and then right. At one point I swear he did a 180 but the hole still loomed behind us. I don’t know how but he had the map that would lead to escape.

The sound started up again with a fury. It was weirdly comforting to escape the silence even if it was replaced by that indescribable sound

The black grass slowly started to return to normal as we went. They weren’t only regaining color but they gained life and form. The tendrils slowly morphed back into predictable stalks as we streaked by them. They seemed to be showing us the way home.

I slowly started to see the sun peaking through the grass up ahead. It was freedom and I could taste it. Henry saw it too and looked back at me to smile. His smile quickly turned to fear and he tightened the grip on my hand. I dared to glance back and I saw a single dark tendril creeping from the abyss. It was shadow and solid ink but its movements were organized and they whipped forward grasping for my flesh. As it got closer it took form. It gained teeth and purpose with every strike. The sharks had finally found us.

The break in the grass was right ahead. I didn't feel the fresh air but I knew I was close to drawing my first actual breath. Just as relief swallowed me I felt venomous barbs wrap around my ankle. They didn’t knock me down but their resistance was increasing as I tried to trudge forward. Henry felt the added resistance and looked at the tentacle. I felt ice flowing up my veins emanating from my ankle. It reminded me of when my foot had broken through the ice at McCleary’s pond. The same frozen feeling was crawling up, spreading and increasing its grip.

Henry kept pulling me but even he wasn’t strong enough to keep our momentum. He got a grim look in his eyes. The green of his eyes were cloudy. As I stared at him pleading, a smile broke across his face. I’ve remembered that smile for all these years and I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.

Without a word he grabbed my outstretched wrist with his other hand and braced himself. I saw the strain in his muscles as he threw me with all his might. He fell over from the effort as I stumbled free and tripped all the way to safety.

The fall knocked the wind out of me. I lay breathlessly for a second savoring the returned warmth in my ankle. My relief at freedom didn’t last longer than it took to retrieve my breath. I looked back at the field behind me. Dry grass standing still. The sun was still fully shining overhead.

I rushed back inside, throwing apart the grass and tearing them out in clumps. It was different when I entered this time the wind still blew and the sun still shone with intensity. I ran with all my speed ignoring the pain in my ankle and the muscles that no longer wanted to respond to my brain. I quickly found the end on the other side and turned right back around. I attempted to follow the same trail as Henry. A left here, a right there doing 180’s and circles. I searched for hours until long after the sun fell and the full moon illuminated my chase.

When I finally came back to the entrance, my mother was shining a flashlight towards me. The light felt accusatory standing in a line up for the murder of my friend.

“Jeremy! Where did you go? I was worried sick.” I walked towards the light preparing to be put into handcuffs. Her voice sounded like a radio with a bad connection. The whole world had gone staticy and garbled.

“I… I lost Henry, I can't find Henry.” My emotions finally caught up with me and I broke into sobs. My mother caught me and started rubbing my back. She wiped away my tears and held me. When she responded her voice was confused but full of emotion.

“Who is Henry?” Was the last thing I heard before I fell unconscious.

The next two months were a blur. I spent two weeks in the hospital. The doctors said it was extreme dehydration and exhaustion. They didn’t believe my mother that I had only been gone a day. The extent of my injuries seemed to be after months of torment. I was visited by a psychologist every day to go over the events. She told my mother when they thought i was asleep that I had a psychotic break from my ordeal. My whole story was fiction and I had invented the strong brave Henry to get me through the ordeal. The doctors never could explain the blackened skin on my ankle. It wasn’t burned, the skin just lost its color and they chalked it up to the unexplained. My father never visited, unable to deal with his psychotic son.

When I got out I canvassed the town asking anyone if they knew Henry. All I got was blank stares as my mother would rush me back home. I looked for Mr. Steven’s but his son said he had left town.

“An old friend came to visit and my pops took off without a second thought.” Mr. Stevens the junior had the same beard only streaked with the occasional gray instead of white. I asked Mrs. Thompson at the corner store who always slid us sweets when we visited. I asked our teacher who had always sat us together knowing we were a bonded pair. I even asked my father who always scolded me after Henry left saying I should be chasing girls not the coattails of that little boy.

“Listen kid,” my father said, swigging his beer. “You are really freaking out your mom. Now shut the fuck up and act normal.” He left to get some air and I saw my mother watching me from the kitchen. I had stopped eating or sleeping. The only times I talked about it was to ask about Henry.

I visited his parents last, unable to deal with their inevitable response. I walked onto their porch, the same porch where me and Henry had drawn pictures of our older selves with chalk. I drew myself on a boat and Henry added himself right by my side. The boat remained but my first mate was gone. Only my chalk figure remained. The drawing was faded by rain or time. Or the unspeakable force that had drained my leg and my life of color. I knocked once and Henry’s mother answered the door.

“Oh sweetie,” She said, crouching down to my level. “ I heard what happened, are you ok?” My parents had spread the rumor that it was a nasty virus that had left me bedridden. My father couldn’t stomach the idea of anyone thinking he had “failed” as a father.

“Yes ma'am,” I replied, not meeting her gaze. She had Henry’s eyes and I knew the sight would crush me. “I was just wondering if you were ok?” I kept my question vague. I had promised my mother to stop asking about Henry.

“Oh baby how sweet of you. Yes we are fine, just glad to hear you are alright. Isn’t that right Craig?” Henry’s father sat on his familiar recliner wearing a stained white shirt. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge me or his wife.

“Ok thank you ma'am.” I replied after a moment of silence. Her words were sweet but her peace destroyed me. As I walked back to the sidewalk I felt her eyes on my back.

We moved not long after that. My mom had fought my father over it but she had convinced him. I knew how hard she had fought for this when she told me the news sporting a black eye. My father was able to transfer to a factory about four hours away. Before he had looked at me with shame but now he just refused to look at me. We rolled out of town on a gray tuesday. The buildings of my home were different as I left. Drained of any memories that mattered. The stop light was just a stoplight. Hindering my exit from the town.

Old man Steven’s chair was staring at me as I left. He still hadn’t returned and his son was starting to get worried. I remembered his tales of sharks and the first mate he lost as the building of my home streaked past me.

The town is now full of stop lights as I pull in. They even have a Target downtown. The barbershop has been replaced by a pharmacy. His chair is still there but it is vacant. I am sure that he died like everything does. Everything is different but entirely the same. The decision to come back came after a startling realization. I couldn’t remember his voice anymore. Everybody had forgotten him and I needed to bear his memory. I decided to write this and come back so I don’t forget anymore. He deserved a grave but all he got was the tombstone he had etched in my heart and now on this page. I looked down at the blackened skin on my ankle. I was grateful it was there the only thing that kept the past real.

Beware the light eyed ones!

That's what my grandma had always said to my mom,aunts and uncles and eventually to her grand kids and great grandchildren.

My grandfather always thought it was strange as well buy he died years before I was born,in a car crash.

My mother had told me that her mom had proudly told her and her siblings that she made sure they all had brown eyes once they were born, and even did the same to myself, all of my cousins, my younger brother,and my 3 younger sencond cousins

Apparently my grandma practically had to fight with the doctors a few times while trying to get to a few of us to make sure our eyes were brown or hazel.

Every one of us do,in fact have shades of brown eyes.From very dark brown, to medium, to light brown, to amber, to hazel eyes with a little green flecks.

She also threatened to disown one of her sons when he dated a green eyed girl when he was a teenager.She demanded that they all only dated people with brown eyes.Hazel with green flecks was the only exception to her.

She also told her kids that any friends they brought over were to have brown eyes as well .She always made sure us grandkids did the same.

Anytime she came across someone with blue,green or gray eyes,she would get a terrified look on her face and get away from them as fast as possible

She would never even go out to family restaurants unless she knew the waiter or waitress had dark eyes

No one ever truly knew why and whenever she was asked,she would just say the sane phrase every single time.

Beware the light eyed ones

That is, until I went to visit her on her death bed a few days ago.Multiple family members had come and gone to say their good byes to her already.

She was 86 when she passed.Looking at her frail body and pale skin while she laid on that bed brought tears to my eyes.

Besides her weird obsession with people having brown eyes and avoiding those who didn't like they were a disease,she was a great woman .

She always had fun stuff for us grandkids to do when we visited her and was otherwise delightful

She had not a single racist or homophobic bone in her body.She just had something against light eyed people.

When I sat down beside her,she grabbed my hand as tight as she could and told me how much she loved me and that she had to tell me something that she couldn't even tell her husband,friends or even her own kids

I was surprised by this and happily agreed to listen to her get whatever she held back for so long off of her chest to me....but after listening to her story,I am terrified

Here is what she said to me before dying 2 says later

As you know,I have never been fond of non-brown eyed people in my life.I know its been a mystery to so many of you for years now.And now that I am on my way out,I am finally able to be at peace knowing they can never get me.

When I was little ,almost everyone I knew had dark eyes in the town I lived in.There were a few that I knew who had light eyes but they were rare

*One day on my way to school when I was in 3rd grade,a young man and woman were just standing in my path,smiling down at me.They both looked to be around 25 to me *

They both had very beautiful light eyes.The man had eyes as green as emeralds and the woman had eyes the color of a blue sky mixed with silvery gray.I smiled at them as I attempted to walk around them as I knew to not make small talk with strangers...yes we were taught that even back in those days

But as I tried to walk around them,I felt hands grab me from behind as I was then thrown to the ground.Before I could even scream,I was put into a choke hold by the man as the woman stared down from above me...those smiles still plastered to their faces and their lifeless light eyes staring down at me as the world faded to black around me

When I came to,I found myself tied to a tree and gagged, in front of the lake in my town, where I learned to swim.As if on que,the man and woman emerged from some other nearby trees and 4 more people followed behind them

They all stood in front of me with blank expressions on their faces and they didn't blink.I noticed something that they all had in coomon.They all had light eyes.The first man had green,the woman had grayish blue,another man had plain gray,another woman had baby blue,another man had greenish blue and the last woman had dark blue eyes

After a few moments the man who choked me out stepped foward and bend down so his eyes were in front of mine.He then pulled out a silver spoon from his pocket, and told me that I needed to get my new pretty eyes so they could have a child in the new world that he is starting

I still remember the fear I felt as he brought up the spoon inches from my left eye as the other 5 people simply smiled and watched.But just before the spoon touched my eye,I heard a gun shot.The man stopped,dropped the spoon and fell down to his side...dead

The other 5 people tried to run off but more gunshots rang out and they too all dropped one by one.Several hunters were out that day hunting duck and came across what those freaks were doing and knew they had to take action and began firing from a short distance

They ran out from their hiding spots and untied me and settled me down as much as my hysteric self could be.I was reunited with my parents and siblings later that day as we all cried together.My mom said she would never let me be again

One woman who was shot survived, and after being interrigated for hours,she admitted that they were a small group called the Light eyed ones.They wanted every person in the world to have non- brown eyes.And they would do anything to make that happen.They had stalked me for weeks and planned to kidnap me,take out my eyes and put in glass eyes with blue irisis to make me perfect

She was sent to a lonely house after she was deemed insane by doctors where I think she spent the rest of her days as far as I know

But not long after that happened as I was returning to normal life as best as I couuld,I found a note on my dresser one day that said the other light eyed ones are still around and would grow in numbers and would make me join them soon

I never told anyone and threw it away as I didn't want my parents to know and I was still just a little girl who didn't want them to freak out again.I was homeschooled after that day as I feared a light eyed one would appear in my school and kidnap me while the other kids watched in horror

That is why I've never trusted them....any of those damn light eyed ones.I have been on alert for many decades....years of nightmares them staring down at me with those cold light eyes....years of fear and paranoia.But at least it will be over soon

I was so shocked by her confession but I held back and so my hugged her as she began to sob after she finished her story.

As I left later that day,I came across a blue eyed nurse who smiled at me ...and I felt fear...and as I hurried past her I swear she mumbled under her breath

You will join the light eyed ones one day