Ahh yes the rolls-royce silver spirit, beauty on wheels, i've wanted one for as long as i can remember, and i finally bit the bullet, i went on a popular car trading website, in hindsight i probably should of looked at a classics dealer, i scrolled through the listings thinking that one of these is going to be mine, it took a good few months, but i found one that was perfect, <100k miles, light blue, <£15k cream leather, wood trim, and it all looked in good condition, i thought it was too good to be true but i agreed to meet with the seller.

When the day came, i got into my functional old corolla and dialled the location into my nav, and set off, a few miles later i pulled up outside a gorgeous gothic style house, i've always been a person who believes in luxury and not spreading negative vibes, when i got the corolla, i made sure to get the highest trim and the best condition, i did a few tasteful upgrades, a wood trim kit, some exterior chrome, and a luxury steering wheel cover, which i spent way too much money on, i also pamper it and keep it clean, so i had no fear of parking it up next to this posh house, i walked up to the gate and pushed the doorbell, who i believe was the concierge came over the intercom.

'I'm here for the Rolls-Royce, advertisement on [REDACTED]'

I heard some talking and she said he will be here to see me in a minute or two, i was just there examining the house, looking for the car when i saw a gentlemen, he had a paisley smoking jacket on, and a dinner shirt, an equally upper class lady followed and gave him a set of keys, soon to be my keys, to my surprised, the aristocrat let me in, while i was in there, i couldn't help but notice some pictures of the Al Fayad Family on the wall, but i followed him to the RR, it was in a well lit garage, and had been recently cleaned according to him, we spent something like 20 minutes talking about the car, he claimed it had been found in an old garage, and was in great condition but the market for these cars isn't well known and that's why it was so cheap for the brand, i've always been a posh person myself, so it was nice to meet up with a fellow poshie, even if our wallets are vastly different, eventually we agreed on a test drive.

During the test drive he was talking about how it was recently cleaned, inspected, and some parts replaced by his mechanic, every time i steered my arm hit something that was very soft and plush, he was apologetic and moved so i could turn the wheel freely, we were driving back when i heard a C-chord chime, the kind of chime to draw your attention to something, i couldn't see anything wrong so i asked him, he said he's only heard it once, and there's nothing about it in the user manual, so i assumed it was something aftermarket, not worth ripping the dashboard apart for.

I asked him to reserve it, and i drove back in the corolla, a few days later i arrived via taxi and payed with cash right there and then, the next day i visited my sister in it, it was funny hearing her kids 'mommy there's a rolls royce outside' when i asked them what they thought of it, they mostly talked about princess diana, james dean, and christine, the steven king novel, i thought they were just talking about the stereotype of fast or luxury cars at such a young age, i shrugged it off, and left.

I would drive the car every sunday, and every sunday it got worse, but surely the car wasn't haunted right? one night i treated myself to eating at a resturant, and on the drive back in that car, i was going through a tunnel, a similar style to that diana tunnel but it wasn't on my mind, not until the steering wheel jerked itself toward the pillars, that got me scared, but i drove back in one piece.

The next time i drove that car, it was a cold winters day so i had my inverness on over my other clothes, i decided to meet up with some other friends and family, some said they liked it, some said it was ugly, oh well, when i tried to drive off, with my friends still watching, the car wouldn't start, the engine wouldn't turn over, and the electronics didn't even show a sign of life, it was dead, had my battery gone? i got out and opened the bonnet, i could not find anything wrong with my limited knowledge so i turned around with the car to my back, thinking of what i should do, it didn't come to my mind that my inverness was dangling into the engine bay.

It happened so quick, i heard a loud bang, the engine starting and a loud revving as it pulled away, i jumped back, and clinged to the top of the car as it sped for about half a mile down the road before coming to a stop, where the engine shut off and everyone came to see if i was alright, i was, but my cape slightly damaged.

I was convinced at this point that there was an electrical problem with the car, i called up the gentlemen again and he was very apologetic about it, his mechanic replaced some wires and parts for free, a lot of people don't understand the genorosity of the wealthy, well its a mixed bag, but the average wealthy person with a decent income, such as this guys mechanic, are in such a stable financial situation, they never have to bill the poor, either way, he's a nice guy and offered future repairs for a small fee, i obliged.

After that, the car was the same, but the problems all seemed to vanish, i got stupidly confident, and started driving it on saturdays, too, i decided to give her a name, and i settled on Princess, just princess, because the car looked a princess.

But the strange things kept happening, seeing shadows in the back seats and an erie feeling of being watched, it only got worse at night, and occasionally a bright flash of light that fills my vision, with some research i later discovered the family i bought it off is related to the Al Fayad family, they own the Ritz, this was likely a car that princess diana took pride of place in only a few months or maybe years from her demise, and its likely haunted, i got a priest in soon afterwards and he did some rituals with sage and holy water, the paranormal activity is slowing down, but its still there, right now i see it outside, cold and dark, but i swear i just saw something move across the seat.

I'll still drive her, i love her

When I was younger, my older brother Theodore and I would spend most of our time in the mountains and forests just outside of town. There wasn’t much else to do in our secluded little neck of the country but that didn’t matter. We would play pirates, cowboys and indians, and even as Jedi after we saw The Phantom Menace. Eventually, as we grew older, we moved on to hunting and exploring. We would push ourselves deeper and deeper into the forest every time we went out.

It was late October when we went deeper into the forest than ever before and ever since. 

I had just turned thirteen and in the eyes of my parents, was able to graduate from bow hunting to using a rifle. It was an old bolt action that my grandad used but to me, it was like being given the keys to a Ferrari and I handled it as such. So when Theo knocked on my door and asked me if I wanted to try it out, I didn’t hesitate to jump on the opportunity; if only I hadn’t persisted in pushing so deep into the woods.

“See him right there,” Theo whispered. 

We were crouched down in a bed of leaves at the top of a small bluff. Through the uneven rows of trees, we could see the front end of a buck. 

“Yeah I see him,” I whispered, the rifle shaking slightly in my arms. 

I had shot before just never at something.

“Wait until-” Theo started.

A loud crack echoed through the barren trees and the buck jumped away. Its outline slowly grew more obscure as it darted through the trees until it finally disappeared.

“What the hell, John!” Theo shouted before shooting up and sliding down the bluff. 

“I’m sorry!” I whined. 

“You don’t shoot until you have a clear shot!” Theo’s voice echoed through the woods, “shit you hit it though.”

“Isn’t that good?” I asked, catching up to Theo.

“No! This isn’t bow-hunting rabbits! We don’t want it to suffer.”

“I’m sorry,” I shrunk back.

“Come on,” Theo said, “we’ll follow the blood trail.”

If I hadn’t taken that shot, if we had just gone home empty-handed, we would have never found it. Why did we have to go chasing after that buck?

Normally this time of the year, the trees still clung to at least some of their leaves like a blanket in the cold. This year was different. The trees stood barren with piles of leaves littering the ground. It made it easier to see farther away and this is how we were first able to see the structure. It was vague in the distance but as we drew closer it began to take shape. The fuzzy lines of nature gave way to the harsh lines of man.

It was a riverboat. The kind of multi-story floating hotel with a large paddle wheel on the stern. The paint was faded and peeling and every single window was shattered. I could just make out the name stenciled upon one of the side panels. Roxanna.

Only that wasn’t what kept us staring; a massive tree was growing in it. The shattered remains of the pilot house had been engulfed in its enormous trunk. Thick roots wrapped themselves along the decks and spilled overboard into the calm waters below. The tree was slowly absorbing the Roxanna, even the deck was beginning to buckle under its immense weight. 

But the Roxanna’s entanglement with the tree wasn’t what made the whole scene eerie and slightly terrifying to my young mind. It was the tree itself. Monstrously huge, the bark was a dark red that peeled away from the trunk like sheets of paper. Blood-red sap spilled from beneath these sheets, ran down the trunk, and dripped from the branches leaving bloody splatters across the frame of the Roxanna. Its branches hung off the trunk like massive arms and sprouting from the branches were thousands of bone-white leaves, each with the outline of an eye stenciled on their flesh. 

“Woah,” Theo muttered, seemingly forgetting about the wounded buck.

My gaze shifted from the wreck to Theo and back again. Theo’s bad shaving job left patches of peach fuzz that shined blonde in the setting sun's light.

“Can we… can we go home?” I felt uncomfortable there, like standing outside the open closet door at night. 

It was like we had trespassed on something hallow. We weren’t supposed to be there. Theo either didn’t feel the same or didn’t care. The fear of childhood being suppressed in his sixteen-year-old brain.

“No way we got to show people this,” Theo said, stepping closer to the wreckage.

“It’s getting late, we should really go,” I said, clutching my rifle close as it was the only thing that made me feel brave. Even then it felt small.

“Don’t be such a wuss, this is the coolest find I’ve seen. Might have to bring a lady out here sometime,” Theo said, shooting a wink back in my direction. 

I don’t think he had ever talked to a woman.

“Theo, can we please leave.”

“Hang on hang on, if I can get one of those branches it would prove this exists.”

“Who cares we can just tell people it's here.”

“If you see a ten-point buck, do you run home and tell Mommy? No. You get your rifle and shoot the son-of-a-bitch,” Theo said, walking a little way up the bank of the river. He was searching for something in the trees.

“I’m going to tell Mom you’re cursing.”

“I don’t care,” Theo said, spotting what he was looking for and trudging into the leaves.

“Theo!” I called out. 

The hairs on the back of my neck tingled as I stood there alone. A million eyes stared down at me from above. The sky was growing darker with each passing minute and there I was, alone with a monster. I felt cold staring back into those eyes. The wind blew past me whipping the fallen leaves into a frenzy.

Theo marched out of the woods again carrying a long, mud-covered log. He gave me a triumphant look as he wedged it into the rocky bank, the point just barely reaching the closest edge of the Roxanna’s hull. The water was dark and murky with a layer of red and orange leaves slowly moving downstream. It was impossible to tell how deep the water was. 

“I don’t think this is a smart idea,” I said.

“Just watch my stuff then,” Theo said, shrugging out of his jacket.

Carefully testing the log, making sure it was steady, Theo gingerly worked his way up on all fours. He made it to the Roxanna and gave me a thumbs up.

“See. No problem,” he said before disappearing into the bowels of the Roxanna.

“Theo! Theo, can we leave?”

Theo appeared on a walkway in the second story.

“It’s crazy in here!” Theo said with a wild smile, “Like crazy crazy you gotta see this!”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Theo said, disappearing inside again before coming out, “I forgot my knife, can you get it to me?”

“Knife?”

“Yeah, the knife in my jacket pocket.”

“I don’t want to go over there.”

With a large sigh, Theo disappeared again before reappearing where he got on at the other end of the log.

“Just walk it up halfway,” Theo said.

“No, I-”

“Don’t throw the damn thing! Just walk it up you wuss.”

The eyes staring down at me watched my every move as I slowly grabbed the knife and approached the log. Carefully, on my knees and one free hand, I crawled my way up the log. It cracked and wobbled under me. If only I hadn’t listened to Theo.

My hand slipped. The thin layer of mud and decaying leaves took my one hand out from under me. I felt my nose crack as my face hit the wood. The world spun as the cold embrace of water enveloped me. 

Darkness. The next moments exist as a haze. I remember thrashing about. The leaves stuck to my body like a film. Water and blood shot up my broken nose. My clothes were waterlogged and dragged me down. I couldn’t breathe. 

The burn of water in my eyes wasn’t worth the blurred vision it gave me. I couldn’t see anything. Only dark water stretched all around. Then I saw it, tendrils unfolding from the deep, stretching out and slithering through the water like snakes toward me. If I could breathe, I would have screamed. The tendrils wrapped themselves around my ankles and dragged me deeper. I felt them bite into my skin and a cloud of red rippled from my ankles. I kicked and thrashed but was quickly losing energy. Darkness encroached on the corners of my eyes. 

Water crashed above me just as everything faded to black.

I woke up on the banks of the river what had to be several hours later. It was black outside and I was cold and wet. My whole body was sore, my nose was sensitive to the touch, and every breath I took felt like I had nails in my lungs. 

“What the hell, Theo!” I shouted causing me to break into a heavy coughing fit.

Theo didn’t respond.

“Theo! You jerk! I told you we should have left!” 

Still no response. 

“Theo?”

I was alone on the bank. Overhead the eyes stared down; hungry and wrathful. In all my youth and the years that would follow, I never once ran as fast as I did that night. Branches struck my face like whips as I crashed through the trees, tripping several times but not letting it slow me. My lungs were tearing themselves apart but I couldn’t stop.

As the lights of home began to shine through the woods, I began to scream.

“MOM! DAD!”

Dad burst out the back door with a shotgun in hand, Mom right behind him. The blood drained from their faces as they saw the blood that coated my clothes. It was far too much to have simply come from my nose or the deep slashes around my ankles. 

“Where’s Theodore?” Dad demanded.

I couldn’t say anything more except to point into the woods where I had just come from. My parents looked at each other before Dad sprinted into the woods. I collapsed into Mom’s arms and cried like a toddler. Every time I closed my eyes all I could see were those hungry red eyes staring at me. 

Dad never found Theo. The local sheriff put a search party together the following day. No one ever found anything. I tried telling them about the Roxanna, about the bleeding tree, about the tendrils dragging me into the deep. No one believed me. 

As the years passed, I was told it was an emotional response to a traumatic situation. My brain processed what I saw and turned it into a fairytale that would help me cope. That’s what they told me at least. I don’t know what to believe anymore. 

My parents put strict limits on how much I was allowed outside after that. I still snuck out without their knowing, but I never found the Roxanna again. After a couple of years, we eventually moved closer to the city and that’s where the story of my brother Theodore ended. 

I don’t know why I feel like sharing this now. Maybe because it is that time of year again. Maybe it’s because I went back home to the mountains. Maybe because I’m standing in the backyard of our old home, staring into the woods. Maybe what it really is is a selfish desire for the truth to be immortalized. That I am not coping. That the scars around my ankles were not made by jagged rocks or bears. That what happened to Theo is the truth. That after I cross the woodline, no matter what happens to me, the truth will be out there. 

Believe this if you wish. Whether or not you do, please take the story of Theo and me not as the ramblings of a madman, but as a warning. If you’re out in the deep woods, do not go looking for the bleeding trees.

My boyfriend Tim (25M) and I (Alice, 23F) were going to a skiing vacation. We planned our vacation just before Christmas, so we could spend the holiday with our families after our skiing adventure.

Snow started as we drove through a little picturesque valley. At first, it was even nice, beautiful snowflakes slowly dancing in the cold air, but eventually the snowfall become denser, and denser, and shortly it was a full-blown blizzard. Windshield wipers were almost useless, tires lost any grip, and our car was skidding on every turn. Then, we saw a road sign, advertising “Granny’s place”, a B&B in a tiny town few miles away from the main highway.

When we got there, I couldn’t but notice how pretty the town was. It looked almost as Thomas Kinkade’s pictures: gingerbread houses, incredibly white snow sparkling under the warm orange streetlights, fir trees with bright Christmas decorations in every front garden. The only bare fir tree, with only snow to adorn its branches, stood in the main square. It was a bit odd, as there was an obvious set-up for a fair around it.

An old lady at the B&B was so enormously glad to have us as customers, that Tim and I were even embarrassed by the ecstatic way she greeted us. She begged us to stay in her living room by the fireplace and take a shower in her private bathroom, as it was a bit cold in the guests’ room and it would took a while to heat the boiler in the guests’ bathroom. She gave us warm bathrobes and new pairs of handmade wool slippers. She brought us some delicious cottage pie, strong ale and fantastic rustic bread, followed by hot chocolate with homemade cookies. She refused to take any money for the dinner. She was so happy to please us in every way as if we were world-famous celebrities and her beloved grandkids all at once! It struck me later that her joy was indeed great and genuine, but if only I could have known the reason for this joy back then…

 After dinner, Mildred the innkeeper asked us if we cared to join the town community celebration of the winter solstice. She said it is was a very merry fair, with delicious snacks, hot wine, fun games, bonfires and fireworks, taking place in the main square. The peak of the merry-making was a lottery; throughout the year, every community member contributed to the lottery fund. But this year it will be even more special and festive occasion, as the solstice coincided with the full moon. To celebrate this rare event, the crowd would elect “the king and the queen of the winter” shortly before midnight. The “royalties” would receive a very special gift at the end of the celebration. Also, their task would be to spin the lotto machine, yelling out the numbers to a cheering community. And, after that the main tree would be decorated to please Father Frost in the longest night of the year.

Of course, we gladly went with her! The snow blizzard died down, and the town was even more Thomas Kinkade-y, impossibly pretty and peaceful.

Lamps and a huge bonfire in the center brightly lighted the main square. There were booths with hotdogs and caramel apples and candies, hot chocolate, cider and hot wine, gaudy souvenirs and pretty useful things like mittens, slippers, shawls, scarves and home decor, there were fortune-tellers and shooting galleries, an impressive snow fortress and innumerable snowmen, made with amazing skill. A perfect winter fair.

About 11 p.m. a mobile platform appeared. It was decorated with fir branches and dark-red glossy bulbs, looking disturbingly similar to anatomically correct hearts. A man in a long silvery-gray cloak and a funny hat, resembling either a goat’s head or a Viking’s helmet with horns, shouted that it was time to choose the king and the queen of the winter. To our delighted disbelief and laughing terror, the crowd yelled “Tim and Alice, Tim and Alice” – and we were pushed, not exactly gently, to the platform. After several cups of spicy hot wine it didn’t surprised us too much that the town’s people elected total strangers as their fair “royalties”, though I see now that their glee was unnatural, greedy and predatory.

The man in a funny hat – the Mayor of the town, it turned out – gave us silvery-grey robes similar to his own.

The next half an hour, we were busy spinning the lotto machine and shouting out the numbers. When the jackpot winner was to be announced, the roar of the crowd became almost deafening – and then abruptly stopped. The winner was Mildred! Pink, flustered, and giggling madly like a little girl she rose to the platform, and the crowd burst out clapping and hooting.

The Mayor popped open a magnum bottle of sparkling wine and gave us huge metal goblets filled with bubbling liquid. It was cold, sweet, tangy and refreshing… But I didn’t feel joy anymore. The crowd was silent again, and the silence was ominous. They hold their breath, they waited for something, and it sent shivers down my spine. Suddenly I saw Tim swayed and fell to his knees. Appalled, I darted to him, but that very moment I collapsed unconscious myself.

I came out of oblivion; I was tied to a pole nearby the main fir-tree. I was deadly cold, as, though I was still dressed in the robe given to me by the Mayor, beneath it was not my warm ski suit, but a thin white dress, almost a wedding gown. The bonfire was gone, the streetlamps switched off. But the moon gave enough light to see that the snow was stained with something dark-read under the tree… And then I saw the decorations on it. A severed hand, bloody and limp. A foot. Indiscernible pieces of flesh, like those in the butcher’s shop. Intestines, hung like garlands on the fir branches. A liver. Lungs. A heart… and on the very top, Tim’s dead head.

I wailed, shrieked, choking with immense grief and bloodcurdling terror as well as bile coming up my throat. I madly tried to tear the rope on my wrists. And then my cries were echoed by monstrous howl.

Two white wolves, huge, with eyes glowing bright yellow, appeared near the tree. I gasped and went silent. The beasts did not pay any attention to me, though – they were busy licking blood from the snow, jumping to get the terrible “decorations” from the tree. 

Then a human-shaped figure appeared. At first, I thought it was the Mayor, because of silvery-gray cloak and horned hat, but when the creature came nearer, I was struck with unbearable terror. It was a man, but he was huge, well above 7 feet. What I took for a cloak was, in fact, silvery-gray hair and beard; they were so long that both almost reached the ground. I couldn’t tell whether the old man was wearing a kind of knitted outfit or was it a white fur on his body. His face was distorted and scary, a mix between a human and a goat. He had long, sharp horns, and his claws were long and sharp and malicious. He grinned at me, his eyes sparking yellow. The pupils of his eyes were vertical slits.

I continued yanking the rope on my wrists, even though my skin was already sore and bloody.

The monster approached and touched my chin with his claws, almost gently. He inhaled a huge portion of icy cold air and blew me in the face. Instead of warmth, and maybe stench that I was expecting, his breath had no smell at all and was colder than any frost I had ever experienced in my life. It hurt so much I almost fainted, feeling my whole body cracking like a tree in winter.

Suddenly, the rope on my wrists snapped. I broke free and, slipping under his arm, ran, ran wildly. Strangely, but neither the monster nor the wolves chased me. I wished to get away from the main square as far as I could. I ran through the silent streets, not even feeling cold anymore. The town seemed totally abandoned: no one on the streets, no lights in windows, shutters closed, not even a single chimney smoking.  My plan was to get to our car and get the hell out of this crazy murderous hole to the nearest police station, but not that of the town itself, of course. I knew Tim left spare keys inside the car. We often had fights because of this habit, but now I was enormously grateful for it. Suddenly I saw some motion on the street from the corner of my eye, a glimpse of a flowy silvery-gray. I yelped in terror, thinking the monster was after me; but then I realized that was my own reflection in a diner’s wide mirror window.  I stopped dead in my tracks, looking at the girl in the mirror, who duly reflected my tiniest movement but was not looking like me at all. I, Alice, was a bit on the chonky side, with olive skin, brown eyes and short curly dark hair. The stranger in the mirror, dressed in the same dreadful wedding gown and the silvery-gray robe, was thin as a rake, with pale skin, bright blue veins showing on her temples, neck and arms. She had bright yellow eyes and smooth silvery hair, reaching to her thin thighs.

I thought that maybe the stuff they gave me with the wine was hallucinogen. Maybe Tim was alive, and I just imagined the old goat-man, the wolves and this entire nightmare. Maybe I should just wait to sober up. I pinched myself, hard. The pain was real, and the pale girl in the mirror winced as well.

I got to the car, smashed the window and got inside. Yes, the keys was there. I didn’t dare to return to Mildred’s cursed lair; I was not sure if I was hallucinating or not. I started the engine and roared off in the direction of highway. I was lucky, the car never stuck in the snow. I made it to our hometown and went to cops.

They did not believe me. I didn’t match Alice’s ID in the least, but I had her BF’s car with their belongings in a trunk, so I was a main suspect for a while. They checked my fingerprints but somehow prints were just smudges. A lab tech said it could happen to people with severe burns; maybe with severe frostbites as well, I thought to myself. They sent me to a hospital; doctors checked me and said I was clear of any drugs, and, as I insisted on my identity, they put me in a psycho ward. As “true” Alice and Tim were missing, the police actually investigated the case. The cops visited the cursed town and Mildred’s B&B. She testified that a young couple stayed there one night and left in the morning. Tim’s remains were never found. My family denied that I was Alice, and they refused to make a DNA test; but, remembering my fingertips, I didn’t expect much, anyway. They still grieve their lost daughter, as well as Tim’s parents grieve their missing son… 

My life is miserable since they released me from the hospital. Everyone thinks I’m a psycho. I can land only odd jobs, part-time, night shifts, shitty paychecks. And I’m constantly hot, sweating buckets, almost melting, though the doctors back in the hospital said I was OK physically. Almost every night I have strange dreams of running wildly through wintry frozen woods, through quiet sleepy towns, with a couple of huge white wolves trotting by my side, grinning happily. We are looking for flesh, animal or human alike, flesh careless enough not to hide itself during the night of the winter solstice. Every shake of my silvery-gray hair sends clouds of tiny ice crystals into the air, sparkling in the moonlight. I don’t know what I am, but I think when the next winter solstice comes, I should go and find Father Frost.

Let me start this by saying Emily and I were not what you would consider friends. We met our freshman year of high school but besides traveling in the same social circles, we never really connected. After we graduated, she ended up at a university on the other side of the state and we all stopped hearing from her. We assumed she had moved on and so we did the same. That was until, to my surprise, a text lit up my phone screen a week ago. 

All it said was, “Wanna go on an adventure?”

Now, Emily had the reputation that an adventure for her would be a Star Wars movie marathon with popcorn. While there is nothing wrong with that, it felt strange that she would be texting me of all people. At first, I thought she was probably going to some nerdy convention or concert and wanted me there so other guys would leave her alone. What I didn’t expect was what she told me next.

The text was straight to the point, “Urban exploring? Good spot by me. You in?”

Like most people, I’ve watched videos on social media of guys parkouring through old factories and flying drones through broken windows. In one of the few conversations Emily and I had together, I vaguely remember mentioning interest in it. But now I was a little hesitant. I only had one year left until graduation and so far I’ve steered clear of the Law. The last thing I needed was to start my new life off with a stain on my record.

Then again, this would be one of my last times to act like a kid. One of my last times to let free, without the weight of adulthood and responsibilities. So, after some back and forth, I gave in.

“Yeah sure, where we headed?”

Emily responded almost immediately.

“Lockjaw, MI.”

A quick Google search showed it was an old automotive town that now gave the Rust Belt its name. For a lack of better words, it was a shit hole in the middle of nowhere.

I only had classes Monday to Thursday, so once that Friday rolled around, I loaded up my beat-up old Honda Civic and made the nearly 4-hour drive north. I wish I could say I was at least a little hesitant about the whole idea. Sadly, I was too excited for a little taste of adventure and excitement to care what came next. Little did I know what I was signing up for.

Our meet-up location was an old, dingy motel that shared a parking lot with a WaffleHouse one county over from Lockjaw. Emily was already there, leaning against her car in all black, when I arrived at around 11 pm.

“Why, hello there stranger,” she said with a smile.

“Hey,” I said getting out of my car.

“You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. What’s the plan?”

“Oh, you know, breaking, entering, that sort of deal.”

“Wait what?”

“I’m kidding,” she punched my shoulder, “The place we’re going has been shut down for decades.”

“Had me a little concerned there for a second. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere cool. But first, you eat yet?” She asked.

We ended up in a booth at the WaffleHouse. Emily had a massive backpack that took up nearly half her bench. When she opened it to pull out a map, I saw she had several large books in there.

“So, see this?” She asked, laying the map out on the grease-pocked table.

It was a map of Lockjaw. It was an old map, probably from the 50s or 60s, but a map all the same. Her finger rested on an intersection on the outskirts of town.

“Yeah, what about it?” I asked.

“That’s where we’re going.”

“Why there?”

“It's an old hospital. During the day there’s like 3 or 4 squad cars patrolling, but at night there’s only 1.”

“I don’t know how I feel about going into an old hospital.”

“Oh come on. Do it for me? Please!” She begged.

I wasn’t sold. I should have threatened to go home if we didn’t change our location. There were plenty of abandoned auto factories that would have been great. But this is where I admit my foolishness. While there was no romantic history between Emily and me, I was still hoping for at least a little action over that weekend. In my childish mind, I rationalized the best way to make that happen was by keeping her impressed and happy. Boy, what a fool I was.

“Fine,” I relinquished, “But I set the rules.”

“Ok,” She chirped.

“I say when we leave and where we go and don’t go.”

She paused and considered my proposal before answering.

“That’s fine.”

We talked for a little longer over some pieces of crispy bacon. Emily insisted that we would have to wait until the early hours of the morning because that was when there were fewer cops. It made me antsy having to wait, but it was nice talking to Emily. She’d changed since I last saw her. Her blonde hair now had a streak of red and she took great joy in showing me the tattoo sleeve on her left arm. Seeing her point out each spider, goat head, and pentagram was weird, only to be reminded that she was still a nerd as she eagerly switched the topic to her archival work at her university. 

Eventually, Emily deemed it time and we left the WaffleHouse at around 2:35 AM. It would take us about 30 minutes to get to the hospital and we would have until 6 AM to explore before more cops came back. I was anxious as soon as we hit the road, but Emily’s bubbly and excited personality put me at ease. Looking back, she grew more enthusiastic with every mile marker we passed. By the time we got to the intersection outside the hospital, I had caught her energetic bug, that was until the headlights slid across a sign at the entrance of the hospital and my stomach crashed.

MORRISON LOCKJAW MENTAL HOSPITAL

“What the hell, Emily? I thought you said this was a hospital, not some loony bin!” I hissed.

“Oh relax would you? It's the same thing,” She waved away my concerns.

“No seriously, Emily. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Oh come on. You scared some ghosts are gonna come get ya? It's just a building.”

I didn’t have any reason to be scared. But then again humans have a collective fear of the dark when in reality the world is the same in the dark as in the light. That’s how I justified it at least, crazy what you can make yourself believe when there’s sex on the line.

We pulled off onto the side of the road about a half mile past the sign. The hospital was surrounded by a forest with multiple overgrown walking trails which made it easy to sneak right past the one cop in the parking lot. Getting access to the building was equally as easy. Emily led me around the back to a shattered window on the first floor. She crawled in using an empty trashcan as a step stool while I just hopped through.

I was full of adrenaline by this point and the boy-like wonder of exploration was taking over. The hallways were a creepy mix of peeling pastels and littered floors. Several walls were covered in graffiti with the spray cans lying underneath their artwork. I tried a couple only to find they were empty. 

There were several rooms where I peeked my head in through open doors and broken observation windows. Some were normal doctors' offices, with overturned desks and old beat-up couches. Others were more sinister; in the middle of one room sat a gurney covered in mysterious stains. In another,  with a red pentagram graffitied on one of the walls, there was a list full of crossed-out names. At the top read Potential Suspects only for suspects to be scribbled over by the word sacrifices.

I was having fun exploring when Emily walked up to me and grabbed my hand.

“You know, I always thought you were pretty cute,” She whispered into my ear. 

I pulled back stunned. She bounced her eyebrows and bit her lip. Slowly, she pulled her hand free and while keeping perfect eye contact disappeared into an adjacent hallway.

I like to think I am a very controlled person who doesn’t let emotions get the best of him. But I won’t lie, my heart was skipping a few beats. I was probably standing there for a solid minute before I regained control of my senses. A few more moments after that, I began pursuing her. The hallway ended in a flight of stairs, one going up and the other down. Naturally, I assumed she went up until after a few steps, I heard her calling from below.

“Down here silly,” she giggled.

I paused. So far I had enjoyed this adventure, however, I was not going down into that basement no matter what. 

“Hey Emily, remember our rule,” I called out down into the darkness.

She didn’t respond.

“Hey. I’m not going down there.”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud. I thought you’d be cool.”

“You agreed to the rules.”

“Rules never said anything about this,” She said. 

The next thing I knew, her jacket flew from the darkness and came to rest at the foot of the stairs. The monkey part of my brain took over and I slowly began to work my way down into the basement. Alarm bells were ringing, there was just no one to hear them.

The stairs emptied into a long, dark, narrow corridor. The air felt icy cold and stale with distinct hints of antiseptics and vomit. At the end of the hall, I could see flickering lights coming from an open room. A trail of clothes led from the base of the stairs to the opening. A shoe, a sock, pants, a blouse. I crept down the hall, so distracted I didn’t even read the signs on each door. Archives. Morgue. Test Room 6. Suspect Holding Chamber.

I reached the open door and paused outside, I don’t know what I was thinking but I quickly jumped into the room ready to scoop her up. She wasn’t there. The hospital room looked like any other. A gurney with restraints sat in the middle, against one wall sat a deep and wide metal sink, and adjacent was a large medical device that I could only assume its original purpose. But what was strange were the dozens upon dozens of red candles that covered the floor. Each candle was burning atop the melted corpses of their forebears. There was barely enough space to step into the room. 

“Emily?” I called out as I stepped deeper into the room.

The candles could have just been mood-setters, I told myself. I am such an idiot.

Emily’s books, the ones she had been carrying in her backpack, sat open on the gurney in the middle of the room. I carefully stepped over to the gurney to see what was written in them. Using a nearby candle for light, it became clear very quickly that I wouldn’t be able to read them. Every page of these massive tomes was filled with what I could only assume to be Latin. There was one phrase I did recognize, however. Firelight danced across the page as I read. Carefully written beneath a massive illustration of an inhuman beast were the words: Pandemonium Regnat Rozonoth Erigit.

The illustrated beast above was the stuff of nightmares. The body of a centipede, impossibly long and winding, covered in an uncountable number of eyes with legs like human arms. It was wreathed in darkness and flames. 

I slowly flipped the page. The words remained illegible except for a couple of very colorful sticky notes. While several of them possessed nothing more than drawings of runes, a few had written words. They said things like “Ender of flame” or “Finality”. I found one sticky note that was being used to bookmark a specific page. I flipped to it.

The page was full of sticky notes, each one a mad rambling or drawing. Underneath I could just barely see the page. It was a set of illustrations showing people bringing pigs, chickens, and people in chains to a burning figure. There were a few sticky notes that stuck out to me. They read as such, “Bound in blood” and “A promised offering.”

I slammed the book shut. To say it had killed the mood would be an understatement.

“Very funny Emily,” I called out, “Very scary. Haha, good prank.”

There was no response.

“Come on, Emily. You can come out now. I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“Emily?”

I looked around and that was when I noticed something I hadn’t seen when I first walked into the room. Behind the large medical device, there was a section with no candles. It was pitch black. An inky darkness seemed to ooze from that corner. Not due to the lack of light, no, this darkness seemed to repel it. Every time I blinked it seemed to grow. I had enough of Emily’s stupid games; I was getting out of there. I started towards the door, looking back only after I had reached the hallway. I shouldn’t have stopped.

Something hit me from behind with full force sending me sprawling out onto the floor.  Before I could react I heard the door slide shut and reverberate with a heavy click. I shot up and began pounding on the door’s window.

“EMILY! EMILY GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I shouted.

The only response I got was a crazed cackling.

I turned around. Even though my fall had snuffed out several candles, there were still dozens of them flickering away. Then one went out. Then another. Slowly, one by one a trail of candles extinguished, originating from the dark corner. I stepped back until I was pinned in the corner. Tears rolled down my cheeks before I even knew I was crying. Another candle went out. Then another. 

The cackling echoed through the hallway even louder than before. It was morphing into something more deranged, more inhuman. The candles up to the gurney had gone out by now. I was done for. This was the end. 

Suddenly, the door clicked and rolled open. I fell back into the hallway. A flashlight was immediately trained on my face with a Taser gun right below it.

“Well, well, well,” the voice holding the flashlight said, “looks like we got ourselves a trespasser.”

It was a cop.

I jumped up and grabbed him by the collar.

“We gotta go! We gotta go!” I must have seemed like one of the hospital's former patients at that moment.

“Don’t worry,” the cop said, grabbing my wrist and pinning it behind my back, “you're gonna go straight to county.”

He began leading me towards the stairs. A wave of relief washed over me. I didn’t care about anything else at that moment besides just getting out of there.

“NO!” A scream echoed from behind us.

We both turned to see Emily standing there in her underwear at the end of the hallway. It was only now that I could see her right arm. It was covered in a lattice cross patch of scars and fresh wounds. In her left hand, she held a large, ornate knife.

“Jesus, what did you do to her?” The cop asked me.

“I-I-I-I,” I stammered.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed at me handcuffing one of my wrists to the stair’s railing.

“No no no don’t trust her!” I screamed.

“I said shut it!” the cop shouted before walking towards her, “Ma’am, I’m with the police. I am here to help.”

By the time the officer was halfway down the corridor, the candle closest to the open door went out. What happened next occurred in the flash of a second. The officer flew into the wall. This wasn’t like in the movies where he would get up afterward. It was like he was hit by an invisible train. His body crashed into the wall, I could hear his bones snapping and his skin and muscles bursting. He stayed there for a second before the crumpled remains of his body slid to the floor. 

I couldn’t breathe. My vision went blurry. In one blink Emily was there and in the next, she wasn’t. I don’t know how but she ended up in front of me, looking down with soulless eyes. Blood dripped from her fingertips. Her gaze shifted from me, to the cuffs, and then to the knife in her hand. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Wait,” I put my free hand up, scooting as far back as I could, “let’s talk about this. We can talk.”

She stood over me. Then she turned. I vaguely remember her walking over to the remains of the cop, grabbing his belt, and dragging him back into the candle room. Her face was an emotionless rock as she did. She paid no attention to me, probably accepting the fact that I couldn’t go anywhere. 

When she disappeared into the candle room, I began messing with the cuff on my wrist. The end locked to my wrist was too tight to slip out of, but the end clamped to the railing had some wiggle room. I wish I could say I acted with grace when freeing myself, but most of my efforts were relegated to yanking it and beating my hand. I don’t know why I deserved this, if I even deserve this. Sobbing didn’t do anything but I couldn’t control it anymore.

A shrill, blood-curdling scream echoed from the candle room. 

“Please! Please!” I heard Emily begging between tears, screams, and the sounds of breaking bones and fleshy pops. 

Somehow that drew my attention back to the moment. I reached around for anything that would help me out of these cuffs. My hand landed on a piece of rusty rebar. That would do. 

The gap between the railing and the cuff was enough for me to jam it through and begin pushing. It didn’t give out at first, but with each pained scream that pierced the air from the candle room, I put more and more desperate force into each push. Eventually, the cuff gave a metallic snap. I scrambled up the stairs not sparing a look back as I rushed through the hospital. 

The front door was closest to the stairs and was the first place I ran to. I slid and slammed into the doors, yanking on their handles only to find they were padlocked. I moved to testing the windows. My hope drained further with each one I tried. Every single window was boarded up with heavy plywood. My last hope would be the shattered window we entered through on the other side of the hospital, if I could find it that was.

After a few minutes of searching, I stopped to catch my breath. The hospital was dark and silent, there was not even the sound of wind blowing through the building. I was about to start searching again when I heard the faintest noise echo through the building.

Thoom.

At first, I didn’t think too much about it but I stopped and listened.

Thoom.

There it was again. It was slightly louder and caused the floor to shake.

Thoom.

Thoom.

Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.

Thoom, Thoom, THOOM, THOOM!

I crashed through the hospital, my eyes set on the window we had climbed through. The ground shook increasingly violently with every step. I heard screaming somewhere behind me, and slowly it morphed into a deranged cackle.

It was gaining on me, I could feel it. Then it came into view. The window.

I put what little strength I had left into that final sprint, making it just through the window as whatever that thing was in the basement slammed violently into the wall causing it to crack. Screaming and cackling echoed through the night as I made it back to my car. Tires screeched on the pavement as I peeled out as fast as possible. I didn’t stop as I drove out of town, almost hitting the “Welcome to Lockjaw” sign as I did.

That was last night. I am now several counties over and I plan to keep going. That demon, whatever it was, I feel it's still following me. Every time I let myself relax, thinking I am far enough away, I swear I can hear that cackling riding on the wind. I feel eyes on the back of my neck. Frankly, I don’t know what to do from here. I heard over the radio that the hospital went up in flames almost immediately after I escaped. Is there any escape now? Do I keep running? Do I just end it now and let it catch me? 

What few answers I have only lead to more questions. I know that Emily never meant for me to walk out of that hospital. I know she meant to leave me for the demon. The “why” is what I can not figure out. Why she did it, why it took her, why it chases me.

In truth, I don’t know why I am journaling here. Maybe it's so I feel less alone. Maybe it’s because I want some record of what happened last night in Lockjaw, MI. Believe me, if you wish, whether you do or don’t, I don’t care. Just know what we found in Lockjaw, MI is still out there. And after it is done with me, who knows where it’ll go.

(Looking for review)

I’ve been awake for eighteen days. 

That's not hyperbole or any form of exaggeration. I've genuinely gone all this time without any sleep or rest. 

Not even a wink.

And the craziest part is that I don't feel like I need it. I don't know how I'm still alive. These last few days have been some of the craziest in my life, and I feel like it's about to get much worse. 

It all began on the eve of one of my exams. The dreaded finals week had come around, and although I had studied for it throughout the month of April and prepared myself to the best of my ability, it was still stressing me out quite a bit. Something about having a considerable portion of grades dependent on one test… just never sat right with me. 

I had been lying in my bed for the past three hours, tossing and turning, frustrated, unable to allow myself to slip into that glorious world of slumber. It was 4 a.m… I had my next final at 8 a.m. that same day. 

Eventually, I had enough, so I decided to get out of bed and pull an all-nighter to do some extra studying. After all, staying up through the night had always been better than dozing off for two hours and then being rudely awoken, surprisingly enough. 

So, with that, I sighed, got up from my bed, and started putting on my clothes. I headed out the door into the warm, humid Floridian air. The campus library was open, as was to be expected; they were always open twenty-four hours during finals week. 

It was entirely still. The information desk was open, and some poor soul who had taken the student job was staffing it overnight. I looked over, and she didn't even move her head to notice me, staring blankly at the screen ahead of her. 

There were other people in here, too, just not a lot. Now and then, you'd see the occasional chair filled by the zombified student, with a cup of coffee in one hand, their laptop in the other, and a lovely pie of pizza resting on the table in front of them. 

Typical. 

In the center of the main lobby stood a beautifully made table with a white cloth draped over it. On top were two big metallic cylinders, coffee dispensers, with a basket containing a bunch of small paper cups to the right. Further to the side was a variety of creams, sugars, and sweeteners. 

The sight didn't surprise me. This school had a tradition of offering free coffee to all students during the late hours of finals week. It was a nice gesture for everyone who was stressing out about the upcoming exams, I suppose. 

I'm not a coffee drinker—never was— I despise the taste. Still… it was 4 a.m., and I was about to pull an all-nighter. So, with that in mind, I caved and filled up one of the paper shot cups, making sure to load it with so much cream that, frankly, you probably wouldn't be able to call it coffee anymore. 

With that, I made my way up the stairway to the right, which took me to the third floor, the computer lab. 

I made my way to one of the tens of empty computers and logged into my account, and pulled up my professor's PowerPoint presentation, relieved that I was about halfway through this cursed week and that it would all be over soon.

I practically gulped the coffee down in a minute. It tasted about how you would expect.

But the texture, the texture was off…

As the hot liquid slid its way down my throat… I felt… something like a rough surface pass by my tongue. It was almost as if little tiny balls were in the fluid, like cottage cheese, but a tad less noticeable. I didn't think much of it then, figuring it was probably something I put into the coffee or something with this particular brand. 

A quick look inside the cup revealed nothing unusual, so I quickly forgot about it. 

I was considering getting another one when, just ten minutes later, the caffeine took effect. It was insanely powerful, more than I expected. My heart was throbbing in my chest, as I was jolted into awakensss. I felt like I had just slept ten hours.

Suffice it to say, I'm glad I didn't take another one. I think I would've succumbed to cardiac arrest almost immediately. 

I continued studying in that library until about 7 a.m. when the sun began to peak over the horizon. As I exited, stepping into the crisp morning air, I still felt perfect. The heart pounding in my chest was the only thing telling me that this period of energy was artificial.

 I finally understood why people were such avid coffee drinkers now, and I thought that maybe I should do this more often. 

It ended up taking until about 2 p.m. that day for the caffeine to wear off. At last, I could feel my body begin to slow down, and the full effect of the all-nighter I had just pulled came over me like a rock. It was like somebody had snapped their fingers, and I just… crashed… 

I decided to return to my bed and attempt to sleep off last night. Not for too long, though; after all, I had more finals in the morning. And thinking of that got my fear going once again. I had said I had prepared the best I could, but the one that was coming up... Oh boy… No matter what I tried, I couldn't figure out half of it. And the thing was worth about 40% of my grade… if I didn't do well on this final, it would tank my class average.

A slight panic set in at the thought of it. I should mention that I have a mild case of anxiety. Not to the extreme where I get regular panic attacks, but just enough to make every testing situation about ten times worse than it is for anyone else. I tossed and turned for about thirty minutes in this pit of dread I was drowning in when suddenly. Something very peculiar happened.

My sleepiness disappeared again. It was just… gone… entirely and utterly vanquished. I didn't know what to make of it at first but blamed it on the adrenaline currently shooting through my veins and decided to splash some cold water on my face and take a hot shower to calm down.

It didn’t help… two hours of laying there passed… nothing… It didn't make sense to me. It was as if the crash had just… ended…

As I wasn't getting any sleep, I decided to use this time to work some more. Being so worried about what was coming up and all, and I did just that until about 11 p.m. that night… 

And again… I just… still didn't feel tired… I spent hours tossing and turning, hoping, begging myself to fall asleep, but no dice. 

I had enough at this point. 

I pulled out my phone and did a quick google search on how long caffeine is supposed to last. Most results pointed me in the direction of four to six hours, with the more extreme estimates being up to twelve. This had already gone far longer than any of the websites suggested. 

I rationalized it away by saying that perhaps I was just sensitive to caffeine and that since this was my first real exposure, it would take a while for the effects to subside. 

I was going to crash eventually. I just needed to wait it out. 

But that didn't happen. It was now 4 a.m., and I was still lying awake in bed, feeling no different. I decided to spend the night studying again, very decidedly not taking any of the coffee this time, slightly annoyed that I would likely regret it in the middle of the next morning's final. 

I didn’t. 

Nothing had changed. And now, I was starting to get concerned. 

Did I have some adverse reaction or something? What was going on? I called my mom to ask what she had to say. She was equally concerned for my well-being and suggested I take a trip to the university's health center.

The best they could do for me was recommend I take some medication and see if that fixed it and instructed me to call a doctor if it didn't.

Their suggestion didn’t help.

Not only that, but as I lay awake for hours, a chill sweat began to trickle down my skin. It started gradually, but it eventually became intense, such that my sheets quickly became drenched in the stuff. My head as well… was throbbing; a piercing, screaming headache shot its way through my brain, only getting worse. It was as if I had just been shot. 

There was a different kind of thumping in the head, though… one much more unexplainable. On top of the raging headache, I felt something else—a tiny, slight, unrhythmic tapping… seeming to occur at different parts of my brain. I paid close attention as it slowly moved from one side of my forehead to the other, then around the back of the skull before continuing to wrap itself around. 

I didn’t know what to make of it. And that’s also where I drew the line.

Enough was enough. 

I was calling a doctor tomorrow. 

Well, I did that the following morning, and the response I got was something like, "Sorry, the best we can do is give you an appointment in two weeks."

Great. 

All praise the healthcare system, I guess. 

But I did the only thing I could: I said, "Okay," booked the meeting, and hoped it wouldn't worsen.

The following day was when things started to get a little scary. My mother nearly gasped when she saw me on facetime. Saying that I looked "Paler than snow ."

I had to agree with her because, in the middle of our conversation, I got a sudden wave of extreme nausea, gagging harder than I ever had before. I hastily hung up the call and sprinted to the bathroom, just in time to empty my stomach contents into the toilet bowl. I sat there, retching for the next hour. All the while, the headache and those odd irregular feelings circling themselves around my brain continued.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, as I was donating my insides to the indoor plumbing, I swear I saw something move in the corner of my eye. It was brief… but it looked like an… odd elongated shape slowly moving up the bathroom wall. I didn't get a good look at it, as it appeared to hurry out of view entirely before I turned around.

I searched the entire place, top to bottom, but there was no sign of the damn thing. It was like it had just… vanished… 

That was the final straw. 

I assumed the sleep deprivation was getting to me, and I was beginning to hallucinate, even though I still felt as awake as ever. But I didn't care anymore. Enough was enough; I could not, in any way, wait two weeks for an appointment. 

And so without any options left, I picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. 

The paramedics arrived within minutes, and I quickly explained the situation to them, and, after seeing how terrible I looked, they immediately put me on a stretcher and whisked me away to the local hospital. 

The two-hour wait in the emergency room was what I could best describe as miserable. I was stuck sitting on cheap plastic chairs in a sanitary, lit open room surrounded by patients suffering from god knows what illness. The icing on the cake was that my symptoms continued to worsen throughout my entire stay. 

My vision was beginning to go hazy, and I swear I kept seeing something move in my peripheral vision, like that thing I found back in my apartment. 

Finally, after hours of torture, The doctor finally called me and escorted me to my new room. He introduced himself as Dr. Jones and ran me through some basic questions, you know, the typical stuff.

“How are you feeling, Kevin?”

“Terrible.”

“Have you taken any drugs recently?”

“Other than Nyquil? No…”

“Do you drink any alcohol? ” 

“Very rarely.” 

It was just your standard, run-of-the-mill doctor's questioning, but soon, one toward the end caught my attention. 

“Did you drink any caffeinated beverages recently?” The doctor asked.

I stopped for a moment. "...I mean, I did have a shot of coffee… but it was… three… four days ago?"

The doctor made a hum of acknowledgment, his expression considerate before shaking it off. "Okay… well, that shouldn't be causing this then… I'm going, to be honest with you, Kevin: I'm not sure what's happening… So what we're going to do now is run you through a few tests to hopefully determine an answer…and if we can't find anything… then we might have to keep you here overnight to perform a sleep test."

I snorted.

Sleep test… right… 

The preliminary tests went exactly as expected. They took some blood, checked my blood pressure, and looked at my heart rate—all the standard stuff. Everything turned out negative for any sort of issue. My vitals were perfect… frustratingly so. 

He then informed me they would proceed with the sleep test that night. They escorted me to a place that looked more like a hotel room than a hospital. A big window at the far end would let in plenty of natural light during the day, another blurred-out window on the right side, and a neat little old-fashioned lamp stood on a nightstand. The bed itself looked rather cozy and had a lovely wooden finish as a headboard. If I weren't so ill, I would've admired it. 

After hooking me up to various pieces of equipment that I couldn’t even explain the purpose of Dr. Jones spoke again. "Alright… you're all set up, Kevin. Now, don't worry. We're going to be watching from the adjacent room the entire night, okay? So if you need anything… just ask."

I nodded my head, the only response I could make in my current state, and watched as he handed me a couple of pills. 

"Oh, and one more thing, here is some Silenor for the night… it's an insomnia medication; it should be more powerful than the stuff you had before… Hopefully, it might have an effect." 

After I swallowed what he had given me, the doctor made his way out of the room and shut off the lights before closing the door. And just like that, I was left with nothing but complete, overbearing silence, broken only by the gentle hum of machinery. 

The whole place was pitch black, as my eyes hadn't adjusted yet. I gently eased my head back into the pillow and closed them, hoping to finally catch some Zs. The bed was really comfortable; in any other situation, I would've fallen asleep within minutes. 

But now… 

One hour passed…

Two hours passed…

I was beginning to get frustrated. I still did not feel tired in the slightest, and it seemed that the tablet the doctor had given me wasn't helping. So I just lay there, staring at the ceiling for some time and holding my eyes shut.

Nothing happened until about midnight, and quite frankly, I wish it had stayed that way. I immediately felt the throbbing in my head return, and the gentle taps that seemed to be circulating around my entire head went into overdrive. It was more evenly spread now, too. Rather than being in specific locations, it was across what seemed to be the entire circumference of my brain all at once. I could almost*...hear…*it inside me, all the little taps… like crinkling paper.

I sprung up to a sitting position, clutching my face in pain. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness now; what was once pure nothingness had brightened into a shadowy cacophony that ate the corners and walls of the room. The nausea returned, and stars pulsated through my vision, and just then… something caught my eye. 

It sounded in my ears too…coming from the dark, shadowy corner that lay just to the left of me…running smoothly and slowly up the wall. 

I looked over to the source of the noise, which was partially illuminated by the glow of the machinery, and what I saw made my heart drop. Tucked away where the left and back wall met each other was what appeared to be a black, slim, elongated tube of some sort… but no, it wasn't that. I peered closer at it, and I realized the thing had legs… hundreds and hundreds of little tiny legs squirming and latching onto the wall in unison with the noise. 

The thing slowly crawled its way up the room, paying me no attention. Its long body squirmed and wriggled in perfect harmony as it made its way towards the ceiling. 

 I stayed frozen in fear for a few seconds before I immediately launched up from my bed and screamed, practically ripping all the equipment down from where it was standing, unleashing a loud crash.

The doctors stormed into the room and immediately turned on the lights, demanding to know what had happened. I was hysterical. My head was still pounding, it felt like my brain was constrained.

"The-There's something in the corner of the-"

But as I looked to point it out, what I had seen was gone. 

“Kevin… How long did you say you were awake for…?” Dr. Jones asked with concern. “It’s common with severe sleep deprivation that you may experience hallucinations… ”

It made sense, but what I had seen felt so... life-like… I knew that even if this was a hallucination, this wasn't your average run-of-the-mill seeing things. This was… much… deeper. 

The doctors informed me that they would have to cancel the sleep test because my ruckus of throwing everything to the floor managed to break the equipment I was strapped to, so… yay me. 

However, They said that they could retrieve all the data up until now and that they would be able to review it as soon as possible. They quickly decided it would be best to move me to a standard hospital room while they awaited my results, but they could barely move me five feet before I started gagging and spilled my stomach contents all over the floor. 

It was then that I finally got a good look at what was coming out of me. It was filled with what looked like… tiny black spheres… I didn't know what to make of it; quite frankly, I was worrying about other things, but it seemed to stun the doctors for a moment, too. However, they quickly got back to the task and escorted me out into the hallway. I didn't see what became of my mess afterward. 

After getting into an admittedly less comfortable hospital bed, I finally had the opportunity to scroll through my phone. It was completely blown up with panicked messages from my mother asking me what was happening and demanding to know why I wasn't answering. I called her back, and the second she saw the medical bed behind me, she nearly exploded into tears. 

“What happened?!” She cried out. 

I explained everything that had been going on since I last called her: the sudden wave of nausea I experienced, calling 9-1-1, and the sleep test. We, or rather, she, came to the conclusion that she would fly down and visit me as soon as possible to hopefully get this whole situation sorted. It was… nice… a silver lining in all this awfulness. At the very least, I was going to be able to see my mother again. 

Doctor Jones interrupted our conversation. After I said one last goodbye to my mother, Jones simply sat down and sighed. He was holding what looked to be a couple of sheets of paper in his hand. 

"Hey, Kevin…" He started. "So we've been reviewing your sleep test data as promised, and well…" He showed me what looked to be a graph with a long squiggly line complete with small valleys and ever-towering hills. "Your brain waves… they're highly irregular…look." He began tracing his finger along the figure. "They are much more active than they should be, even while you're awake… and they nearly go off the graph here when you had your… episode… It's highly alarming." 

I stared at him in silence, not knowing exactly what to say. "One thing's for sure; we're going to have to get a head CT done as soon as possible… I'll see how soon I can get you in for an appointment…"

I could barely utter an okay before he left the room, and finally… I completely broke down. This whole thing… It was a massive nightmare. I had no idea why this was happening, and it seemed like even the doctors, the world-class professionals, did not have any semblance of a clue either. I just wanted this all to end; I just wanted to get some sleep finally. I tried to stop… seeing that thing in the corner of my eye. But alas, I should’ve known my prayers would all fall on deaf ears. 

A few hours later, Doctor Jones returned and escorted me to the head examination room. It was small and white, with what looked to be some sort of control desk behind a wall in the front and a large machine resembling an MRI taking up most of the space. The machine was making a lot of noise, far more than I had expected.

I lay down on the little bed, feet facing the device and put arms over my head, as the assistant wheeled me into it. I can't lie; I had a certain amount of dread come over me. I knew this was all normal procedure and that it was going to be painless, but something about this was daunting to me. 

Dr. Jones and the others returned to the control area near the entrance and advised me the scan was about to begin. However, I didn't even make it for what seemed like five seconds when there appeared to be distress from the control center, and one of the assistants practically ran out of the room.

My heart began to pound  in my chest as I wondered what was wrong.

Dr. Jones approached me immediately, a grim expression on his face. 

"Listen Kevin…" He sighed. "Normally, CT scan results take weeks to get back to you, but we've seen some things here that I believe might have to be taken care of now.” 

He ushered me back to the area he had been in during the process and pointed at the computer screen, and I nearly gasped when I saw the image being projected. There was a picture of my head, which was to be expected, but there was something else. Wrapped around it was a long, bug-like creature with two big antennas at the front and an uncountable amount of legs; the whole thing bare resemblance to a giant millipede, yet it was slightly fatter and was long enough to cover the entire circumference of the brain twice. There was something else, though; that… creature… looked precisely like the one I had been seeing in my hallucinations, albeit a bit smaller. 

My heart lurched in my chest as I stared at the unnerving image. I was feeling sick to my stomach, but not due to the illness this time. 

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed. 

"Yeah…" Dr. Jones commented. "I have no idea where this came from; I've never seen anything like it before… but we're going to have to get that thing out of you pretty fast."

I could only bob my head in agreement, still lost in my thoughts. This… thing… had been sitting inside me for god knows how long… was that what I felt when I experienced that tapping inside my head…? was it that thing… crawling around up there? 

As if on cue, it started again, circling all around me. I paid closer attention this time, and I could really feel it—all those little legs skittering along my head. I immediately dissolved into a blind panic, but that seemed to make it pick up the pace. 

It almost seemed… excited… or stimulated in some way. 

My headache returned, and I collapsed to the ground, my fear briefly forgotten. Doctor Jones stood up to help me back to my feet and looked at me with a concerned expression. 

"Look, Kevin… I'll try to schedule surgery to get this thing removed as soon as possible… until then… just try not to think about it too hard… okay?"  

Don't think about it too hard.

That was easier said than done; how was I supposed to go back to my room and pretend this thing hadn't just made its home up there? My terror got worse as I was ushered back to my room. I still felt it the whole time… it had gotten active recently, and my symptoms were starting to flare up again. 

I was overwhelmed with illness the second I got back into my hospital room and immediately sprinted toward the bathroom. The substance I excreted looked the same as before… filled with those… weird black spheres. 

I didn't pay attention to it, though. I was still thinking about that thing. It had been real… maybe my visions hadn't been—but that thing had been living inside me this whole time. I tried… desperately to calm myself down and tell myself it would be out in a day. It didn't make it any better. 

After finishing my rounds, I got up weakly and stared at myself in the mirror. 

And that’s when I saw it. 

Slightly above my eyebrows, in the middle of my forehead, was what appeared to be a massive bulge. It sat there, completely still. As I looked at it further, I realized it wasn't just that… It was a long, winding… bug-like cylinder that circled itself around my entire head. I could even see the pieces of my hair slightly displaced by the thing as it sheathed beneath them.

I don't know what came over me. But somehow, all worry and tension immediately disappeared. I found my right hand slowly drifting up towards my scalp as if it had a mind of its own. I'd say I tried to stop it, but that would be a lie. It was almost like… like I was in some sort of trance. My mind had gone completely blank as my arm slowly hovered up further toward the anomaly.

Then… I touched it and squeezed it gently. It was soft to the touch, almost like some sort of sponge, but I didn't have much time to register it as it immediately squirmed away, darting out of view and behind my head at a speed that looked similar to a bullet fired from a gun. 

This is what finally ripped me from my state. 

I screamed and leaped backward, almost splitting my head on the bathroom tiles. I sat there breathing heavily for a moment, hyperventilating, nearly crying before I worked up the courage to look back into the mirror.

It was gone. 

I did a complete 360 to make sure, but no matter what angle I checked… it wasn't there anymore. 

My headache intensified once again, and I ran to my bed, curling up in the fetal position, tears streaming from my eyes. I remained like that for hours. The doctors had come in to check on me to see what was wrong… but after I explained what I had seen, they found nothing. Still, their presence helped calm me down a tiny bit. 

That night, I simply lay staring at the ceiling. I don’t think I would’ve been able to sleep even if I didn’t have this odd condition. 

Nothing else happened. But still, it was bad enough. The image of what I saw on the CT scan and what happened to me later in that bathroom was haunting. And no matter how hard I tried, I simply could not get that thing out of my head. 

My mom arrived the following morning, and I explained everything to her. She was understandably just about as freaked out as I was, but she relaxed a tad bit when I told her about the doctor's plans to remove what was now being confirmed as a parasite clinging to my brain. 

My neurosurgeon, with a team of doctors, an assistant, and my anesthesiologist, came in a few minutes later, announcing that it was time to perform the surgery, and told my parents to remain in the waiting room. With one last hug goodbye we split up, hopefully to see eachother again once this was over. 

"Don't worry. I'm going to take good care of you," my anesthesiologist reassured me as she prepared the machine. 

Bright, blinding lights sprang to life as the doctors prepared their tools and laid them out on the table next to me. I knew I wouldn't be feeling any of this, but still, I have to admit, it did give me a small pit in my stomach to see all of the sharp objects that were about to be used.

They stuck an I.V. into my arm and hooked me up to all kinds of equipment, including heart rate and blood pressure monitors. I listened as the rhythmic beeping sprang to life and I tried to ease myself, staring into the piercing lights above. 

"Okay, Kevin," my anesthesiologist smiled. Once I set this mask on your face, I want you to count down from ten in your head. I promise you will be asleep before you reach zero."

With that, she gently placed it over my nose, and I slowly breathed in the chemicals streaming through the tube, and then did as she requested.

I reached the end of my ten-second countdown. I was still awake. I began to worry; nothing around me had changed. I tried to say something, to get up and tell the doctors that I was still there, but the second I tried to move, I realized I couldn't. I was locked in place, bound to the table, completely paralyzed. I couldn't even do so much as wiggle my fingers. 

My heart beat faster in my chest as I looked over at the anesthesiologist who was monitoring my heart rate and other vitals, and thankfully, she seemed to realize something was wrong, too. 

"He's awake," she said bluntly, slightly confused as she stared at the monitors in front of her. Don't start yet; I'm going to increase the dosage."

She turned some nob on the machine connected to my mask, and all of a sudden, I felt an intense surge of the stuff get pushed through the tube, far more potent than it was before, forcing itself into my nose. My paralysis was getting stronger, but I still was not falling asleep. 

I began to panic, as evidenced by the ever-increasing beeping on the monitor beside me. The anesthesiologist started to swear under her breath as she turned the dial up even more, almost bringing it to its max. But nothing was working. I lay there, awake on the table, unable to do or say anything, while the doctors all crowded around me, trying to get me to go under. 

Suddenly, the lights above me went out, and the room went completely dark. All the medical staff blurred into the sides of my vision, still and unmoving. What was once a soundscape filled with the frantic movement of personnel and nurses and the rapid beeping of the heart rate monitor was replaced with complete and utter silence. 

I sat there, breathing heavily, and that thing began to scurry again, rushing as I felt it crawl all around my head. I wanted to throw up. It was incredibly disgusting, and it just wouldn't stop. 

There was something else, though. A couple of minutes passed, and something crept through the silence. A soft but noticeable crackling noise came from the far end of the room, something I couldn't see from here, slowly making its way ever closer. 

I stared into the distance in terror as the sound unmistakably began wiggling its way up the foot of the bed before changing slightly, now sounding like small, tiny micro taps on plastic.

It wasn't long before two creepy small antennas became barely visible, peering through the darkness, just into view. A couple seconds later, the head arrived. It was that… thing… the same creature I had seen on the CT scan, although it looked much larger.

It continued to work its way up the end of my bed and slithered its way down the other side. I tried to get up, to run, but the paralysis drug that the anesthesiologist had given me was doing its job; I was still stuck, still unable to move. I was left helpless, only able to watch in horror as the thing slowly squirmed its way over onto the bed and up onto my foot. 

The small pins of hundreds of tiny little appendages gently reached my leg. The thing was relaxed, seemingly unphased by all my struggles, as it got closer and closer, gently wrapping its way around my limb. I could look at it now; it definitely resembled a massive millipede, but no exoskeleton existed. Instead, what made up the body seemed to be a pale fleshy mass laced with a pattern of black marks strewn across the entire thing.

It reached my stomach and made a straight beeline for my face. I tried as hard as I could to hold my head back and keep it as far away from this thing as possible, but it was futile. All the while, the back half of it had just crossed over the far bed frame, and I was beginning to feel its writhing tingles all over my body. 

My eyes began watering as it slowly crawled on top of my neck and made contact with my chin, its long antennas now taking up a good chunk of my vision. It was then that I realized that I didn't seem to be wearing my mask anymore. I don't know when it disappeared, but it was missing, which gave that thing the opportunity to reach between my lips with its little front legs and slowly pry open my mouth with a strength I wouldn't believe it had. 

I tried again in vain to turn my head to do something to counteract it, but nothing worked. The only movements I made was me shaking like a leaf with the events that were currently transpiring. 

Once the creature had opened my mouth just enough, I gagged as it slowly began to crawl its way inside; I felt every movement of the tiny bug limbs creeping on my tongue, the fleshy mass of a body slowly rubbing against the top of my mouth. I wanted to throw up so badly, to cough, but for some reason, those reflexes weren't working; all I could do was gag over and over again as its long, segmented body maneuvered its way in like a snake shedding its skin.

The head reached the back of my throat and began to work its way up towards the top of my head. As I watched more and more of its body disappear behind my lips, I heard the sound of and then saw more and more of these creatures. Smaller ones began to appear at the sides of the bed and weave their way towards me. Some crawled toward my face; others maneuvered themselves across every square inch of my body. 

I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I began hyperventilating, looking at the scene in front of me with terror; each time I looked, there were more and more of them, seemingly appearing out of thin air, exploring every little nook and cranny of me. A pounding throbbing headache ensued, and above all that I felt that thing, the original parasite, continue to crawl its way around in my brain faster than it ever had before.

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for the nightmare to end and then finally. After what felt like forever, it did. 

The lights above me blared to life, and I launched out of the bed and let out a shriek as I failed my arms around. I nearly smacked the hand of the anesthesiologist dead on as she immediately grabbed hold of my shoulders, trying to ease me back into the bed.

“Easy… easy…” She said 

I wanted to yell at her, but then I realized… everything I had just seen, all those bugs… those things. They were gone. It was just me and the doctors in an operating room with a highly rapid heartbeat monitor. 

I took a second to collect my bearings and looked at the mask sitting on the bedside table; they had taken me off the medication. 

I instantly collapsed into tears and begged for my mother.

"We're going to have to try something else…" One doctor said, "Removing it isn't going to work if we can't get him under." 

I nearly tackled my mom when I saw her again and explained everything about my horrible experience in that operating room. 

Dr. Jones came in a couple of minutes later, with a grim expression. "Listen Kevin… I am sorry about what you just went through. For now, we've decided that we're going to try and give you some anti-parasitic medication and see if that will help your condition. I'd hate to tell you this, but the medical staff is… a little lost right now because you've been infected with a parasite species we've never seen before, so we'll call in some researchers to better understand your condition. 

My mother immediately stood up in protest. “You are not going to run experiments on my son!”

Dr. Jones simply looked at her with professionalism. "They aren't experiments, ma'am… we're just going to study the best course of action to hopefully kill or get this thing out of him. And besides, it's Kevin's choice…"

They both looked at me, and I sighed. I desperately wanted this as far away from me as humanly possible, and so, with nothing left to lose, I accepted. 

The next seven days, my condition didn't get much better. I had been awake for thirteen days at this point. But it was weird because despite how horrible I felt, I still didn’t  need to sleep. I still felt as awake as since this whole thing had begun, and at this point, I had resigned myself to not feeling sleepy ever again until this whole thing was over. 

I requested to spend my nights with my mother because, after my surgery encounter, I didn't want to be lying in my room alone at night, and the presence of my folks helped put me at ease. They even taught me to laugh about it all a little, and as time went on, mysteriously, the hallucinations became slightly more diluted, something which the researchers quickly picked up.

Oh yeah, at this point, I was also being watched by a team of researchers 24/7. I was doing constant tests, scans, the whole deal.

The anti-parasitics they were trying seemed to have no effect. I guess they just hadn't invented one that worked for this specific species yet. 

The next day. One of the researchers came in and told me he had an idea. My symptoms seemed to calm down when I was at a state of ease and flare up when I was stressed or scared so he proposed giving me a high dose of ketoconazole, a medication that's supposed to regulate my stress hormones. 

I tried it for two days, and the scientists' theories were all but confirmed because my hallucinations and all my other symptoms weakened significantly. A subsequent CT scan revealed the thing had grown much smaller than it was before… it was starving. This is what led to the current theory that this thing likely feeds off of stress hormones or other things your body produces during these periods. 

They continued this pattern for the next two days until my symptoms became so mild they almost didn't exist anymore. I was still stuck awake, but everything else had been diluted to an absolute minimum; the parasite on the CT scan looked like a shriveled husk of what it used to be. 

Dr. Jones came into the room that day and delivered a message that almost made my stomach drop. He said that, if possible, he would like to try the surgery again, given that the thing had gotten so weak that the researchers didn't think it could overpower the anesthesia as it did before. 

I halted for a moment; on the one hand, I was eager to be done with this, but on the other… I didn't want to relive what I had before. Dr. Jones assured me that they would be starting with a very low dose, and if they didn't notice an effect, they would immediately call off the operation. 

After a long debate between my parents and the doctors, we decided to proceed. 

Thankfully, the surgery went off without a hitch. 

When I came too, I finally saw the thing that had caused me all this trouble with my own eyes; it was dead, lying on the bedside table fully stretched out. It looked the same as what I saw in my hallucinations, albeit a lot smaller. 

I even got to name the damn thing. "Neural Sleep Parasite" Had an excellent ring to it. Before long, they hauled off that thing for further study, and I never saw it again. 

They explained to me that I had most likely ingested its eggs when drinking that coffee back in the library, and that, combined with the high-stress response, allowed it to sort of take over my brain for a while. 

But I cut them off. I didn't want to hear more about this. I was done. 

Or so I thought. 

Because immediately after a big scare I will not get into and jumping under covers back home… my tiredness… vanished…

I began to panic but forced myself to think clearly. 

They said I ingested its eggs with that coffee… what if there was more than one… or what if it had laid more while it was inside me? Come to think of it, those odd black spheres coming out of me all the time were… unsettling; I just never thought to bring it up because there was always something else of critical importance happening…

I’m writing this now with a piercing headache, as all of my symptoms are beginning to rush back.

I think I just felt something crawl under my skull.

Please let me know if this is leaning too much into psychological stuff.

Content Warning: Suicide, Death, Depression

„Suicide huh?“ I heard a raspy voice say.

„Well the Man up top doesn't like that, guess sometimes all it takes is a small mistake, typical of him“ it added.

I looked around not fully grasping the situation I was in. Never ending columns covered in Gold and blackstone.

Some of them were engraved in latin, but my latin was rusty at best. All I could make out was „mortem“ and „judicas“… „death“ and „judge“.

„Not that much of a talker are you? Dont worry All I need to know is here“ the voice said.

I turned around seeing an old man, draped in dark cloth. He pointed at a book infront of him.

„Where am I“ I finally managed to ask, my voice sounding nervous as I tried to make sense of it all.

„Deaths door, well not quite, you are currently at the gates of hell. You were already judged by my…“ the old man paused for a moment. „Well, some might call him my brother.“

It took some time for me to realise what exactly the old man was saying. „Wait I am dead? How?“ „Suicide“ he answered shortly, not really focusing on me as he read the book „… but I already told you that“

„But..“ I tried to form a question, but my mind was racing with a thousand questions.

„You don’t seem to recall that much, well I can’t blame you“ the old man chuckled and then continued his sentence „falling from 23 meters and landing on your head is gonna mess up your brain real good“

„I.. I killed myself? Why? Why would I do that?“ I asked in disbelief. „My family, my parents, my Fiancé, my..“ my voice started to crack.

I felt like the weight was crushing me. It didn’t make sense my life was good.

I had a good job, I had the love of my life. No, I was marrying the love of my life in.. August. I proposed only a few minutes ago. The cold winter night and the first snow in December seemed like the perfect time.

„When did I die?“ I hesitantly questioned.

The old man looked at me with furrowed eyebrows „You died on a quiet summer night in July“ he stammered. He added another question „how much… do you exactly remember?“

„I proposed to her, she said yes. Her blue eyes and her smile are the last things I remember“ I said with tears slowly forming in my eyes „Is she…“

Before I could finish another question the old man started to laugh „Oh man that fall really messed you up“ as he continued to laugh „well atleast you don’t remember the shitshow your life turned into“ he didn’t stop laughing. His voice was booming, echoed by the never ending columns.

The dam slowly building in my eyes finally broke. „No… no that can’t be... how… why…“ I couldn’t form any coherent thoughts anymore, emptiness engulfed me as I broke down, crying ugly tears.

The old man slowly regained composure. As he wiped tears away from his eyes he began to speak „nothing to spill tears over, life ends all the time, I will just figure out into what circle I throw you and in a few eternities you won’t even remember this conversation.“

I started to beg him, on my knees, pleading „please you have to put me back, I can’t leave this all behind“

„Do you even understand what you are asking of me? Of course I could send you back, but a favor from me comes with a hefty price. At the end of your wish, you will beg of me to stop it." He paused for a few seconds.

"Take it from an old man like me, the suffering you will endure down here won’t even come close to what I will put you through once I grant you your silly wish“ he shouted back with an authority in his voice that made me flinch with every word spoken.

„Please, please send me back, please I will endure everything, please just.. please“ I muttered in between sharp breaths.

„Are you certain you’ll endure it?“ the old man teased me, as a grin formed on his face.

„Yes, yes please, I beg you“

He started laughing again „fine, you better do not disappoint me“

As the laugh started echoing more and more my vision slowly faded to black and then… nothingness.

„Caleb, honey, wake up“ a soft angelic voice spoke. „Hey, everything is okay, I am here“ warmth engulfed me and I could feel two hands caressing me.

„Emily? Is that really you?“ I asked, tears streaming down my cheeks

„Yes silly, who else should it be?“ I felt the ring on her left hand, as she softly rubbed my back.

„I was.. I thought I lost you“ I tried to regain composure, but the relief washed over me and I shed even more tears

„It’s okay, I am here, you had a bad dream“ she consoled me. „Why would you ever lose me?“

As the days passed on I slowly forgot about the dream. Life continued as normal. Work went well and I spend my freetime with Emily and my family.

Everything was going well until Emily called me and told me we had to talk. She started uni recently and went on a few bar-tours with her peers. She sat me down in the living room, her face was full of tears.

She explained that she met someone else, that she didn’t have feelings for me anymore. We grew distant over time as I was always working to make sure we had enough money so she could focus on studying.

She told me it wasn’t me but her and that the other guy made her feel things she hasn’t felt in a while. We broke up. And the break up was messy.

After that I quickly lost my job, I couldn’t be bothered to work anymore. I moved back in with my parents, who tried to make me feel loved.

Then my mother got sick, very sick. There was nothing that could have been done to save her.

The funeral was in April.

My father wasn’t able to pay the bills alone, so I had to move out.

I moved to another city a shitty apartment was my new home the view was good at least. But that is to be expected on the 6th floor.

I was a social outcast, had no job and lost all connections to my old life. I occasionally checked in on Emily. In June she got pregnant and in July she was proposed to. It was too much to stomach and I decided to…..

„Oh no, you are not…“ laughed a raspy voice.

Nothingness… and then…

„Caleb, honey, wake up“ a familiar voice spoke. „Hey, everything is okay, I am here“

hello. My name is Daniel. I’m married and the father of two wonderful children: Tom, who’s six, and little Aurora, who’s three. My wife, Janine, and I met when we were teenagers in high school. We were classmates, and by a happy coincidence, we took the same route home. It gave us plenty of time to talk and get to know each other.

Janine was always focused, completely dedicated to her studies. She wasn’t the "star" of the school, but she had a quiet charm that drew attention. Some boys had shown interest in her over the years, but she never seemed to care. Her world was made of books and clear goals, an uncommon maturity for her age. Until something strange started happening.

In our last year of high school, Janine began receiving anonymous letters filled with love confessions. At first, she thought it was just a silly prank. She tore up the first letter without even finishing it. But soon, the notes came with little gifts: a CD from The Police, her favorite band; a keychain with a black cat, her lucky charm. These gifts started to fill her with a growing sense of anxiety, especially when she realized the messages were becoming more invasive.

Over time, the letters turned threatening, mixing words of obsession and love with a dark undertone. She began to find photos of herself, taken without her noticing, and she had the constant feeling she was being watched. Her appearance changed: her dark circles grew, her focus waned, and her grades began to slip.

The school, concerned about what seemed like a serious case of stalking, allowed her to complete her final exams from home under supervision. She isolated herself from nearly everyone—except me. We kept in touch by messaging, and she confided in me, telling me how paralyzing her fear of leaving the house had become. The police got involved, but without solid proof, they couldn’t act.

I was determined to help her. I began investigating on my own, trying to understand who the stalker could be. She deserved peace, and I couldn’t stand to see her suffering. In our conversations, I mentioned that I might be able to find information on possible suspects. There was a quiet guy in our class who liked the same things as she did—the same films, the same bands. He was reserved and, once, even admitted to me that he had a bit of a crush on Janine.

I convinced her that setting a trap was the only way to get rid of this torment. Using a fake invitation under Janine’s name, I arranged a meeting to lure him. Janine, unaware of the details, simply began leaving the house at unpredictable times, pretending to resume her routine to draw him into making a mistake. Soon enough, the police caught him red-handed trying to enter her property.

It was a relief. The boy was taken away, and Janine slowly began to find peace again. But the aftermath was hard on her. The sleepless nights and trauma affected her grades, and she lost her place at the college she had dreamed of. To support her, I enrolled in the same local college she ended up choosing, and what started as a genuine friendship turned into something more. I was her shoulder to lean on, the one who understood her fears best, and our bond slowly grew stronger.

Everything went exactly as it should. That boy never got a second chance to get close to her, and Janine never knew how perfectly his tastes matched hers. She stayed by my side, without ever suspecting a thing. After all, I knew exactly what to say, I knew every detail of what she liked, and I was the hero who saved her from that nightmare.

Now we’re in the living room, years later, holding each other, Every Breath You Take playing softly in the background. The lyrics seem like a distant memory; she simply rests her head on my shoulder, smiling gently, with no memory of those dark times. I hold her in my arms, and finally, forever.

I was the kind of teenager who couldn’t keep a finger from the edge of a flame. If it was dark, hidden, or cursed, I’d hunt it down just to see what was lurking. I thought I was invincible—until I wasn’t. That all changed my junior year in high school. It’s a night that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.

One Saturday night, I was lazily scrolling through a site I won’t mention here. It had a forum about the dark web. I’d never been on the dark web before, but reading the simple instructions made me chuckle. It was shockingly easy. I figured, “Why not?” It’d be something to brag about at school. So, I followed the steps (steps I won’t list here for your safety) and soon found myself staring into the hidden parts of the internet.

It was pretty boring at first. The documented sites were underwhelming—lots of cryptic jargon, but nothing mind-blowing. I expected much worse. Most of the URLs were just a random mix of letters and numbers, like someone had smashed their keyboard. It made sense, though—the real dark stuff probably stayed hidden. Feeling mischievous, I typed in a string of random letters and hit “Enter.” To my surprise, a page opened.

It was stark, with a crude drawing of a hangman’s gallows in the center. Beside it was a chat box, which instantly blinked with a message: “Hello!”

I scoffed. This had to be some automated bot, right? I replied, “Wussup?” and leaned back in my chair. The response was immediate: “Not much. Pretty bored TBH. Want to play Hangman?”

“Like the children’s game?” I typed back, grinning at the screen.

“It can be for grown-ups too!!! :(” it replied, as though insulted. I laughed, entertained by the absurdity. I agreed to play, and the screen filled with smiley faces. Then it asked a strange question: “Who is your best friend???”

I was taken aback, but I answered jokingly, “You, silly!”

“Noooooo. Seriously. Who’s your best friend in the whole world???” it insisted.

I hesitated, but for some reason, maybe out of arrogance or just plain stupidity, I typed, “My mom.”

The response appeared instantly. “<3 That’s sweet! Alright, let’s PLAYYYYY.”

The page reloaded, and the hangman’s gallows shifted to the center. Blank dashes appeared below the gallows, spelling out a long phrase:

`-- --- ---- ---- ------ ---- -- -----, --- ----- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---.`

“Good luck!!!” the chat box blinked at me. I shrugged. Easy enough. I typed in the vowels, and letters began filling in:

`I- -OU -A-E -O-- E-OU-- I--O A- A----, --E A---- -I-- -A-E I--O -OU.`

My curiosity kicked in, and I wondered what would happen if I guessed wrong. I typed “Q,” figuring it was a safe bet.

Instantly, a head appeared on the gallows. But this wasn’t some cartoon head. It was disturbingly detailed, the face twisted in a silent scream. My stomach dropped. The chat erupted with messages:

> “LOL!!!!”

> “Nice one, loser!”

Sweat prickled on my forehead. I couldn’t explain it, but I had the sudden urge to finish the game fast. I typed “B,” and it populated correctly:

`I- -OU -A-E -O-- E-OU-- I--O A- AB---, --E AB--- -I-- -A-E I--O -OU.`

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. This was ridiculous, but my heart was racing. I hit “C” and watched, horrified, as a torso appeared, covered in scratches that looked almost… real. I could swear I saw the faintest hint of movement.

The chat blinked again: “NOT SO EZ HUH???”

A surge of frustration pushed me to try “D.” An arm appeared next, desperately reaching for the noose around its neck, fingers outstretched as if trying to claw away its fate.

I was beginning to panic. I punched in “E,” only to see another message:

> “Reusing a letter counts as a wrong guess!!”

The other arm appeared, also reaching in desperation. I was almost out of guesses.

I typed “F,” “G,” and “H,” watching as each correct letter populated the phrase:

`IF -OU GA-E -O-G E-OUGH I--O A- AB---, -HE AB--- -I-- GA-E I--O YOU.`

One guess left. I was terrified to enter the next letter, afraid of what might happen if I lost. I forced myself to think, to solve the puzzle. Left to right, figure it out, I urged myself.

The next word clicked: “YOU.” I typed “Y.”

`IF YOU GA-E -O-G E-OUGH I--O A- ABY--, -HE ABY-- -I-- GA-E I--O YOU.`

I was close. My fingers hovered, and I typed in “V” for “GAVE.”

As soon as I hit enter, the figure on the gallows completed. He dangled lifelessly, the blue face and bulging red eyes staring out at me, frozen in a final, silent scream.

The chat filled with laughter: “LOL,” “EZ,” “Good game!”

I punched the keys angrily: “SHUT UP.”

The screen went dark for a second. Then, a final message appeared:

> “Sore loser :( Want to play again??? Just tell me your 2nd best friend!”

“What the hell…” I typed quickly. “Why?”

> “Cause u lost the first game! duh!”

I moved my mouse to close the browser, my stomach churning, but just as I did, a last message appeared:

> “Go check on ur mum ;) GG EZ!”

I froze. Did it know I was closing the page?

The room suddenly felt suffocating. I stood, shaking off the fear. “It’s just a creepy bot,” I muttered, “just some sick joke.”

I walked down the hall toward the kitchen. As I passed my mother’s room, her door was slightly ajar. I was about to keep going when I heard a faint creak inside. Peering through the crack, I felt the blood drain from my face.

She hung there, her face twisted in a grotesque mirror of the one on the screen.

Her death was ruled a suicide. I never told anyone about the hangman game. What could I even say? At her visitation, I stood by her casket, my insides twisted with guilt. This was my fault. I killed her. The red line across her neck was barely visible beneath the makeup, but I could still see it, clear as the letters in the phrase I had lost.

As I turned to walk away, something in the corner of the room caught my eye. It was a flower arrangement, tucked in the shadows as though hidden away. There was a small card attached.

My hands trembled as I read the message: *If you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.* A small smiley face was drawn beside it.

Without thinking, I tore the flowers down, crushing them beneath my feet as I began to scream. People stared, horrified, as I fell apart there on the floor.

I gave up my old habits after that. Deleted all my social media, avoided every website that once thrilled me. Now, I warn anyone who will listen: don’t follow curiosity down dark rabbit holes. Because sometimes, the dark finds you first.

Hello

I have recently had a story pulled due to it being an "Uncomplete story". Unfortunately I cannot quite grasp why that is and thus, I seek advice here so I can comply with the guidelines henceforth.

Granted  the story is 'open ended' and the reader is left wondering if anything supernatural even occurred. Would this be the reason for it being categorized as being ‘Uncomplete story?” Or was there simply ‘not enough horror/fright” in it to begin with?

Any advice/sparring would be greatly appreciated.

Google Docs Link.

Many thanks.

Darkness had come early that cold autumn night. Buck had been lying in bed watching funny internet videos like all teens his day did. He had figured it was about time to go to bed when he heard the unmistakable cry of the hen house in an uproar. Now, Pa was out helping his brother the county over, and so that left Buck in charge of making sure the family was safe. He knew that mama was out at her night job, but he could hear his sister in the other room singing to something in what Buck could only assume was horribly bastardized Korean. So, Buck hopped out of bed, tossed on his old Carhartt jacket, grabbed a charged headlamp, an axe, a snack, and headed toward the henhouse.

Buck didn’t mind chickens, but these ones, these were the meanest birds this side of the Colorado. Well, except for the old lady the house over, as a matter of fact, Buck was sure these birds had just as many cases of assault as her.

 He realized the hen house was completely silent, which was a far cry different from how it was before he stepped outside. In all honesty It was probably a fox, little critters were always scaring chickens. Of course, he thought that up until he saw the blood. The whole side of the hen house had been torn off. Well, it wasn’t foxes, and the damage was too much to have been done by a black bear. Buck thought it might have been a brown bear that had migrated there but that didn’t explain why some of the side boards looked as though they had been pulled off by hand.

No claw marks on them, not broken, the nails were bent as if it had been pried off from the side. Whatever it was, it had hands and the muscle to tear a finely constructed hen house, which Buck took no small amount of pride in said construction, asunder. So what? A silverback gorilla decided to swim across the Atlantic and walk to the middle of the states? Or maybe bigfoot was tired of his ocean view in Washington and decided to hike east? 

A chicken squawked from the tree line and Buck wheeled around towards it. There was so much blood. Too much. The chickens were gone, all that was left was whichever one was in the woods. Against all better judgment and basic instincts of self-preservation, Buck decided to find it. He scanned the trees and crouched down. He tried his best to watch where he stepped in an attempt to make the least amount of noise possible. The light of his headlamp awoke the ancient pines from their deep slumber, rousing their leaves and branches to stretch in the wind as they broke free of the restraint of darkness.

Buck checked the tracks, the blood wore thin, occasional feathers littered the trail like breadcrumbs, but they too started to become a rarity. snapped branches marked trees and a coarse gray fur was snagged on bark. Buck came upon a muddy patch on the ground. The print that was made there made his heart sink; It was a hand. Maybe it was a gorilla.

It was longer than Buck’s size twelve work boot and around three times wider. He realized that his house lights were no longer illuminating around him and how far into the brush he actually was. Buck decided that it would be in his best interest to leave. Before he could turn around the sound of a branch snapping along with what he could only describe as the cry of a boar mixed with the scream of a dying woman pierced Buck to his very core.

Buck broke into a sprint. He dodged roots and boulders as he heard the cry of what sounded like the earth behind him tearing open, trees fell around him, and great swaths of dirt and rock were thrown at his back in his desperate attempt to flee. The scream, God, the scream of whatever it was ripped into him; every primal instinct passed on from generation to generation told him to run. He slid down a switchback and caught a branch right above his brow; he felt the bite of the wind tear at his face as blood ran into his eye. Buck had to lose this thing. He passed an old overgrown van, and he knew exactly where he was.

 There was a cliff up ahead. A drop off that fell into an old quarry made a lake. If he was going to lose this thing, whatever it was, it’d be there. Buck and his friends would go there all the time to swim and make poor choices. They had always talked about jumping from the top of the cliff, the lake was plenty deep, but the jump was a hundred and thirty feet high. It looked like Buck had no choice. Buck, now driven by a goal rather than fear, found it in himself to run even harder. His legs burned and he felt the stomach-churning spike of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Buck rounded a bend and heard another bone chilling screech as whatever it was splintered the tall elder pines. The clearing was up ahead. A cliff that led to the edge of the world and the endless abyss below it; Buck had no choice. 

He jumped.

As soon as he left the ground Buck felt something slam into his back and grip him. He looked down to see a massive, gnarled hand made from misshapen flesh and exposed bone as the creature turned him to face it.

In Buck’s hands he still carried the axe he had brought all the way from home. In a frantic, adrenaline-fueled swing, Buck drove the axe into the creature’s face. The headlight blared into what looked like a blood and sinew covered elk skull. It screamed in raucous pain with the voice of a choir of damned souls as the axe lodged itself into It’s face. The creature dropped Buck off the cliff as it covered It's head with a dozen hands. For a second, Buck didn’t realize he was falling as the shock of what he had seen washed over him only for a new shock to spread as he plummeted into an abyss. He straightened his legs, crossed his arms, and prayed just before he hit the water.

The darkness shined a bright white for just a second as the water crashed into him. He swam up, his headlamp had been torn from his head, and he was unsure if the water above him would ever end until his head breached the surface. He coughed and sputtered up water and swam to what he approximated where shore was. Now, Buck was familiar with this area, from where he washed up to, he knew more or less how to find his way back to town. There was an old quarry road that led up to a main one. Buck tripped over something and fell into something wet and squishy. It stunk like something rotting. The clouds overhead that hid the moon away broke, and the blessed light exposed pure horror as Buck reeled back in terror; it was a carcass.

It had been here for a while. It’s head, arms, legs, and skin had all been torn off. Buck looked around. There had to be six to seven bodies there. Mangled camouflage tents and broken rifles were strewn about. The fact that they had been hunting out of season led Buck to assume it was likely a group of poachers; they had been a problem in these parts for years, though it seemed as though the poachers were no more than barely recognizable meat now. Buck looked away; he felt something trying to come back up from dinner, but he kept it down.

He didn't have time to be scared, he didn't have time to be disgusted, he just needed to keep moving. He followed the familiar gravel path as the adrenaline started to wear down. His whole body ached, and his legs could barely trudge on, constantly threatening Buck to collapse underneath him in a fit of agony. Buck thought of his little sister who was still at home by herself. He gritted his teeth and moved faster. He needed to get to town, out of these accursed pines that threatened to swallow him up like some beast more threatening and terrifying than the one that hunted him. The clouds hid the moon once more and light simply vanished. What little night vision Buck had was swallowed by the oppressive black. He felt his way along the road, he kept to the feeling of the gravel’s crunch and as soon as he was comfortable walking, he started to jog. 

He needed to get home. His little sister was probably still up, singing Korean pop songs, unaware that she was ringing the dinner bell to whatever the hell that thing was. Buck kept it up for around twenty minutes. Three miles of darkness and single-minded focus; he had to get home. His lungs burned and his legs ached. The wound above his eye had finally clotted, not without covering one side of his face like warpaint. If it weren’t for his running, he would have been freezing and he wasn’t sure if his clothes were soaked with water or sweat at this point. On top of that it had decided to rain, not a simple sprinkle, or a light refreshing fall, but a deluge so heavy that Buck wasn’t sure if he needed to start building an ark or not.

The top of the berm was lit with the many lights of town, though he doubted if anyone would even be around at this time. Maybe it was for the best, less targets and all that, but then again, practically everyone was armed, not that it seemed to help the poor fellas down by the lake. The closest building was a little diner, Buck would sometimes stop there after school if he could afford it and the lady that ran the place was one of the nicest people he knew. Maybe he could stop there and call the sheriff. He made his way from the top of the woods towards the sweet embrace of civilization. As he came closer, the feeling of comfort from seeing such a place was torn from underneath him as he realized the state of the place. The front doors had been ripped from their hinges as if a truck had barreled through them. Buck stopped and listened as best he could through the rain as he tried to keep his heart from jumping out of his throat from his run. An old station wagon sat in front. Buck was pretty sure that it belonged to the owner.

Buck’s heart sank.

Was she still in there? Buck creeped closer. The windows closest to the doors had been shattered and a single flickering light tried its best to illuminate the building. His boots crunched on broken glass as he crept inside. 

“Heidi?” Buck called out as quietly as he could.

The tables and chairs that sat away from the doors hadn’t been touched, the counter up front was a different story. Buck skulked behind what was left of the counter and immediately saw the corpse. It was missing its arms, legs, and head just like the poachers. A blood-stained nametag read out “Heidi.” Buck grimaced and turned his head. 

“Shit.” Buck whimpered.

He started to breathe harder as he sat down across from what was once Heidi. Buck held his head in his hands. What the hell was going on? It had to be some sort of horrible dream, some terrible nightmare caused by too much tv like momma always told him. But his body was sore and cold. This was reality and it was awful.

He needed to get home. 

When he made it there then he could try to rationalize things, but right now it wasn’t time to dwell on what was unimportant, like what was real or not. On the ground sat a landline phone that had been knocked off of the charger. He snatched it up and dialed 911. 

“We’re sorry, the number you’re trying to rea-”

The phone lines were out.

A soul-wrenching roar made of a cacophony of voices ripped through the silence. Buck peaked his head up to see a four-legged creature gallop across the road. He could barely get a half-decent look as it crossed the dark street towards him. 

“Shit!” Buck hissed as he stood as quickly as he could.

Buck reached up and flipped the switch to extinguish the flickering light above him. He clambered on his hands and knees through the door leading into the kitchen. He was immediately bludgeoned by the smell of rotting eggs; a gas pipe had burst at some point prior. He looked around for a moment, fryers, fridges, stove, toaster, shelves, storage room. Buck heard the creature enter. It grunted with the same shriek of a dying woman. Buck entered the storage closet as quietly as he could.

“Hello?” a voice called out, that while raspy, was unmistakably Heidi; and yet disturbingly off. As if it was a poor imitation of something trying for its first time to be human. 

“Is anybody there?”

Buck hadn’t closed the door all the way for the fear of the latch making a noise. He started to feel woozy, likely from the gas tainted air. He watched from the crack as the bright fluorescent bulb to the kitchen was turned on and something opened the order window for something to snake its way through it. It dripped blood from along its length. At the end was something covered in blood-soaked hair. It twitched and from under the hair revealed a pierced ear. It turned towards Buck as it scanned the room; It was Heidi, oh God, it was Heidi. Her head had been mounted on whatever this creature was like some sort of macabre trophy as it slithered on its bony appendage. Her eyes moved, her mouth grimaced. From where her neck was supposed to be, a tendril of dripping red meat. The smell, like a pile of corpses sitting in the summer sun, assaulted Buck’s senses. Heidi’s mouth moved as if she was practicing what she was going to say before she said it. She looked at where Buck hid.

“Hello?”

The sound of a police siren approaching broke the silence and the face before Buck snarled like an animal before pulling itself at great speeds out of the order window. The creature’s howl filled the air as it ran towards the offending noise. Buck released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in before tearing open the door and looking out at the scene. It was probably Officer Harris, Buck’s dad was out of town, and the sheriff was old and had earned his right of not being up at this hour. Every fiber of Buck’s being told him to run, to just leave and use the distraction to buy him some time. But if he did, Officer Harris would be dead, and it’d be his fault. Buck grit his teeth as he looked around and knew what he could do.

The diner was filled with flammable gas and was ready to go at any moment. He slammed the shutter over the order window closed once more and unlocked the back door. Buck’s head was already swimming by the time he shoved a rolled-up sheet of newspaper into the toaster. Once he pressed down on that lever, he had a few seconds tops before Buck made the diner, and everything in a short radius, disappear. 

Buck heard the sound of gunshots and unholy roaring. It may have been the gas, but he felt ready. He opened the kitchen door and ran to the entrance where he saw the creature slam itself into the police car’s side. Buck picked up a rock and threw it as hard as he could at the creature.

“Hey! Over here!” Buck yelled

The creature turned towards him. The high beams of the cop car obscured its massive figure. Buck threw another rock.

“Come and get me you big Fuck!”

That set it off. The creature reared back on its hind legs, where it stood maybe fifteen feet off of the ground and roared, like some unholy monument to mankind’s sins.

Buck ran back inside the building and through the kitchen. He turned as he closed the kitchen door and saw the creature barreling towards him.

“Shit!” Buck yelled as he pressed down on the toaster lever and ran out the back door and kept running. He heard the creature slam into the wall behind him with a muffled cry. 

Buck begged God for it to work, he promised that he’d be good, that he’d listen to his mom and dad more. Not more than five seconds later did everything go white, and he was thrown on his face. For a second Buck was deaf, a ring in his ears that slowly went away as he looked back at his handiwork. 

No more diner, No more monster, No more hands. Buck tried to catch his breath and then remembered Officer Harris. He ran back around to the squad car. The lights we’re still on but inside it was still, the glare of the headlights concealed the damage. The windshield had been smashed in. He looked inside to see Officer Harris slumped over his wheel; his face looked as if it had been punched through.

 He was dead.

Buck hobbled his way back towards home, his ears still ringing, and his clothes still soaked. On the plus side it had stopped raining. He didn’t rightfully know what to do next. People no doubt heard that explosion and would go to check, if not now, then in the slow approaching morning.

Buck was tired, he had been running on adrenaline and pure defiance for the past hour. 

He spotted a bike on the side of the road, he knew who it belonged to, but for the time being it belonged to him as he made his way back home. He pulled out his key and opened the door.

“Mom?” his sister called out.

He began to cry. Buck’s sister came downstairs and stopped when she caught sight of him.

“Oh my God, what happened to you?”

Buck took off his soaking coat and boots and wiped his eyes.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to explain in the morning.”

A knock at the door interrupted their silence. Buck silenced his sister with a hand as he listened intently. The smell of corpses seeped from behind the door and a voice that sounded like his mother's but most definitely was not his mother's, spoke.

“Buck? Is that you?”

It started out like a scene from some dreamy romantic movie. I was in the cereal aisle, reaching for the last box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and her hand brushed mine as she reached for it too. I looked up to find myself staring into the warmest brown eyes I’d ever seen. She laughed, the sound soft and musical, and said, “Guess we’ve got the same taste.” She had this easygoing confidence, like she wasn’t a stranger but someone I’d known forever.

Her name was Kate. She was beautiful in that effortless way, with a quick smile and this energy that seemed to light up the air around her. Over coffee, I learned she was smart, funny, with a way of looking right at you like you were the only person in the room. That day led to a second date, and a third, until days turned into weeks, and I was hooked.

She had a mysterious edge, though, something she didn’t fully reveal. It was in the way she talked about her family, this tight-knit group of women who lived on a “homestead” tucked deep in the woods. “It’s like a haven,” she said. “No noise, no distractions. Just peace.” She smiled, but her eyes had this far-off look, like she was seeing something I couldn’t. Then, one night, she asked me to visit the homestead with her. She wanted me to “see her world,” as she put it. I didn’t hesitate—I would’ve followed her anywhere.

The drive was longer than I expected, and the forest seemed to close in tighter around us the further we went. We finally turned down a dirt road that snaked through dense trees, branches scraping against the car windows. It was almost dark when we reached the homestead, a cluster of cabins that seemed to appear out of nowhere, nestled deep in the shadows of the trees.

I’d expected some idyllic little village, but this place felt wrong, oppressive, like the air was thick with something unseen. Women stood in front of their cabins, watching as we pulled in, their expressions unreadable. Kate led me inside one of the larger cabins, handed me a cup of tea. I took a sip, but it tasted strange, metallic and bitter. The room spun, my vision blurred, and the last thing I saw was Kate’s face, her smile melting into a cold, unfeeling stare.

When I woke, I was lying on a cold, damp stone floor. My wrists were bound behind my back, my head pounding as I tried to focus. The room was dark, the air thick with the smell of mold and something metallic… something like blood. I struggled, called out, but my voice echoed back, hollow and empty. Then I heard a low, rattling breath from somewhere nearby.

“Quiet. Don’t draw attention to yourself,” came a voice, barely more than a whisper.

I twisted, straining to see, and finally spotted him—a man slumped in the corner, his face battered and bruised, his eyes hollow with terror. He looked at me, his gaze a mixture of despair and something else… recognition.

“They got you too,” he rasped, his eyes locking onto mine, then shifting, almost fearfully, toward the door.

“What… what is this place?” I managed, panic clawing up my throat.

He shook his head, voice trembling. “She told you her name was Kate, didn’t she?” He laughed bitterly, his voice like sandpaper. “Yeah, that’s what she told me too. Kate, Ashley, Mary… she’s used them all. It’s not her real name. None of them are real.”

A chill crept up my spine. I tried to argue, to defend her, but his eyes held a look that crushed every word before it formed.

“She and the others bring men here,” he continued, his voice hollow. “They lure us, charm us, bring us here like lambs to the slaughter. I’ve been here for days, maybe weeks… watching them kill.”

I barely had time to process his words before the door creaked open. Kate walked in, but she wasn’t the woman I’d fallen for. She was cold, her eyes as dark as the shadows pressing in around us. Two other women followed her, their faces as blank and hollow as hers. They grabbed the man, dragging him out of the room. His screams started almost immediately, desperate and raw, growing fainter until there was only silence.

When they brought him back, he was nothing more than a lifeless shell, his face twisted in horror. I felt bile rise in my throat as I looked away, fighting down the panic, trying to keep control.

Hours passed, maybe days. I barely ate, barely slept, every sound from above making me flinch, my mind unraveling as I waited for them to come back for me. I thought about my family, my friends, anyone who might notice I was gone. But the days kept dragging on, and my hope was slipping away.

Then, one night, a new prisoner arrived, a man no older than me, his eyes darting around like a trapped animal. I watched him, hoping he had a plan, but he was as lost as I was. And then, one night, he snapped. I watched as he managed to loosen his bindings and dashed for the door, his footsteps frantic as he bolted down the hall. I heard him shout as he made it to the clearing outside… followed by a single, echoing gunshot. His body hit the ground with a dull, final thud.

And then there was silence.

I’d given up. There was no hope, no escape. I was weak, broken, waiting for the inevitable. But then, in a desperate flash, I remembered my smartwatch. I must have triggered the emergency alert when I’d thrashed against my restraints. It was a long shot, but it was all I had.

I drifted in and out of consciousness, time slipping through my fingers. And then, faintly, I heard the sound of sirens in the distance. My heart hammered as red and blue lights flashed through the cabin windows, the harsh beams cutting through the darkness. Shouts erupted outside, doors splintered open, footsteps thundered above me. And then, hands were on me, lifting me, carrying me out.

As I stumbled out of the cabin, I looked back, and there she was—Kate, or whatever her name was. She stood in the shadows just beyond the reach of the lights, her expression as empty as the forest around her, her eyes meeting mine with a look that chilled me to the bone. She watched me as they led me away, and then she vanished into the trees.

The police found nothing but the empty cabins when they returned; Kate and the others had vanished without a trace.

I’m back in the city now, safe, but I still can’t shake the feeling that it’s not over. Late at night, I catch glimpses of her in crowds, feel her eyes on me from across a crowded street, see her smile in strangers’ faces. And I know, one day, I’ll turn around, and she’ll be there—waiting, ready to lure her next victim into the darkness.

Content warning: >!Mentions of animal and child death and cutting arms via cultists.!<

What the fuck.

My name is Michael Jennings, and I just drove home from a long road trip.

I was telling my sisters about the board game convention I attended while gone the day before. We would set up times to play games almost every weekend. We all loved it, and I had a pretty sizable board game collection. We were all equally competitive with each other, making one another laugh if we pulled off some clever way to win. Our last game was about some space crew that needed you to negotiate with your competitors to work together but ultimately for your own needs to win. My younger sister Kelly had a slight mean streak in her debate but would often end on a fair note. My older sister Margaret would have to mediate between our squabbling. Our mom, Janet, would happily cook fancy dinners to pair with the games. She loved how close we were. Our dad, Mark, would take their kids to the movies or the park to give us a break and play video games if we weren't finished by the time they returned.

We live in a hot, humid city, and I was sweating when I got home. I felt hesitant to go inside. Their cars were there, but the house was dead silent, with a putrid, meaty smell emanating from the door.

I found them around the house, lying in strange positions with odd protrusions all over their bodies. Their mouths were hanging open, and their eyes wide.

I tried calling the police, but there was no answer. Even the direct line didn't work for the cops or the hospital. I floundered around the house, not knowing what to do. I left the house and banged on my neighbor's home as well. Ultimately, I sat, defeated, on my living room couch. I looked over to our family computer and remembered the security cameras. Don't ask. I thought they were invasive, but my dad wanted them throughout the house.

I pulled up the logs and scrolled through the footage. I saw a twisted, bulging creature with long, pulsing, spindly appendages moving slowly through our home.

My family didn't notice as it crept through the house, slithering through each room. They had just been talking to each other or sitting at their desks, doing whatever they were doing. My eyes widened as I watched it envelop everyone it passed and leave without them knowing. Everyone, including the kids, continued like nothing had happened, and about ten minutes later, they doubled over and, with silent screams, writhed on the floor. My mouth hung open as I sat there, staring at the camera. The creature looked more visible than it had before, despite the crappy quality.

Looking at it gave me a headache, and I felt a wave of nausea bubble up in my gut. I was hyperventilating and stumbling around my home. There were strange markings around their bodies that seemed unfocused and blurry. I cried, wrapped my arms around our dead dog, Layla, on the couch, and fell asleep. I awoke with a start and darted out the door, remembering the carnage around me.

I frantically drove to the Police Station, my gut-wrenching as I desperately drove. As I slowly walked to the doors, the same decaying smell wafted through them. I didn't want to open them, knowing what was coming. The cultists intentionally left a letter in the receptionist's hand on the desk. A large cut surrounded her severed hand, carved into the desk, screaming, "Read this!" without any words. I gingerly grabbed the note out of the girl's grasp.

It read:

We have watched you grieve for those who were taken. We see your pain, but do you understand the balance that has been restored? The world was corrupt, dying, and damaged.

The innocent slaughter has brought unwavering equilibrium to his universe. The scales have leveled out.

You may think us monstrous, but our lives are instrumental to harmony. Yours is one of them, as proven by surviving. In repentance and remembrance, we understand that even in death, there is life.

Please witness the beautiful brilliance of balance in being born again at midnight tonight at the new building. Bring any person you encounter; they are as important as you are. Open your heart to The Quiet One to recognize his greatness and brevity.

With kind regards,

The Order of the Silent Vigil

I wanted to know what the hell was going on, so I found the new building. It was a giant biological structure at the end of town. It was made of bone held by muscle and sinew. It pulsated like a beating heart in rhythmic measure, with a quiet thumping resonating throughout the grounds. The large door at the front had skin covering the frame and handles to accommodate movement.

The pulpit was full of ordinary people in regular garb, led by a woman in a yellow cloak holding a branch. Her golden hair flowed down, and her soothing musical voice carried through the church. The stench of raw meat encompassed the entire premises.

She said, "Welcome, quiet brethren. I am delighted to share our illuminated perspectives with you. Your curiosity is... refreshing, considering the limited understanding you have had access to thus far. Allow me to guide you through the complexities, and I am sure you will find our wisdom... enlightening. We summoned The Silent One in reverence for our misdeeds. We hold his punishment as a testament to living better lives in perpetuity and strength."

She procured a dagger.

"Please come forth and accept the symbols of our faith and everlasting love he has created. We grow together as one for his grateful presence and understanding. May the markings run pure and cut deep into your souls."

Her arms had scars in beautiful patterns, shown as she withdrew her sleeves. I didn't want them, but everyone else seemed to be in a trance except me, so I went along with it, not wanting to stand out. No one made a sound as they received their embellishments, so I started worrying about crying out as she made them. My heartbeat quickened, and I had a nervous twitch in my leg. My breathing was labored, and I couldn't see straight. As I got closer, I could see the scars more clearly, and they seemed to shine.

My phone's battery is dying. I've been hiding it from them in the shadows and typing when I could. I am getting closer to my turn. I can feel the weight of their gaze upon me. The brightness of her scars is making it difficult to think. I don't know if I can resist any longer. The place gets longer as we shuffle forward. My phone got darker, so I'll send this before it dies. I can't get out. Her voice is lulling me into compliance, and it's hard to concentrate. Goodbye, whoever is going to read this. I hope they don't find your town.

The original story was on my desktop for a year and a half, as I carefully crafted the MC's style to sound exactly like someone who would react, conclude and relate in the exact way that she does. The introduction, the first few paragraphs, set the metric for this character's magnitude of fear and thus frames the entire story as a fear response - why would anyone share their frightening experience at all? I have a hard time with the majority of stories on Nosleep because the motivation to post always seems to be to amuse readers and get witty comments - more humor than horror. Perhaps I am taking the 'plausibility' way too seriously, which is ironic - I think - when the very context of why the character would feel the need to tell the world what happened to them is the same content that gets my story removed.

Here's the original story, in all its horrifying perfection, since I am not even close to being convinced the newer, revised, 'shaky cam' version even makes sense anymore. New Security Cameras Didn't Catch What Killed My Coworkers :

Since the story was removed for "General OOC Comments"; which I actually do appreciate, since most removal reasons are frustratingly vague to the point that I have complained. It's just trolling to tell me my story is incomplete, or that it isn't a horror story, or that it isn't even a story or that I simply posted it on the wrong subreddit - so I appreciate an actual note pointing to why you chose this reason. You claimed, therefore, that the MC doesn't know how to tell her own story her own way and that the MC made comments that are out-of-character. While this is objectively nonsense, it gives us something to discuss. So here we are.

I took it upon myself to remove not only the passages that got it removed, but also all passages that reference the removed passages. The worst affected area of the story is the conclusion, which was impactful because of all those references. Therefore, I also had to write something for the ending. Since the removed sections confirmed for the reader what the source of horror was, I had to spell it out at the end. Since the character was afraid to spell it out and doesn't, I also had to remove the parts of the story that explained why she would not spell it out. Here's what we are left with, and by my own assessment, this is trash:

The Shaky Cam Version

I've spent the last year and a half at home all by myself, just dealing with the events that led to the closure of an entire branch. There's the trauma of finding your friend and coworker frozen and stabbed maybe three hundred times after following the trail of blood through the breakroom like walking through the red mist of some kind of nightmare.

I'm not sure why Desi fled to the freezer and climbed in. She was being stabbed all over her body by her attackers, she'd panicked. It was some kind of panicked thought, and it had caused her death. The stab wounds, although numerous, were all very shallow and made with tiny blades.

I don't know why they suddenly attacked and killed Desi. It seems very desperate and sloppy, compared to what they did next. They also learned to be more efficient with their knives, after they became experts on human anatomy, learning where to make their cuts and stabs to do maximum damage. I know they studied because I found the book on the cart, still opened to the page, a book with illustrations on human anatomy. They didn't just look at the pictures, they operated at some high-school level of reading, I instinctively knew, finding they liked to read and if they couldn't get a book back on the shelf they'd just leave it for me on the cart.

Their modus operandi was to consult the Dewey Decimal System, since the network was turned off, and then go do their reading for the night. They'd push the lightweight library book cart empty to where their book was and clamber up the shelves, push it off onto the cart from above and read it on top the cart. If they could return the book to the shelf they would, otherwise if it was positioned too high up, they'd just leave it on the cart, sometimes where they had left the book open.

I was more than a little creeped out. We already had a new security system after Desi was murdered. I called the police maybe half a dozen times, suspecting that someone was in the library hiding somewhere. Nobody on the security footage, just shadows and carts and books moving around in the dark.

Desi's death was horrifying, and when we reopened I had new employees, as Theron and Arrow both quit after she was killed.

Sashi ate both lunches in the new fridge we had, and neither of them were hers. She got very sick very fast and was taken to the hospital. The doctors were able to treat her - figure out what the little killers had slipped in. I hate to say that although she lived, she lost the baby.

When it was just down to me and Marconi, I warned him something was going on. I was watching the security footage of the breakroom when the police arrived. They had questions for us, suspicious one of us had poisoned our coworker. I saw some disturbance in their eyes, those detectives, like they knew something I didn't, and weren't really considering us as suspects; they just wanted to snoop around. They were looking for something else, although I could see they weren't really sure what.

"I think we need to call some exterminators." Marconi had said. There was this weird silence after he said it, like we had a white noise whispering all around us that suddenly went silent and now they were listening to our conversation with total attention. I could see he had noticed the sensation too, as he shuddered and glanced around a little.

"For what?" I asked.

"It is this smell, I recognize it. I've lived in some bad places." Marconi said in an almost conspiratorial tone. I felt it too, like they were in the walls listening to us, and we best not provoke them.

"I'll call, anything else?" I asked him.

"I was wondering if you'd go out with me?" He asked, his voice breaking. I shook my head, and he was suddenly gone in a hot flash. It was the last I ever saw of him. While I was on the phone scheduling for pest control to come give us an appraisal, Marconi was alone in the bathroom.

I don't believe it was a suicide. I think they knocked him out somehow before they cut him. The police gave me a strange look.

Again, we were open just a few days later, except now I was alone. The phone was ringing, and Thorn Valley Gotcha asked if it was now a good time to come take a look, after the branch was closed for several days.

While I was waiting for them to arrive, I found the note. I was so terrified I just sat there trembling, holding the note they had left on my desk.

I did lose my mind, at the realization of what I was up against, and how much danger I was in. Terror took over and I was theirs. They owned me, and I became predictable and easy for them to deal with. How I burned that note, my only evidence, is just a reaction I can point to show I was too frightened to do anything to try to stop them.

The note said they had tried to kill Desi, but she had accidentally killed herself. Then they said that they had tried to kill me and Marconi, but Sashi had eaten both of our lunches for us. Then they said they had killed Marconi and made it look like a suicide. They wanted me to understand that each of these killings was more advanced and careful than the last. They assured me that if Thorn Valley Gotcha learned where they lived, then I would learn they already knew where I lived.

"You will help us, and in exchange, you will be spared our wrath. You tried to call down the cloud of judgment, that Arafel, from exterminators. We shall forgive you when you send them back upon the road, turned at the door, without consignment. Then, tonight, the internet will be left on for us, the keys to the kingdom. You will create a user account for us so that we can log in."

I was entirely horrified, and I was still sitting there, as though my feet were made of concrete and unable to stand up, my whole body shutting down like I was facing my worst death.

At the door I did as I was told, and I sent Thorn Valley Gotcha away.

I did what I was told, I gave them what they wanted. That night I went home and packed my things, and I left for my sister's house. She was angry with me for all the craziness of leaving my job and my apartment, but she let me stay. I promised her the killer of my coworkers was after me. It was a whole year and a half until she decided that wasn't good enough for me to stay any longer.

It's fine, I've had time to process all of this. I moved out here where she lives and got a job teaching at the school.

I've lived in denial, unsure how to articulate what happened. The best I can do is to summarize and say what was happening. My coworkers were killed by intelligent rats.

Hi, I’m Seiqe, and I’m the poster who got banned off X (twitter) for posting my occult findings. No way the pics I posted were a violation of TOS. I don’t think the content was half as horrible as the Ukraine videos I’ve seen scrolling, but somebody reported my account.

Today, I’m here to clear my name. If this thread gets popular enough, I might get my account back.

All you need is context about me and what I do. It’s plain nothing I showed, or demonstrated, was evil (as they said in the ban letter). But they’re going to pretend like they’re the arbiters of what’s good and true? A ridiculous, wrong, and unseemly thing for a company to do.

So, let’s get this out of the way, I believe in magic. If you don’t, fine, even more of a reason I should get my account back. I would wager most reading this are skeptics and non-believers, but there are a few folks who might be in tune with the spiritual — who’ve seen the power of mysticism. Because magic is faith, but magic is also fear.

You’ve all tried magic at least once in your life.

How many scary games did you play when you were a kid? You know the ones like Bloody Mary, or Cat Scratches — everyone experimented with them. And they’re thematic of what I’m talking about when I say magic is faith and magic is fear.

Stay with me:

Bloody Mary is a mirror game where you perform a ritual to summon the ghost of Bloody Mary in a mirror. I first played it when I was eight with my neighbor Sam and his older sister Aggy. I didn’t see anything, but when Aggy tried it, the mirror cracked, and a glass shard cut her cheek. She said she hadn’t seen Mary, but she had seen something. Out of all of us, Aggy had been the most afraid to play the game. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was her fear that had given power to the ritual.

They’re all invocations: The Midnight Game, Light as a Feather Stiff as a Board, Devil’s Face, Ouija Boards etc… all of them are rituals; played by children, invoking faith, fueled by fear. You cannot have one without the other.

So that’s the baseline, the undercurrent beneath all of this. Like folks believe in gods and money, I believe in magic, ritual, and supernatural powers.

I think I always have. Although, it wasn’t until I was in high school and I ran through The Ars Goetia, that I was inspired to start my own book of spells. I categorized all spells and rituals that I wrote down in my little book by religion, difficulty, and potency. Not that they were potent at first. Not until I proved to myself that there were doors to truth that could be reached through them. I wasn’t looking for an almighty, or a way of living; rather, for powers that lie outside of our metaphysical realm.

Which I didn’t really encounter until college.

Remember I mentioned I grew up with Sam? I also went to college with Sam. We shared a dorm.

We spent our late nights watching horror movies. He was a goth kid in high school, and I was a weirdo. In college he became a stoner art major, and I stayed the same weirdo. But by then we’d been friends long enough that me lighting candles and mumbling over archaic books didn’t weird him out.

But it did weird out his girlfriend, Tina.

She wore overalls that were always covered in some kind of oil paint. She’d stay over some nights and drink a little, and I think I annoyed her with my chanting.

“Could you put out the candles? It’s three in the fuckin’ morning,” she grumbled at me, as she unfolded the pillow from her head.

“I’m almost done,” I muttered, “and don’t interrupt me.”

“Stop with the bullshit. That’s fake, go to sleep.”

“You wanna bet?” I asked, looking up from my summoning table (which at the time was a fold out meal tray.) I practiced my sigil carving on a chalkboard, but only burned candles inside after I set off the fire alarm our first week.

“Yeah, I do want to bet; if it’ll make you go the fuck to bed.”

“Next time you stay over — I’ll prove it.”

“Fine, now fuck off with the chanting.”

Tina didn’t stay over until again until a week after mid-terms.

Which gave me time to prepare. See, dear reader, skeptics are notoriously hard to convince. Even then I knew that it took a certain state of mind to experience the occult, like the kind I tried to achieve through rigorous arcane practices.

But stuff like summoning was too in depth for novices — they don’t know their cardinal points from their elbows. They didn’t have the faith to find real power. But then, I theorized that all it might take were the right conditions to inculcate fear to fuel faith. And I was reminded of those old games that I mentioned we used to play as kids. Something like a game, but heavier, with more substance might do. One game in my spell book stood out to me: Three Kings, which was famous for its strict rules, and was designed to set about certain conditions. Once met, they might affect anybody.

“What’s with the mirrors?” asked Sam, the night Tina was to stay over. 

“Remember when we played bloody Mary as kids?” I asked.

“Yeah, Aggy still has the scars.”

“This is like that, but a lot more powerful. I made a bet with Tina that I would convince her that the supernatural existed, by the way” I said.

“And you’re just now telling me? That’s kinda fucked,” Sam said, not looking super happy about it.

“Ugh, don’t be jealous. I’m not making a move on her; I’m showing her the occult.”

“Man, sometimes you take it too far,” he said. “This is why I can’t bring you to parties, you talk about all this weird fucking bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit. Don’t you remember how Aggy saw something?”

“When we were eight!?” he exclaimed. “Whatever, if Tina agreed, I guess. But after this, if she still doesn’t believe you, you’re done,” Sam said, pointing a finger at my chest.

The rules of the Three Kings game were simple. Wake up at 3:30am exactly. Within 3 minutes go into a dark room that’s prepared with all the materials: a lit candle, a fan, two mirrors, and three chairs. Two chairs should be set facing one chair, with tall mirrors placed in both of their seats. Put the fan behind the empty chair where you’ll be sitting. The idea is to sit down with the lit candle in front of you to block the air. Gaze above the candle flame into the darkness. Do NOT look directly into the mirrors.

And soon two others will join you, seated in the mirrors on either side. The game’s premise is all about asking them questions. They will answer and ask in turn. Together you make the Three Kings.

By the time Tina arrived it was close to 11pm, and I already had the mirrors set up. For the chairs — I used lawn chairs, which was what we had. I’d also shut our curtains.

"So, what’s the candle actually for?" Tina asked, after I explained the game to her.

"The candle is a kind of tether, if something were to happen — like you falling off the chair, the fan would put out the candle and end the ritual," I explained. “Oh, and don’t look directly at either mirror.”

She laughed. I rolled my eyes. 

“You gotta wake up when I wake you up, promise?” I asked Tina. 

“I regret this,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. "But sure." 

“You have to take this seriously if you want to be convinced,” I said. And she shrugged. 

Sam and Tina kind of ignored me after that and smoked a little, then went to bed. I was too excited to sleep. I was supposed to wake up with the alarm clock, according to the rules, but I was still awake when the clock struck 3:30.

I woke the two of them up, their eyes bleary, and they followed my instructions with much yawning and cursing. Tina took her seat in front of the mirrors. I handed her the lit candle and turned on the fan. Sam and I went out into the hall.

“How long is this supposed to take?” Sam asked, his eyes drooping.

“I don’t know, but we’ll give her like fifteen minutes," I said. Sam was already dozing off against the wall.

Our dorm room had a peephole that saw clear through both ways. Most students put tape over them, and so did we. But I removed the tape that night so I could watch. I remember looking through the peephole, and I saw Tina was awake and not sleeping in the chair. She was sat bolt upright, staring straight ahead. Surprisingly, it seemed she was taking this seriously, like I’d asked. 

Tina did not move for 10 minutes.

I began growing worried around the time I saw her gasp, like she was coming up for air. She started panting, hyperventilating. Wide-eyed, I almost woke Sam. But I decided to watch a bit longer, because something was wrong.

A low, muffled groan rattled the room.

And then rising behind it were deep voices murmuring words I couldn't make out. Sweat beaded on my brow and I started bouncing on my toes. Was this really happening? Would I finally see the supernatural after believing in it for so long? 

The voices grew louder and more guttural but stayed distant. I heard Tina sobbing. But Tina was sitting there, not moving, completely still.

This bothered me. And despite how much I wanted to see what would happen next — what powers would reveal themselves; I woke up Sam.

“Tina’s in trouble.”

“What?” he asked, snapping alert.

Sam went to open the door. It was locked. He tried our key, but it didn’t turn. He pounded on the door, calling Tina. He slammed his shoulder into it, but it didn’t budge. I shushed him; if he was going to be loud, he might wake up the whole dorm.

“Who the fuck cares!? I’m getting others,” he said, pulling away from the peephole. And he sprinted down the hallway, shouting for help. I heard rustling in the neighboring rooms. I started to panic and tried to door handle again.

This time the handle gave smoothly. I rushed inside and the door slammed shut behind me.

The whole room was an abyss, but for the flickering candlelight.

“Then who is this?” asked a sly voice that was not Tina’s. I smiled nervously, even though Tina still wasn’t breathing. I took a step to get close — close enough to move Tina and let the candle blow out. But my feet wouldn’t take me to her. Was I afraid? I was. And I was a part of the game now. I decided I needed to respond. 

“I am no king but a priest,” I said, my voice quivering. I think priest came to my mind since... I’d spent so much time studying spells and religions since high school. I often wonder what would've happened if I’d called myself something else.

Silence followed. Tina slumped forward on her chair. The candle went out, and pure dark rushed in.

But the voice stayed:

“Then we are a full court with a bishop. Come stand between us,” said the new, resonant voice.

I obeyed, only now able to move, driven by my intense fear.

Despite being pitch black, I could almost see the speaker’s mirrored outlines in the gloom. How? I don't know. 

Magic is all that we cannot put words to. All that can be felt isn’t measurable. And all that can be conjured from the living is not death. The low hum of the fan rattled in the night. The pounding on the door outside was so far away, I could hardly hear it.

I stepped between the Three Kings.

And Tina was quiet. So quiet.

The candle flickered back. And I could see clearly their shapes and the visages of the seated figures, but I cannot describe them for they were ineffable.  

“What providence do you preach, priest?” asked the resonant voice. “Reveal to us the nature of your divine proclamation.”

I tried to say something, but all I could do was choke on a sob.

 The next voice was weepy, darker, more tenebrous and powerful than sound might admit:

“Tell us,” Tina said.

I turned. Her figure had stood from the chair; her features were smudged like blurry reflections. Yet, her eyes were pits, mirrors of the abyss. Not metaphorically, like literally her eyes were gone from her head. I couldn’t help but raise my gaze to hers'...

And at that moment, the door was flung open. I was left standing alone in our dorm room with the two mirrors cracked. 

They never found Tina after that. And Sam never spoke to me again.

After hearing this story, if you’re still a skeptic I understand.

Again, I tell you all of this to give you context for the broader picture, and the circumstances around my account being banned. But this is only one part of the context, that I believe in magic. If you take one truth from this, it's that magic is faith and magic is fear.

We all believe in something.

Now, I’m hitting my word limit, so in the next post — I’ll tell you about another game I played, which drew me to making my own ritual. And I’ll also tell you what led me to start posting my occult findings online. 

Ask anybody in the industry and they'll probably disagree with me, but I think there's really two camps: stuff that moves and stuff that doesn't. I did event lighting. Epileptic roving beams over a fog machine? Mechanized glowing set pieces? Rainbow colors? I did the fun stuff. The dynamic stuff. The rest is piddly shit, trying to hawk $80 residential floodlights or convince an office building your 6” recessed cans are slightly different and more better than someone else's identical cans that nobody is ever going to notice anyway.

I'm not big time famous or anything. I had a decent reputation and it's a small field, so I got crew jobs that were beneath me on all star tours, or I got to be the big fish in the small pond being the lighting designer for off-broadway shows and MLM “conferences.”

I had recently come off tour with an artist famous enough to need a pretty large crew but not famous enough to have a properly planned tour. The whole thing was an utter disaster. I don’t know why they went. This person was not prepared to be traveling through the countries they were in. There were power outages, vandalism, theft, even some assaults. The scary kind, not like, drunk people climbing shit and punching each other, which you get at even the best run shows. The expression “the show must go on” is the mantra that everyone in this industry lives by, so I kept things running as best I could, but by the time we were at the end of the tour we didn’t really have any cool effects. It was all I could do to keep the lights on. 

When I got home I was absolutely fed up with splicing wires together because some local vandal sliced up another one of my cables. I resolved my next few gigs were going to be corporate events and rich people's parties. Rich people can be difficult in their own way and I don’t love dealing with them, but there are significantly fewer stabbings or homeless people scalping copper when you’re at a $500,000 wedding at someone's summer estate in Connecticut or whatever. Those events typically get planned more than a year out so I wouldn't land many quickly. Conferences get planned well in advance too, but they always need substitute AV guys. The pay isn’t good… but it is pay. 

But then someone approached me. I got a sort of cryptic email from a colleague introducing a client who had a job for me. The client wanted to meet in person at his house to discuss. I googled the address and it was in the rich part of town. The multimillion dollar home part of town. I was hoping it was a wedding like I wanted, or maybe like a fancy renewal of vows. The guy sounded older on the phone but it could be for his kids.

I pulled up to his house at the appointed time. It was nice. It was old-money nice, not garish at all. Perfect.

I walked up to the door and rang the bell. An older gentleman answered the door 

“You must be Mr. Dones,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m Eric Bukowski, we spoke on the phone.” 

“Marc is fine, Mr. Bukowski,” I said.

“Sure thing. Come on in,” he said, waving me into a very luxurious sitting room. “Can I offer you anything? Water? Ice tea?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“So, Marc,” he said. He paused for a moment, fidgeting. We were seated facing each other over a coffee table that cost more than my van. 

I perked up. This was weird. Might not be a real job, but at least it was going to be an interesting conversation. Nobody looks this awkward when hiring a vendor for a party. An orgy? Was I getting invited to an orgy?

“Your colleague Mr. Martin says you’re the right person for the job. He said you’re the man who can keep the lights on.”

“Well, sure,” I said. “I just came back from a tour where we barely had a power grid. But that’s usually not the hard part of the gig. Is this… event in a remote location?”

“Power is not an issue. The building is connected to the grid and I have them installing backup generators.”He didn’t say house. He said building. He bought or rented a whole building. A clue? I didn’t know where this was going. Usually orgies were in people’s houses, right?

“Okay,” I said, and I sat back. I’ve found that sometimes that’s the best way to deal with people like this. Let them do the talking. If I peppered him with too many questions he would likely get offended. I am, after all, only “the help” to a rich person.

“I’m not sure how to explain what is going to happen. There is of course, the risk that you laugh in my face and walk out the door. There is also the risk that you laugh behind my back, take the money, and do not take the job seriously, which is unacceptable, as this is a matter of life and death. I had considered leaving you completely in the dark, if you’ll pardon the choice of words, but a man deserves to choose his fate and not be led blindly.”

This was a weird talk. The weirdest talk I’ve ever gotten. As biased as I am towards the importance of my own profession, it’s not life or death. It’s never life or death.

“I’ve settled on a middle course, I think. The equinox will be in a few weeks. I own a property upstate. It’s fairly large and it’s fairly remote. It is connected to the power grid, so you don’t have to worry about that. There are battery banks and backup generators. It is however imperative that we keep the lights on for one hour–”

“Excuse me?” I said. Was this some kind of prank?

“Do you have a question?” he seemed perplexed, as if this was not the part of the talk where he was expecting questions.

“An hour?”

“Yes, one hour. At the time of the vernal equinox.”

“Just the regular lights? There’s no event? You don’t need lighting design?”

“There’s no artistic design needed, no. White lights. Floodlights. You may bring your own and set them up how you wish, in addition to what I’m having installed. They need to be kept on.” 

“For an hour.”

“Is that an issue, Marc?”

I was already composing a scathing email in my head, back to Alvaro, the stupid, smug Spaniard. Thinks he’s better than me? Thinks he’s Leo fucking Villareal? Sending me this childish assignment because he thinks I’m the “right man for the job”?

“No, of course not,” I said. I was still going to take the money, damn Alvaro. “More the opposite. I do more complex stuff and frankly I’m wondering if you need me for this. If you just need to keep them on, maybe you need an electrician. I’m fairly expensive.” I’m not, but I was thinking about what I could get away with. Double my usual fee? Triple?

“Don’t concern yourself about the money,” he said. “We’ll discuss full payment after it’s done, but I will put you on retainer for $250,000 and advance you $25,000 of it today if you agree to take the job.” 

This set alarm bells ringing. That was too much money, first of all, and the rest didn’t make sense. A retainer? Discuss payment after the fact? I revised my email to Alvaro. It was going to read, “WHAT THE FUCK” all caps, no punctuation.

“Hold on a minute,” I said. “I think I want to know what I’m getting into before I agree to this. And I will need to have my attorney look over anything that’s not my standard contract before I sign.”

Eric smiled at me. “Of course. If I may continue?”

I nodded.

“I need someone who is going to take this seriously. It will not be easy. We– I have reason to believe that this will in fact be very difficult. I had reached out to Alvaro Pérez Martin because he worked on a commission for a friend of mine, and I later saw the installation he did at the embassy. Very technically challenging from what I’m given to understand. And this is going to be a challenging assignment.

“Let me ask you a hypothetical question, if ghosts were real, how would you defend against them?”

“Ghosts? Like… are we talking Casper, or like The Poltergeist?”

“Imagine for a moment there is an entity. It’s invisible. It’s mostly incorporeal. It can pass through people and things. It can for a brief, limited time, interact with objects. Flip switches, knock over plates, that kind of thing. You can’t catch it, any box you put it in, it will glide right through.”

“Well,” I said, thinking deeply. “I suppose at first glance it seems like you can’t.” I paused. “But…” I paused again. “No, I’m pretty sure you can’t.”

Eric laughed. “But you have to try, Marc. You have to try.”

“Well, what do you propose?”

“It’s the simplest but maybe the most costly option. You replace what it breaks. You keep replacing it, even if it keeps breaking it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s either that or it becomes corporeal and wreaks havoc.”“I don’t think I like where this is going.”

“Let’s say for a minute this entity needs darkness to appear. It reaches the height of its power during the equinox. If it happens during the day, it’s out of luck. If it happens at night…well, moonlight will pose a problem for it. But if it’s overcast, it will be ready and waiting. And remember, it can move things. Small things. What do you think it will do?”

“The lights.”

“Exactly so.”

“So you want me to do what, exactly? It can reach through walls. I don’t think we can stop it from turning them off.”

“It has a very limited ability to physically interact with things. So we build a system with as few points of failure as possible and we bring backups of our backups. No extraneous light switches in the building, for example. Auxiliary power. And you.”

This guy was a lunatic for sure, but there was something kind of flattering about being told you have the kind of reputation where people thought you were able to successfully fight a ghost.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

“This is what I was afraid of,” Eric said. “You don’t believe me.”

“I’m a huge believer,” I said. “I grew up in a haunted house. Things moving the cupboards, weird noises at night. You couldn’t take any photos inside because they would have the ghost in them. Scared my mom nearly to death.”

He shook his head. “For someone in the theater business you’re a terrible actor.”

Ouch.

“What I want to know is, given the criteria I’ve laid out for you here, do you think this is something you are capable of? If you would rather refer me to someone else, I will gladly take your recommendations.”

He was shrewd, this guy. He had me figured out. I took the bait. “I’m capable of it,” I said. “Of course I’m capable of it.” 

\* \* \*

And that’s how I found myself delivering a truckload of equipment to an old farmhouse in upstate New York. We had a week before the equinox by that point, which was child’s play for a professional to set up. It was just a bunch of floodlights. Minimal aiming, no controls. I have some basic indoor lights I use for events, but usually I’m at a venue which has its own setup, or I’m doing a wedding where they’re commissioning custom light art chandeliers, or I am renting specialty stuff. So I don’t have a lot of my own equipment. I begged some outdoor lights off a buddy who does architectural lighting. I’m more familiar with the lights used for outdoor shows. Theater lights. But they’re not heavy duty like the architectural stuff which is designed to sit outside in the snow and rain for fifteen years without breaking. If I destroyed them I’d replace them. I had $250,000. Better safe than sorry. I didn’t believe, but I wanted to show up looking like I did believe and that I had prepared.

There was a work crew there to help me set up. They had built a square ring of scaffolding around an otherwise totally innocuous patch of dirt in a mostly gutted barn. It seemed pretty sturdy. They helped hang up the lights and they showed me the various outlets and junction boxes, and where the breaker was. I took care of most of the fixture wiring myself.

It was a ludicrous set up. It was way too many lights and a mishmash besides. The building had some industrial looking lights hanging from chains and some wall packs mounted to the walls. Then you had pretty much every fixture I owned, which was kind of a lot when mounted together. They were spread along the horizontal bars about six feet up. I had debated putting them on the ground but this would allow us to run across the center “stage” if necessary. Holding down the corners were four massive, overpowered, architectural floodlights. I mean, they’re supposed to light an entire building from a hundred feet away. I’m pretty sure you would have gotten a tan trying to sit in the center of them. It was rough to look at when they were all on, even from the outside, so I had the guys bring me some tarps and I closed off the sides with them. 

Eric came down to see the install a couple days before. He nodded with an air of someone who had no idea what they were looking at. Which was fair, even as a professional it didn’t look like anything except a bunch of lights. We had a strategy session that evening. He told me he would be staying in the farmhouse nearby. The work crew would be stationed around the property to tend to anything that needed it. He was very concerned about the power poles coming down.

“I thought you said this thing had a limited ability to move things,” I said. 

“It does. But if you find the correct weak spot it doesn’t take much to destroy something that seems sturdy. Have you ever seen videos of building demolitions? It takes shockingly few explosives to take down a high rise. It’s not going to take much to take down some termite riddled poles.”

I wasn’t sure who to bring, so I settled on Alan, my brother; and Steve, a guy I don’t like that much but is good at what he does. I wanted someone else who knew lighting there. Just in case. And my brother because he could do what he was told and might as well make some money off this deal if anyone was going to. They drove up together the day of. My brother Alan practically leapt out of the pickup truck, before Steve had even come to a complete stop. “That guy is a fucking lunatic,” he said.

“Ugh, yeah, just ignore all the political stuff,” I said. “He didn’t used to be so bad but something happened last year. I don’t know what. I don’t want to hear about it for three hours so I don’t ask.”

“Well we’re just here for a few hours,” Alan said. “And then it’s $250-”

“Shut your mouth,” I said, glancing at Steve.

“...how much is he getting?” 

“$10,000.”

“I mean, it’s not bad for a day’s work,” Alan said.

“Yeah but he’s going to be pissed if he finds out I’m taking a six figure finder’s fee. If he asks I’m making $25 and you’re making $5.”

“Hey! Why am I getting shortchanged?”

“Because it’s imaginary money and you don’t know shit about lights.You’re getting the actual money. Quit bitching.”

“Whatever.”

We had another meeting late afternoon with Eric, who impressed upon us the importance of maintaining the lights. He gave us each a walkie talkie and told us which channels to use.

We had hoped the weather might clear, but it was overcast all day. As the sun set the rain started. We retreated into the barn. We had some space heaters and a folding table and chairs. I had my boxes of equipment - cables, quick connectors, spare parts - arranged at strategic intervals around the perimeter of what I was calling the stage out of habit. I turned the lights on and set an alarm on my phone. When it was closer to time I was going to set a timer to ring every ten minutes so we knew how we were progressing through the hour.

We played cards. Alan tried to make small talk but got a little heated with Steve. I told them to both just shut up, so it was a pretty tense game of go fish. 

I was deeply relieved when my alarm went off just before 11:00pm. I did a final check of everything to make sure it was ready to go.

“Ten seconds,” I said. “Everybody ready?”

The clock ticked down, but nothing happened. We sat around for a few minutes, played another hand. My phone chirped at the 10 minute mark.

“Easiest $10k I ever made in my life,” Steve said. 

There was a pop as one of the lights blew.

We all jumped and looked at each other. “A coincidence?” Alan said.

Then another.

“You jinxed it, you fucking asshole,” I said. “Everyone to a boom, I’ll take the far wall, Alan you take the closest, Steve, to his left.”

“Holy shit,” Steve called as we ran. “Was this fucker for real?”

It was my cheap lights going, one by one. They’re LEDs so you can see when the current is too high, the color starts to change right before they fail sometimes. I’ve been told it’s something to do with the temperature of semiconductor. Alan, the only reasonable person in our group, had brought his sunglasses. Steve and I were squinting, peering through the tarps. 

“That one’s blue,” Alan said, pointing to one on my side. As I looked it popped and started smoking. Something was overloading the electronics onboard the fixture. A power surge would have affected all the lights, not just one. 

Steve grabbed a fire extinguisher and puffed it at the smoking light.

“Alan, you see any of the other ones going?”

“On Steve’s side, looks like there’s one.”

“Steve, kill the power.” I had wired each bar on its own circuit so you could shut them off or turn them on individually. Steve and Alan were each manning one bar, I was manning two. I had fed the power to two sides from one boom, actually more by coincidence than design. Steve flipped the switch and shut his lights off. Alan’s flicked off a millisecond after. 

“Alan! Your power! Get it on!” I said.

Steve flicked his lights back on as Alan fumbled. “Sorry! I don’t know what happened,” Alan called. “Got it.” His came back on a moment later.

We stood silently for a moment. Pandemonium erupted over the walkie talkies. It sounded like ten people started yelling at once, and then an ear piercing noise that shut everyone up. Eric said into the silence, “We’ve switched to battery backups. One at a time. What’s everyone’s status. Lights?”

“On,” I said.

We listened to the walkie talkies, tense. 

It wasn’t a pole that went, it was a dead tree. It had fallen onto a Jeep with one of the workers in it and hit a power line on the way down. The power was out. A few guys were pulling him out of the car, injured but alive, and a few more were working on getting the power back online, though it seemed to me like that would take longer than an hour. A couple more guys had been dispatched to the generators. There were two groups of two, so four generators total. 

It was quiet for a few minutes. I thought that I didn’t envy the guys outside, who were freezing their nuts off in plastic ponchos in the driving rain. My phone pinged. It had been twenty minutes.

Then things started going wrong.

It was like working a show from hell. Every little thing that could possibly go wrong, did. The quick connectors slipped off somehow, un-splicing the wires. Connectors came loose. Fixtures burned out. Cables shorted. Alan was losing more fixtures than me or Steve, who had more of an intuitive sense about the fixtures, what needed to be done, and when we needed to kill the power. I made sure to never kill both of my bars at once, even if it meant losing a fixture. So far we hadn’t all had a fixture issue at the same time, but I didn’t like the odds of me, Steve, and Alan turning them off all at once by mistake. I was the failsafe. It was happening too fast to really communicate. I was running from side to side trying to diagnose and fix ten fixtures at once. I regretted screwing all the lids on the weatherproof junction boxes. It had seemed safer but I lost precious seconds getting one off to check why one of my bars went down. At one point Alan asked me for more quick connectors because he didn’t know where I had packed them in his box. I grabbed a handful of the little plastic orange things, they look kind of like legos, and I flung them across the stage, scattering them. Alan grabbed one and so did Steve. We worked in grim silence for a little while, and then my phone pinged.

It had been thirty minutes.

The wind was picking up. The barn wasn’t the most weatherproof so it came whistling through every crack. It occurred to me that maybe Eric should have spent more time re-enforcing the structure. But he was right, it didn’t seem like the thing, whatever it was, could do more than little things. It couldn’t smash a whole fixture. But it could wiggle a wire, and apparently that was enough. I was fully on board with something causing the failures by this point. This many problems was not due to chance, and it wasn’t due to shoddy workmanship on my part.

With the wind came another problem, though. The roof. There was enough force to knock something loose up there. Or at least, enough force that a little push from our friend could tip things over the edge. Water came sluicing down from somewhere above, hitting the cross beams overhead and running down the walls. The hanging lights went first, the water running down the chains and instantly shorting out the fixtures. The wall packs hung on a little longer but they, too, failed quickly. I was surprised by those. I thought they were weatherproof.

I lost one of my bars next. The whole bar. Probably eight fixtures at that point, as I had been lucky keeping them functioning. “Fuck!” I screamed. The junction box covers, which had seemed like a good idea, and then a bad idea, now seemed like the best idea in the world. Some of the water dripping from the ceiling ran into the junction box I had opened. It was running line voltage. I didn’t dare touch it. I kicked it with the rubber sole of my shoe out of the path of the dripping water.

“Someone has to go to the breaker.” I shouted.

“I’ll do it,” Alan called back. “I’m no good here anyway. Leave my lights on or off?” 

“Off,” I said. “Too much fucking water. Kill the power to number two.”

“On it,” he yelled. His lights went off and I heard his voice over the walkie talkie, “This is lights, water’s gotten into the building and I’m going to the circuit breaker. Can we get someone to fix the roof? …….Over.”

Eric’s voice crackled back. “We’re having some… issues with the generator. I’ll send someone as soon as I can.”

We switched to the lights channel and Alan let me know when he had switched the breaker. “Number two?” I asked.

“Yep.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t want to get fried.”

“I’m sure.” 

I gingerly touched the waterlogged junction box. It didn’t kill me. I dumped the water out. I didn’t think it was safe to turn it back on though.

“It worked,” I said.

“Told you.”

Alan came back and turned his lights on after checking for water damage. The wind was howling so it was hard to hear. I said to Alan and Steve over the walkie talkie, “Problems with the generator? I don’t like the sound of that.”

Steve said nervously, “Probably the rain. Hell of a night, huh? Hell of a night.”

My phone pinged. “Forty minutes,” I said. “Almost at the finish line. I’m switching back to the main channel.”

I didn’t like our dwindling numbers. Alan had three fixtures, Steve had five, and I had four. We had started with probably forty. The heavy duty architectural floods, at least, were stalwart. They hadn’t flickered once. I had wired them to their own circuit as well. Mostly because they draw so much power, but I was happy for it now.

The lights flickered. Only briefly, but there was a sound like rushing wind in the dark. Steve screamed. The lights came back on. “Steve, you okay?” I shouted. 

“I’m fine, just spooked is all.”

“Everybody get your flashlights!” I said.

Before I could do as I said, the power went out. We stood in pitch blackness for a brief moment before Eric’s voice came over the walkie talkie, shrill and panicked. “Lights?” he asked. “You there?”

“We’re here,” I said. “We have flashlights.” Alan had flicked his on. It was a dim glow but you could make out shapes of things.

“You have to keep light on the center area. Nothing else matters. Keep light in the center. The generators should be working momentarily.”

Alan had ripped down his tarp and aimed his beam at the center of the stage.

I heard Eric firing off rapid questions about the generator. The guy on the other end was calm but people were shouting in the background so he was hard to hear. “...another ten seconds,” he said, which was all I caught as I turned to grab my flashlight from the box.

“Uhmm…guys?” Alan yelled. The room was pitch black. I turned, but I couldn’t see anything. “The flashlight died,” Alan said, completely unnecessarily. 

I turned back and felt for my box. I couldn’t hear much over the sounds of the storm. I felt like I was deaf and blind. I started to panic. I swung my hand where I thought the box was, but missed, walked forward, hit it with my shin, and had to feel around. Quickly, quickly. I didn’t have time for this. My heart was racing.

“Guys,” Alan screamed, “Do you hear that?”

Over the sound of the rain drumming on the roof and the wind howling, there was a rushing sound like wind, only much closer to us. There was also a low groaning, barely perceptible, and then a series of loud snaps and pops, before a crash. 

I couldn’t find my flashlight. It was right at the top, I knew it was there, but I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t feel it. Everything felt alien and unrecognizable in the dark.

Alan yelled, “Steve, what is it? Steve?” and my panic mounted. If we died mom would hunt me down and kill me a second time for dragging Alan into this. I don’t know what I was thinking when I brought him along. He screamed. In frustration I upended the box. Things came clattering out, I heard some stuff go rolling. And then the lights came back on, but dimly. I snatched the flashlight up and whipped around. 

“Oh my god,” I said. It took me a second to process what I was looking at because it was completely different from only a minute before. Twisted up metal like something gigantic had burst from the ground. The popping noise was the scaffolding giving way under pressure. It had buckled and snapped like it was nothing. Bits of glass and plastic were strewn across the ground between the fixtures. It was carnage. The lights were smashed. All of them.

Some of them were still functioning, although I don’t know how. Two of the floodlights, though one was fading fast, and a couple of the smaller spots that had been on the bars. One was dangling from a cable and spinning slowly in a circle like the world’s worst disco ball, the ruined scaffolding making thin, wavering shadows that danced around. Another was laying on the ground.

I dodged through the twisted scaffold and charged across the space. I slipped and fell pretty hard. A piece of plastic skidded out from under my feet and I went down. I smashed my phone on something.I didn’t see Alan or Steve. I scrambled upright and ran to the other side.

Alan was sitting on the ground, dazed.

“Alan, thank God! What happened to Steve? Did something get him?”

“I think he… left,” Alan said. “He ran, I heard him fall. He got back up and made for the door. I think he was crying.” He pointed. The door was open and slamming against the wall in the wind. The rain was pooling on the floor. “I think it got me,” he said. 

I looked down at his leg and he had a nasty gash on his shin. Maybe down to the bone.

“Fuck. You have to get out of here,” I said. “Mom will never forgive me if she finds out I got you into this. Get to the house, Eric probably has supplies there.” I looked around for something to wrap it with. I grabbed the first aid kit Eric had left for us and pulled out the gauze. I wrapped it around his leg as tight as I could. The bandage bloomed red. It didn’t seem sufficient so I ripped off my shirt and wrapped it around as best I could.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Alan said. “I can’t even feel it.”

“Go to the house,” I said. I got him up and shoved him out the door. I think he was sort of in shock because he left me without an argument. I closed the door and latched it.

“Lights?” Eric’s voice came over the walkie talkie.

“I copy,” I said.

“Still on? How’s the situation?”

“Not good, Eric. The lights are on now. But they went out and we couldn’t keep anything on. Something smashed most of them before the generators kicked in.”

“How bad is it?”

“I have two of the small spots and one, maybe two of the big floods. Two flashlights. It’s a mess in here. I sent Alan to you. He’s injured.”

 “Fifteen more minutes,” Eric said. I glanced at my phone. “Think you can hold out?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Do you need me to send someone?.”

I laughed. “If I can’t keep these lights on I don’t think anyone else here can. No. There’s only a couple. I’ll see if I can’t patch them up. Keep the power on.”

“I will,” Eric said.

I killed the power to the fixture that was dangling first. It was just the cable that was fucked up, but I had brought spares. I patched it up and turned it back on, placing it gingerly on the ground. The other one had a cracked housing. It was running but it probably wouldn’t take much more to kill it. One of the floods was fine, the other had cracked glass and I think some water had gotten into it. It was flickering intermittently and was extremely dim. I didn’t think it was going to last fifteen minutes.

I dug Steve’s flashlight out of his box. He’d never even touched it. He had kept his lights going until we lost all power though, so I had to give him credit for that. My phone beeped at me. Fifty minutes. 

I sat down on the ground near the flickering light. I was tired. Bone deep tired. This had been the longest fifty minutes of my life. I wondered if it was over. 

The flickering light sputtered out and didn’t come back on. I sat up. It might have been natural causes or the thing might have been back and pushing buttons. I stood up. I wasn’t sure what to do if we lost power again, or if all the lights failed. I had the two flashlights which would buy me a few seconds each, but it seemed to be able to fuck with Alan’s. I couldn’t get it back on either, his was totally fried. 

I started to get a crazy idea. It was a bad idea, but I didn’t want to find out what was there, in the dark. It was better than nothing, and I didn’t like the chatter coming over the walkie talkie. 

“Eric?”

“Standby,” he said.

I edged backwards towards the circuit breaker.

The lights flickered.

“Eric!”

“Not now,” he snapped. “Keep the line clear. We’re trying to fix the generator. I know.”

The lights flickered again. Christ.

The lights shut off. “ERIC,” I screamed into the walkie talkie. 

Everything felt like it was in slow motion. I dropped the walkie talkie and glanced at my phone before pulling out the second flashlight, one in each hand. Fifty seven minutes. The seconds ticked by.  It would go for my flashlight when I turned it on, so I wanted to space it out as long as I could, and buy myself as much time as possible, in the hopes they could get the power back up. It was the worst thirty seconds of my life. 

I don’t know if you’ve ever been in the complete pitch black, alone, in an unfamiliar open space, but it would not have been fun even if there was nothing there. I felt incredibly exposed. I backed up until I hit the metal door of the breaker panel. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to hear the thing in time to turn my light on. I strained my ears, trying to convince myself either that I did or didn’t hear something. I didn’t know which was worse. I didn’t move. I barely even breathed. I willed myself to be able to sense something, anything, in that void. My eyes kept scanning, unable to track anything in the dark. After an eternity of maybe fifteen seconds or so, I heard a sound like wind rushing, though over the storm it was hard to tell. I tensed even more than I already was, something I didn’t know was possible. I waited another couple of seconds before I flicked on the light. 

It… didn’t go all the way. I don’t know how else to describe it. There wasn’t anything in the center of the stage that I could see, but that’s how far my light went before it just…stopped. Something was eating the light. I stood there with the beam trained towards the center of the room trying to make sense of what I was seeing for a few seconds before it vanished. All of a sudden my flashlight was hitting the far wall again. That scared me more. I had been trying to convince myself it was a trick of the light, or that there was just an object in the way, or something. But there wasn’t. There had been something there.

I stood there, numb, my flashlight in my shaking hands. The flashlight started making a weird ticking sound and I can’t describe how it made my skin crawl. The thing was like, in my flashlight. In my hand. Had it passed through me?

I tossed it to the ground and it went out. I stood in the dark for a few more seconds before I thought I heard the wind again in the middle of the room. I hesitated on turning on the other flashlight, as it was the last one, but I heard a loud crunching sound. I flicked it on and screamed. Something was there, across the room. It had demolished the lights that were on the floor. It was thrashing in the light, undulating like a leech. It was less like a shadow now and more like a form. It took longer to vanish this time, and less time to kill my flashlight. I was plunged into darkness again.

Eric’s voice chirped from the walkie talkie almost as soon as the flashlight died. “Power’s back on.” People were screaming in the background.

I turned and slapped my hand along the circuit breakers, finding and flicking on circuit number two.

“Lights, you there? Marc, do you copy? There’s thirty seconds left. Get the lights on, not much longer now.”

The junction box that had been full of water crackled to life. There was some arcing, tiny lighting bolts that seared my eyes. I looked away. One of the lights on that bar, that looked shattered beyond repair, flickered to life for a few seconds before burning out. It was a dull glow and short lived, but it was light. And then the live wire, still arcing wildly, started an electrical fire. Everything was wet so it was difficult to burn, but there was a tiny, small flame growing brighter by the second. The acrid smell of melting plastic stung my throat.

I scooped the walkie talkie off the floor.

“There’s light,” I said, coughing.

“Oh thank god,” Eric said.

“The building is on fire.”

“Will it stay on fire for the next ten seconds?”

“I think so.”

We sat in awkward silence for ten seconds.

“It’s safe now,” Eric said. 

“Is it?”

* * *

And that’s how I ended up with $500k. I guess that’s what Eric meant by discuss payment after the fact. He asked what I thought was fair, and I said $250k, not understanding what he meant and wanting to keep the full retainer, but he wired me an additional $250k. 

Alan was fine. He got stitched up and his leg healed all right, although he’s going to have a gnarly scar to show for it. I gave him $100k. I would have given him all of it if he wanted, especially in exchange for never saying a word to our mother, but that was all he would take. Eric also paid his hospital bills as an apology, so he came out ahead. I gave Steve his $10k. I don’t think he deserved it, but he was threatening to sue me and I didn’t want the $500k thing coming out in court because he would really go ballistic then and maybe even demand more.

As for me, I took a salaried job with a manufacturer. Sales Engineering. Boring, but completely safe. I used the money to top up my woefully underfunded retirement and put a downpayment on a house. All boring stuff, but I felt like I had had enough excitement in my career, and was ready to settle down. I found my first few gray hairs after that night. Getting a girlfriend is also a lot easier when you’re only gone a few days at a time for work and not a few months, and that’s been going well. It’s been a few years since then. 

I’ve been thinking about getting back into theater lighting, just a little. Maybe some college theater productions or something. I miss it. But honestly, being in a dark theater makes me uneasy. I don’t know what happened on the equinox, and I don’t care to. Eric contacted me again the next year, but I turned him down. I don’t know who he got instead, but I assume it went fine without me, as the world hasn’t ended. But it’s possible that thing is out there somewhere, in the dark. I can’t forget how it looked. My one quirk these days, which drives my girlfriend crazy, is that I always sleep with the light on.

(looking for review)

“Attention: The library will be closing in fifteen minutes.”

The voice coming from the building’s speakers startled me a few hours into my uninterrupted studying in the library’s silent area. I glanced at the clock on the wall, only to realize that hours of screentime had made me lightheaded and caused anything over two feet away from me to look blurry. Regardless of the library closing, I took this as a sign that I should probably wrap it up for the night. Besides, after snapping out of focus, I noticed the air flow in the library had at some point shut off, ending the comforting hum of the vents above. I liked the silence of the library, but without the vents running, it was almost too quiet. I packed up my computer and notepad, trying not to disturb the other sleep-deprived students around me. I had been studying in this same area nearly every Friday since the beginning of the semester, and it was clearly becoming more popular as midterms approached. Even I found myself staying later and later each week. It was easy to focus there, and I wish I had spent more time there during my first year. As I wandered towards the main doors of the library, I smiled to myself when I saw a committed gathering of students in one of the dimly lit conference rooms, clearly engrossed in whatever they were studying and likely to stay there until security threatened to carry them out. I wasn’t feeling great about the next day’s Differential Equations midterm, but historical class averages for Math 235 told me that was a common student experience.

When I received my midterm grade the following week, I realized I should have been a little more worried. Sure, a 68% average isn’t great, but the bright red 33/60 scrawled under my name on the returned test was considerably worse.

“How’d you do?”

I looked up at Harrison’s curious expression, his tone telling me that he didn’t do so well either.

“Not great. You?” I responded, offering my test in exchange for his. He silently handed his over, and I felt a bit better after reading his 31/60.

“Well, at least neither of us failed! Considering that I still don’t even know what question 3 was asking, I’d say that’s pretty good.”

I laughed at Harrison’s optimism as I handed his test back. I didn’t love this class, but at least I had someone to struggle through it with. As we gathered our things and left the lecture hall, I asked what he’d be up to this weekend.

“Uh, just catching up on work. I might try to go to that mid-semester club night I keep hearing about on Saturday, but tickets are so expensive I can’t decide if it’ll be worth it. You?”

“Same. Too much going on to do anything interesting."

“Ain’t that the truth. Well, enjoy what you can, and for what it’s worth, have a good weekend, Eliza.” With that, he zipped up his coat and headed out into the chilly Fall air. I gave him a mock salute and headed out in the opposite direction, taking a detour to Timmies before heading to the library.

 ------------- 

“Attention: The library will be closing in fifteen minutes.”

For the second Friday in a row, the voiced startled me out of my study stupor. I was sure I’d get used to it as my late nights continued, especially since my current grades were motivating me to really pick it up before finals. Once again, I noticed the eeriness of the completely silent study room and absentmindedly wondered when exactly the vents turned off. I figured it was a good thing that I was so focused on my work that I completely tuned out my surroundings. Trying to shake off my screen-induced dizziness, I started to exit the library, looking for a garbage bin to toss out my long-empty Tim’s cup on my way out. I spotted one around the corner from the water fountain, right outside one of the occupied conference rooms. As I made my way over, I recognized the group of students I had seen huddled around the room’s table the previous week. Throwing out my garbage, I realized they were considerably older than me, closer to the age I’d expect most professors or possibly mature PhD students to be. I guess I had just assumed everyone in the building past 11pm would be undergraduates fighting for their academic lives. I saw through the glass walls of the conference room that all three windows were open, and I wondered how the room could still feel too hot at the end of October. Glancing at the room’s booking schedule, I saw that it was reserved every Friday from 10pm to midnight for “Anonymous”.

“Hey! Can I help you?”

I jumped, turning to look at the demanding voice behind me. It had come from a middle-aged man who I hadn’t noticed walk up behind me. Man, was he quiet.

“Oh, uh, I was just reading the room’s schedule.” I started to walk away from the door when I heard him again.

“What’s your name?” he commanded. I didn’t appreciate his question. It was dark out, he was at least 6 feet tall, definitely looked stronger than me, and I was well aware of how dangerous campus can be to young female students at night.

“I don’t need to tell you that.” I retorted, barely turning around to face him

“If you’re going to peer into my group’s private session, I want to know your name.” he snarled. At this point, I was starting to get annoyed.

“Dude, this library is open to the entire university. If you want somewhere private, go somewhere else. I was literally just reading the schedule.” I could see him starting to reply, but I turned and put my headphones on before he could say anything. Some people think they’re so important.

 -------------- 

The next Friday, I found myself squinting at the clock multiple times before 11:30pm. I cursed previous generations for developing technology. I’m sure I wouldn’t feel so dizzy and nauseous if I could study from regular paper every day instead of staring at a computer. I had finished all my midterms for the semester, but I needed to make sure I didn’t fall behind over the next month and a half before finals, so I turned to Google in search of quick remedies for dizziness and nausea. I rolled my eyes at the typical fearmongering that greeted me on the first website I clicked on. I scrolled past multiple links warning me about “The Increase in Patients Suffering from Coronary Artery Disease in Canada’ and “Number of Surgeries for CAD Seeing Exponential Growth” and saw recommendations for various prescriptions. I figured it would be too much trouble to get a prescription, and besides, I wouldn’t even get the pills for another few weeks, so I settled on stopping to fill up my water bottle on my way out. I sighed when I remembered the most convenient water fountain was located right by “Mr. What’s Your Name” ’s booked room, but I needed water and as I had told him the week before, the library doesn’t belong to him. Also, I might be able to avoid him seeing me, as the fountain was around the corner from the glass doors of the room. I left my study area right at half past, noticing a couple of the sparse students around me rubbing their eyes or laying down on their desks for a break, and headed in the direction of the conference room.

I bent over to take my water bottle out of my backpack and felt a rush of light-headedness. Taking a deep breath, I took a moment to close my eyes and lean against the wall beside the water fountain. I could hear hushed voices travelling through the wall from the group inside.

“….system…blockages…transmitted….” my head felt better and my vision was no longer blurry, but hearing those few words made me curious about whatever Mr. What’s Your Name was being so pretentious about. I admit, our encounter was still annoying me, so I figured a bit of eavesdropping could be my way of secretly getting back at him. I turned my head and laid my ear directly against the wall.

“…increasing subject…cabbage…implantation…high recovery rate….” Cabbage? Were they studying gardens? I pressed my head harder into the wall, wondering what kind of gardening meeting would be such a secret.

“…continued artery…under radar…donor…” This voice was quieter, and while I could make out less words, what I did hear was enough to confuse me further. Arteries had no place in gardening… I would think? Then again, I figured this could easily be some sort of animal testing study. The voices went quiet, so I decided to give up my efforts and finally fill up my water. I really hoped hydration was the issue. I did not want to deal with health problems in the middle of my second year.

 --------------

“Eliza, can you grab me a Gatorade while you’re at it?”

I nodded at Harrison as I stood up to go to the vending machine. He didn’t usually like to study on campus after class, especially in the middle of the week, but this week’s Math 235 assignment was kicking our asses, so we decided to work on it together in the collaborative zone in the basement of the library. As the time went on, I started to ask myself why I ever thought it was a good idea to become a physics major.

“Here you go.” I tossed Harrison his Gatorade and cracked open my Coke Zero.

“Are you sure you want caffeine this late at night?” he asked.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m so tired these days it’s not like it’s going to keep me up. If it can help me get this assignment done tonight, that’s all I care about.” I rubbed my temples, staring at the equations on my screen as if doing so would make them solve themselves.

“I feel you. Leave it to uni to drain us of our lives *and* our health.” lamented Harrison. I smiled in agreement. Returning to my work, I heard the vents slowly dwindle off.

“Oh, that is weird.” said Harrison, looking up at the ceiling. “I thought it was quiet before but you’re right, when the air shuts off you reeeeally feel isolated in here.”

“Yeah, it’s especially weird in the silent rooms or when no one else is around. Speaking of, I’m surprised we’re the only people stuck in here on a Wednesday night.”

“Well, I guess most people are either smarter than us or just have better things to do come, what time is it?” he checked his watch. “10 pm.”

“Huh. That reminds me of something I meant to tell you about earlier. There’s this group of, I dunno, professors or something that reserves one of the upstairs conference rooms every Friday from 10pm until the library closes. I tried to listen to their conversation last week and it sounds like they’re researching animal testing?”

Hunter frowned. “That’s odd. Shouldn’t they have labs or offices for that? Maybe they don’t want to be too public by creating a dedicated space for that because of controversies or whatever. What did the room booking say?”

“Anonymous, which makes sense if they’re wanting to keep that type of thing under wraps. Pretty sure all you need to do to book a room is enter an email on the library website. Still, why so late at night?”

“They probably drink too many Coke Zeros during the day.” I threw my pencil at Harrison, and he dodged it, laughing. I started to laugh with him, wincing as I felt the world start to sway around me and my chest tighten. Harrison noticed.

“Eliza? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just the same stuff I was telling you about earlier. It’s probably a migraine or something. Seems to get worse if I get worked up or excited. I’ll be fine.” Harrison still looked concerned, but I promised it was no big deal. We returned to our assignment and kept working for another hour.

  -------------- 

Two days later, I found myself struggling to get through any work during my usual nighttime silent study despite being fully stocked with water, electrolytes, and anti-nausea medication. The dizziness and chest pain hadn’t fully gone away since my study session with Harrison, and it seemed to be getting worse as I continued to force myself to study. I knew I needed to go home and sleep. Maybe I would call my parents in the morning and see if they had any advice.

I headed out of the study area, deciding that I would see if I could eavesdrop any more on the conference room group. At least then I would have something to tell Harrison about and my library visit wouldn’t be a total waste of time. As I casually headed in that direction, I saw that the door was partially open. Perfect. I could feel cool air as I walked towards the water fountain, and I once again wondered how they could possibly be too warm at this time of year. I glanced around for bystanders before standing as close to the corner of the wall as I could. Holding my breath and trying to ignore my blurry vision and aching chest, I extended a keen ear and heard two voices.

“We’re being noticed. Have you seen the headlines this week?” I recognized the first voice. It was Mr. What’s Your Name.

“Yeah, and? Increasing cases of artery disease is not exactly new in North America.” The second voice was clearly a woman, her tone condescending.

“It is at this rate. I say we slow down our toxin influx. Just for now.”

A third voice chimed in.

“If we slow it down, it’s not a ‘for now’. It’s a ‘for good’. Do you think it’s easy to gain access to multiple building ventilation systems without public notice? Even just in one province? Even with our funding I don’t think I can swing it again if we don’t continue producing patients at our current rate. We have access for the next month, and if our output doesn’t keep up, they won’t renew our contract.”

The first voice piped in again as I felt my chest pain sharpen. I figured I should really go home…but I was so intrigued by what I was hearing, and I doubted I would get better any faster there anyways. I tuned back in and kept listening.

“…operate on each patient under our agreement, but I’m not confident that we’re going unnoticed. Speaking of output, are there any updates for the post surgery results? Have the devices been recognized yet?” He was answered by yet another voice.

“So far, no. Over the past month, we’ve received four positive health signals from our transmitters, all from patients who had been operated on within the past three and a half months. My estimation of three months was generally correct for the transmitter’s in vivo data collection, it’s fighting the toxin as expected, and all four patients passed every screening as predicted by the transmitter. Our outcome was at least 90% of our anticipated value in all cases, with the quality of harvested organs meeting or exceeding our expectations, and autopsy results showed little negative side effects from the transmitter.”

I heard the woman speak again.

“See? If our donor output continues to be this successful, we’ll be okay with the rise in cases making the news. I’m sure we’ll continue to receive funding and possibly extra protection if this keeps up. They won’t allow the public image of our healthcare system to turn. Continue the ventilation pump, surgery intake, and transmitter distribution as normal. Now, can you bring up the autopsy results?”

My heart was racing, trying to figure out everything I had heard. I wiped my hands on my jeans, suddenly noticing how clammy they were. Toxins? Artery Disease? Surgery? I suddenly remembered seeing some of those exact words on the healthcare websites I saw earlier this week. Fighting my now debilitating chest pain and nausea, I stumbled away from the room. Too late, I realized I probably shouldn’t have crossed in front of the glass wall, but I was trying so hard to stay upright that I wasn’t thinking straight. As I was halfway across the width of the glass wall, I heard the voices go silent and the door shut. I prayed that they didn’t see me. When I finally made it out of the library, I failed to see of the icy sidewalk through the darkness and my failing vision. I slipped and felt my head hit the ground with a loud thud.

 --------------

I came to my senses amongst voices and sirens, feeling something covering on my mouth. The women I realized to be paramedics sitting on either side of me were exchanging words didn’t understand. As I slowly started to try and sit up, the paramedic to my left gently pushed my shoulder back onto the stretcher.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Don’t get up. The name on your ID was Eliza, is that the name you prefer?”

I nodded.

“Okay Eliza. Hang in there. Do you remember what happened?”

I squinted, trying but failing to remember the past few hours.

“Someone found you on the ground outside the library. You had a heart attack, which likely also caused your fall. Try to stay calm and breathe. We’ll be at the hospital soon.”

  --------------

A couple hours and multiple intake steps later, I sat in a hospital bed waiting to see the doctor. I couldn’t wrap my head around what just happened. A heart attack? How? I’m 20 years old! I rubbed my chest, the debilitating pain gone but a dull throbbing remaining. I was also slowly remembering what I had heard in the library. I still couldn’t fully put together what they were talking about, but what I did hear did not make me feel safe in the hospital. I was struggling to piece it together while fighting my lasting headache when I heard the door open.

“Knock knock… Hi Eliza, it’s Nurse Jennifer. I wanted to give you the heads up that our on-call cardiovascular surgeon, Dr. Eberson, will be in shortly. Are you doing alright?” The answer was no, but I nodded anyways. She smiled and left the room, telling me to let her know if anything changed. About ten minutes later, I heard a knock on the door.

“Eliza?” the door opened. “I’m Dr. Eberson. I was expecting to see you here after seeing the state you were in leaving the library earlier.”

No.

It couldn’t be.

I looked up to see Mr. What’s Your Name. The shock probably showed in my face, as he smirked and gave a small chuckle. I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn’t even know where to start. Dr. Eberson continued, looking down at his chart.

“It looks like you suffered a small heart attack due to blocked arteries. We’ll be performing a Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting on you, which should resolve the problem. After the surgery, it is vital that you stay in good health through diet and exercise to prevent this issue from happening again. Do you understand?”

I managed to get my voice back.

 “No.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “No, I don’t want the surgery. I don’t consent.”

 Dr. Eberson looked briefly annoyed.

 “That isn’t an option. You need this surgery or your next heart attack could be fatal. I know you don’t want that.” He paused, his expression hardening. “And don’t pull that ‘consent’ bullshit on me. You and I both know that your idea of bodily autonomy is worthless.”

 He was right. I stared at my hands, feeling entirely defeated. I still didn’t understand what I had heard earlier, but I heard enough to know that whatever they were discussing, it had something to do with patients in the healthcare system. I couldn’t trust anyone in this hospital to help me. I was completely powerless.

 “Good. You’ll be having the surgery later today. And Eliza?” he said, prompting me to look up. “Whatever you heard, or whatever you think you heard, remember, the people making these decisions are experts in what they do and why they do it. It may seem like a big deal to you, but some things are done for the greater good.” He left, closing the door behind him.

 I felt all my hope leave the room with him.

  --------------

It has been just over four months since my surgery. I feel like my body isn’t my own. There’s something…foreign about it now. Every part of me wants to fix it, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I cannot go see a doctor. Who could I go to? The conversation I heard in the library that day constantly rings through my head, and I wonder what part I now unwillingly play in their plan. However, I have managed to gain back some control in my life. As it turns out, 1000 calories per day, 1-2 hours of cardio daily, and splurging every weekend with a fifth of vodka is enough to keep me barely alive. Positive health signals were received after at three months, said the voice in the room. Staying healthy is vital, said Dr. Eberson. As long as I can remember those words, I will continue to do the opposite. It seems to have worked so far.

Sometimes I still visit the library. And I worry every time I see a student rub their eyes.

Something extremely serious happened at my university during exams, and apparently I'm the only one who knows exactly what happened.

For context, I am a 20 and a half year old woman, studying a physics and chemistry degree in the city of Kosciusko, a small town of about 30,000 inhabitants located a few dozen kilometers from Oslo, Norway.

Everything has gone well so far, we have already had our first exams, and despite the anxiety it can create, we have all passed our exams. But since the day of our examinations, on the morning of October 22, an extremely strange series of disappearances has occurred. It started with a student I barely knew, named Max. When I say that this series of disappearances is extremely strange, it is an understatement. In fact, tell yourself that our exams take place under strict conditions, because they count for our grade, this means no mobile phone turned on in the room, invigilators in the corridors, a proctor in the room and forbidden to go out to go to the toilet without supervision under penalty of exclusion. There are also surveillance cameras whose video recordings remain for a week in the university's computer system, according to the guards. And our exam room is located on the 3rd floor of a large building of 7 floors including a basement, so it is not easy to leave without being seen.

What makes it strange, if not literally impossible, is that Max's disappearance took place literally during the exam, in the first hour. Everyone was in exam, Max was in the middle of the front row I think. Except that, during our exams, he disappeared, leaving all his belongings behind, his copies, his pen, etc., and without anyone apparently noticing him for 15 minutes. When I say that no one noticed, it is because apparently no one seems to have seen, heard or felt him pass, or even open the door, on the 45 students and the two supervisors in the room. And the only clues are scratch marks on his table and on the floor.

But I noticed something strange on my copy: it looked crossed out, I was writing the following sentence about thirty times: "Amnesia girl it's here" At this point, I must specify that I live with a disorder called ATDS. It is a complex dissociative disorder related to trauma, involving the existence of several distinct personalities in me only present in cases of extreme danger, such as seeing people who have hurt me in the past for example. These identities therefore have their own memory, independent and fragmented in relation to each other. On a daily basis, I don't feel any of this and I function normally, but if I'm in danger, it comes back.

So I put this strangeness down to a dissociative crisis related to the stress of the exam that I would not be aware of, even if it seemed unlikely to me. But I quickly dismissed this hypothesis when my classmate, Manon, who is naturally stressed in exams and hypervigilant, had written exactly the same thing on her paper without realizing it.

Then, on the morning of October 31, we had a new exam, in mathematics. This time, it was Manon who disappeared, while I was next to her. No one seems to have noticed his disappearance, and the same scratch marks were present. When the voluntary disappearance was ruled out because of the scratches and especially the fact that two students had disappeared in less than 10 days, everyone in my class became suspicious, except for me and another student, who was also anxious and hypervigilant, because we had again written "Amnesia girl it's here" about forty times on our sheets in the middle of our pages. equations, so we couldn't have both written this scary sentence and done something to Manon.

But, the reason I'm writing this is much worse. Yesterday, I ran into my main childhood aggressor again in the city center, which triggered my ATDS again, for the first time in the whole year. It must be understood that in this case, the identities appearing in me have independent memories, to which I sometimes have access when they reappear, usually flashbacks of past frightening things, which they keep to themselves. It is a reaction to protect the mind in the face of trauma.

But yesterday, instead of having flashbacks of my abuser for the umpteenth time in a kind of "co-consciousness" between my 7-year-old identity and myself, I had flashbacks from the last exam. I'm starting to review my protective identity trying to hide after I started writing very quickly, way too quickly by the way, the famous scary sentence on my copy, then I saw my little identity arrive, look around, and see what seems to be a little girl, with a white dress and scary eyes. It is impossible to describe it better. I see her kidnap Manon, who is screaming, and Manon then struggles which causes this monster to come out of the clutches of her hands and feet, and injures her severely, leaving traces of blood all along the room.

I then see her drag Manon out of the room. My little identity is in a pattern that paradoxically means that she can put herself in danger instead of having a flight reflex. As a result, I remembered following this girl dragging Manon to the floor, then into the elevator, past the screaming supervisors and dialing the police number and setting off the university alarm. She dragged her to a door, in a basement dating from the 1920s (yes, my university is very old, too old). This basement has been under construction since Monday, October 21, according to the work permit. It is normally inaccessible to students. Fortunately, my protective identity made me leave very quickly when I saw her enter, with Manon still dragged on the ground, and visibly seriously injured.

I came back to the exam room, then I forgot about it when I came to. It's normal for me to forget what we saw identities, but normally I remember that they were present in me after the fact, and normally they leave at least a note signifying their presence and what happened to reassure me, but this was not the case. My last memory, very blurry and distant, is of this girl cleaning up the blood marks on the floor and on the table, and the anxious person in my class writing the famous scary sentence over and over again after seeing this scene.

What prompted me to tell you about it is today's television news, mentioning these disappearances. In this diary, they explained that during the investigation they had found very slight traces of moisture and bleach on the floor in the examination room, which the police did not immediately pay attention to, that they had seen that the emergency numbers were present in the call history of a proctor, and the fact that the university's home automation system recorded that the elevator went down during the exams and that the alarm was triggered, even if no one out of the 700 people present in the building that day seems to have heard the said alarm. This seems to corroborate my memories somewhat.

I don't know what to do. I have been followed by 3 specialized psychologists and a psychiatrist who has also been specialized since I was 17 years old, and I have never had hallucinations and false memories; in reality, ATDS cannot create false memories at all, only fragment them and make them blurry, which makes me think that these memories are probably not simple hallucinations. Paradoxically, it seems that I am the only one who remembers what happened at the last exam, "thanks" to a disorder that causes memory loss. I tell myself that I should go to the police, but I would be taken for a madman I think. Maybe I am after all, no one seems to remember any image similar to my fragmented memories... Do you think I should go to the police and tell them everything? Next Wednesday's exam has been maintained despite all this, and I'm really, really scared.

I wrote a story about a disguised kitsune wreaking havoc on a high school, but tried to keep it a bit ambiguous by having the narrator Lizzie not actually know what Mika (the kitsune) is. The post was removed for being incomplete. Should I make it a series first part, or maybe make it longer and more conclusive?

Hello, Reddit. I'm not one for forums much, or for how to write to one, for that matter. My husband is sending me here to the experts in this sort of phenomenon. After one too many rough nights, I had a lot of suppressed memories come bubbling up to the surface of my worries, some I forgot and one's I can't.

Way back in the day a little after my seventh birthday. My parents never wanted my brother and I to be glued to the tv set on a cooling summer's evening. It was a nice night out because the air didn't reek of cow waste and almonds, for once. When it's all you're surrounded by you'd think you would go noseblind to it. It only takes one breeze to remind you of it's presence.

My Dad's the kind of guy who would never skip out on the opportunity to man the grill on a warm night with a cold beer in hand. I loved standing close and watching him work. The heat radiating off of the coals would warm my face while a gentle wind's hand would give its cooling touch. I miss nights like this a lot. I used to like to stare down into the glowing red coals. Seeing all of the light and colors emanate out of them, I would quickly look up to the sky to let the coal's lingering impression on my retinas make the stars dance.

A few seconds later my vision would fade back to normal. My eyes were now focused directly above me. A handful of stars were all glowing so much brighter than the others. I rubbed my eyes, but they were still there shining high. I peppered my dad with questions. I was an annoying kid.

"Sometimes they just do that champ. Stars are big burnin' balls of fire, and it looks like god's got the gas cranked up on high tonight." He belched out, not taking his eyes off his chicken legs.

Being seven I took his word as gospel and left it at that. The rest of the night was normal. Dinner, clean up family time, prayer, and then off to bed. My mom always handled the tucking us in bed duties. Dad had to wake up extra early to get started out on the ranch. I always rolled over after my mom shut my door, I liked to watch the the drooping willow branches outside my window move with the wind. It blocked a little more than two-thirds of what I could see out of the window so I had to learn to like it, whether I wanted to or not.

Every window screen in the house was now equipped with extra tough window screens that only dimmed the view from the outside a little. There are a lot of stray cats on the property, who are for the most part harmless. Sometimes though they used to rip right through the screens and piss and trash around the house. Not wanting to harm even god's 'peskiest of critters, Mom and Dad opted to install the extra thick and strong screens.

From my bed, I could see out my little clearing of window to the distant sky. I could still see them. Six stars in the paired and bright shining loud enough that all other stars in the sky were muted in their grace. They made me nervous. Remembering my dad's wisdom I pulled up my covers and rolled over to fall into sleep.

I've never been a very vivid dreamer. Sometimes I could remember a short flash of something or if I was very blessed that night I'd get a whole second or two I could recall for about half the day. Some of my worst nightmares never made it in my mind past lunchtime.

I drifted off to sleep pretty quickly, always do. Flashes of dreams started sinking in the closer to sleep I fell. My breathing slowed and my body kept falling further. I fell from the deep black of sleep into the brightest white I had ever seen. It was cold and clinical. I knew I was in a horrid place. I couldn't move. I couldn't blink. I could see his silhouettes around me. The dentist and his brothers. I could only look straight above me into the glowing indifferent ball of light. it scorched its name into the back of my eyes. I wanted to look away, I wanted to cry, a helpless little part of me knew I was going to go blind. I could feel his awful rubbery gloved finger probe along my gums.

I woke up like I did on any normal morning. With my Dad knocking on my door to start getting up, and with my automatic request for just a few more minutes. I didn't get them. Once my brain kicked on the panic thoughts came flooding into my tired head.

"OH CRAP I'M GONNA BE BLIND. I"M GONNA HAVE TO GET A DOG AND A CANE. LORD JESUS PLEASE DON'T TAKE MY SIGHT"

When I opened my now tear-filling eyes I could see the dark of my room. The faint whispers of dawnlight were beginning to peak in through the window. to say I was relieved was an understatement. I was spared. For a all of forty seconds. I tossed my covers aside and got out of bed.The moment my feet greeted the rug I felt yucky and wrong. I was zapped with such a vengeful wave of nausea that I thought my organs were to explode out of my mouth.

I burst out of my room straight for the toilet. If the bathroom wasn't directly across the hall from my door I would have painted the floorboards with the mostly digested remnants of last night's barbecue. After puking out half my body weight and flushing a couple of times I didn't feel much better, only emptier. I went to rinse my mouth, instead of brushing. A choice that only led me back to that chair faster than I would realize.

"Mill!? Millie hun' are you okay?" Mom was racing up the stairs, half the world must have heard me vomit.

"I don't feel so gr--" Was as far as I got.

I locked eyes with the crimson child in the mirror across me. My hand was still hanging on the mirror's handle. My arm was bright red and I could feel the warmth radiating from it. I felt like a lizard that passed out under the heat lamp. My face was a dry, peeling mask of dead skin. I could see tiny pieces flake from my trembling cracked lips. A scream rose from my throat faster than the vomit. My mom's confused scream quickly tagged along with it.

"Millie, what on earth did you do. .?"

"Momma it hurts. I don't I don't I don't-" I was as scared and lost as she was.

She scooped me up and ran down the stairs. I got slathered in aloe vera and tossed in the truck with a sleeve of saltines to nibble on, on the drive out to our doctor. My shirt burned all over my sore body, The slightly too tight seat belts made it hurt and itch with every bump on the road. My mom started looking as pukey as I felt. We made the drive in half the time.

I don't know what exactly she told the Doctor, or much of how she responded. Only that this much damage couldn't have happened overnight or it's a severe allergic reaction. She gave us two things, a prescription for some medicated lotion, and a skeptical look while telling us to call back if it ever happens again. The burns healed and time kept passing, we mostly forgot and moved on.

A good few years had come and passed since my first bright dream. We still lived on the same piece of property together, well for the most part. My Brother, six years my senior. had just moved out into his first place after a lot of looking and whole heck of a lot of saving. I helped him load the last of his junk into the back of now his truck.

"You think you're gonna miss this place much?" I asked him, just trying to start some silence ending chitchat.

"Am I gonna miss what? The house? you mean fuckin' home? You know it. You can't not miss where you grow up R-tard." It was the early 00s and his vocabulary was as of the time as his fashion sense.

"It's gonna suck trying to feed myself, but you know what ain't gonna suck? No more pushing jersey shit on my days off. No more hearing your sleep farts through the wall, and finally. Finally not being frosted with frigging cat hair on all my clothes.

"Heh, that'll be something I bet. You know I think I'm miss this baby more than I'll miss you, if I do even. I always hoped I'd get to learn how to drive in her." I heaved the tailgate while I talked trying not to let show how much I was actually going to miss having my big brother around.

"Hell Mill, never say never yet. Maybe next year I'll Swing by and we can start leaning you something. Hop in real quick, I wanna give you something."

"On it." I said already reaching for the passenger side handle.

I got excited. Dale rarely gifted me anything, but when he did it was always something awesome. Last time it was a super cool lighter that looked like a stack of dice, time before that It was two little illegalish fireworks he's says he got from his 'friend' in Nevada. I used one with some friends to turn a jack o'lantern to atoms. I'm holding onto the second for something special.

"In my here hoodie pocket I have something for you that is very special to me. Now I was a teen myself once. I did some dumb and I did some fun things. This beauties a little bit of both I was a little older than you but close enough when I got this tizzight piece. He pulled a gross little yellow stained ziplock baggie from out of his pocket.

He had stars in his eyes, I had a little disappointed curiosity in mine.

"What is it, I don't think I want to touch that."

"Lemme give you a quick whiff first you'll love it." He spread the bag's flaps open and the whole cab filled with a thick horrible stink. He pointed the baggie at my face and I saw what it held.

I pinched my nose tight to look closer. Inside was a smaller even more disgusting baggie that contained a small black silicone smoking pipe. At one point it looked like a black owl with big yellow eyes. Now It looks like a partially melted Halloween reject covered in burns and rosin from smokes long passed. It was revolting and I was thrilled.

"Gosh Dale, I don't what to say. Thank you though. Hey this ain't going to make me as dumb as you, is it?"

"Hell, prolly will. Stay in school bud, go to college." He took a huge deep breath in and dropped his hand on my head.

"If you squeal to mom or dad, or they find out in any way that I gave this to you. You are capital D Done-Zo. Comprende?" He winked and tossled my hair a little too rough.

"I copy dude." I sealed the baggies and stashed it away in my jacket.

We went inside to have one of our last dinner's as the whole family unit for a little while. In my room I could still smell the bag a little so I flipped the fan in my window around to try and air out the room a little before the smell could latch onto anything in my room. I switched out the bags and made the genius decision to take it to school with me the next day. We didn't have a lot of money at the time and getting a teenage girl a nokia wasn't real high on the expense list.

Communication had to be in person. I was paranoid about getting caught to boot. During passing period I pulled my best friend into a stall with me to show her and we formulated a plan for later that night. Sneaking out at nine pm on a Thursday wouldn't be too difficult. My parents went to bed early and were some of the hardest sleepers on god's green earth. Her Father never really noticed when she was coming and going. He worked a lot.

Serena drove out to the ranch with her own small smelly baggie. She managed to sweet talk it off a senior at school who was constantly bugging her to hang out with him. It got old fast. I waited for her on the porch steps, A cat I had taken to calling Mercy saddled up to me for a few pets. She was pregnant and wanted a little comfort and warmth I gave the little bald spot on her side a good pet to warm it up. I was happy to oblige. She pulled up twenty or so minutes later, we went straight to my room.

Just below my window overhanging the back porch was an old, but sturdy metal awning. I had been sitting on it for years as my little quiet spot. I had made a cut along the bottom and side of the screen for a way in and out. I had to replace the duct tape after every couple of times, but it held up well enough. Except for a time or two that Mercy or another furry vagrant got through and sprayed all over like everything I own.

We grabbed the comforter off of the bed to wrap around us. Took down the fan and climbed out the window. We sat there, only a little nervous but super excited. The air felt electric that night. She offered a smell from her baggie and I was a little hesitant, but not enough to say no. It did smell better. Still like the business end of an angry skunk, but better than where we were about to put it.

We got started with the little knowledge we had. A few snacks, a comfy blanket and a gorgeous starry sky above. I went first. I followed the instructions she gave me. With my lucky roller lighter inhand I brought it to my face.

Load, LIght, and Inhale.

Imemdiatly I was convulsing in a a coughing fit so violent I began drooling. I dropped the pipe and the ember burned a small through my shirt and burned my stomach a tiny bit. My throat scratched and burning, the coughing finally petered and I got my breath. Serena couldn't stop laughing. Guess I looked really funny to her. When my brain finally got oxygen again I realized I was laughing too. I picked up everything real slow and passed it over.

I felt numb and my head was spinny. I leaned back a little further to look up at the shimmering night sky. My eyes locked on the moon. She was a beautiful crescent, but not shining as bright as she usually was. It made me hungry for some reason. I was starving and reached down for the goldfish. I looked back up to the moon, she didn't look right and it bothered me. I scanned the sky for less than a second before my eyes locked on two gloriously bright stars. They were like the northstars older brother in how loud and aggressive they shone. They were polluting the sky and dimming her light. It made me nervous.

I grew so cold. It felt like they were seeing me. My heart started beating faster again as four more stars began to grow in brightness behind them. My stomach churned and I felt sick.

I was swiftly yanked out my internalized panic by my friend's aggressive and dry coughing spasm. Her watering eyes cause me to feel a little sorry for her and I patted her back a little too hard, causing the comforter to fall of our shoulders. We locked reddening eyes and could only giggle. I convinced my self I was just seeing things from the pot and forgot about it.

I don't remember what time we went back inside, or when Serena left. I do remember putting the fan back and being so hungry and tired. I wanted to go downstairs for more snacks but my sleepiness and laziness were both louder than the groaning in my stomach. I flopped onto bed and waited for the loving arms of sleep to whisk me off. Quiet, and so damn comfortable I laid there and felt it felt it drifting in. The world faded into black and fell into dreams.

I was walking down a sidewalk. The neighborhood was too dark tell if I recognized it. Not a single house had their lights on. Not even the street lights were on. I couldn't see a little ways ahead one end of the street curved upwards bringing the houses with it. the other end stretched in the black of night. scared and alone I started walking towards the curve. I didn't getting very far. The hairs on the back of neck stood high when I started picking up a soft buzzing in my ears. It grew in volume for a short moment before the streetlamp above my head flashed to life.

For second I could make out all the houses around. They were all MY house. I couldn't protect my eyes. They locked onto the oppressive white ball that bathed my whole body and the darkness around in it's umbra. My eye's were now entered into a staring contest with this brilliant glow that I didn't plan on winning. I wanted to look away, but I don't think my body could. The world around me vanished and I felt weghtless, like I was being pulled from the surface of dreams below me. The light starting gaining more illumination than it already contained. It was slowly getting closer, not brighter. I was being lifted towards the ball of light.

Then it blinked at me.

My ears were hurt by a yowl of pain and hurt so great that I thought judgement day had come riding in on the throats of every animal on the land. The world went black and I shot out of bed a less than a second after. My face was greeted by the semi plush carpet, my legs hand't gotten the notice to wake up quite just yet. In a sweaty panicked scan I surveyed the room. It was quiet. Surely the whole house had heard what I had. I thought, but the only sounds I could hear were my own labored breath and the whirring of the fan.

The fan wasn't in it's spot but I could still hear it from the window. My wide open window. The screen was in shredded ribbons. I stuck my head and was caught off guard with a putrid wind blown directly up my nostrils. The fan was hanging horizontally blowing straight up . the chord was pulled taught and keeping the fan perpendicular to the wall. I grabbed the handle and plugged it. To this day I still wish I hadn't jesus christ.

I dropped. No i Tossed the fan aside, as a scream starting rise up my throat, the bile came up faster though and choked out the shriek before it could escape. Underneath was Mercy. Oh god. The patch of missing fur was the only way I could tell. Her face was gone, and half of her intestines were laying out like wet mostly deflated balloons.

"Where'd.? what happened to the kittens..?" The the thought didn't last long.

The noise from the fan finally died out, and was replaced by the soft, wet gurgling that was leaking out a red froth from the Perfectly triangular hole that used to be her face.

I'm still ashamed that I threw up onto her. I didn't go back to sleep. I Buried her out back in a shoe box and rocked myself in bed until sunrise. My mom knocked on my door not long after to wake up. I didn't change my clothes much. I walked out in an itchy tired haze. I got in the car and waited for mom. Trying to convince myself that I just had a long fucked up nightmare. The dirt under my fingernails, and burn in my muscles told me otherwise.

"You already baby?, Don't wanna forget noth-" She cut herself off, pinching her nose and shutting her eyes before she even sat in the car.

"Oh my god I probably stink from last night. I am so screwed." I thought quick, a new type of fear coming in.

"MIll you got inside and change right now. You reek of catpiss! Lord, it's makin' my eyes sting." She said turning her head to look at me.

"Catpee?" I thought. I didn't smell anything but I had an out.

"I think mercy got in my room again" I said weakly. Trying to suppress the image in my head.

I unbuckled, but my mom through the car in reverse and started gunning down the drive path. Her eyes were wide and she had her shirt pulled up around her nose.

"What're you doing I was gonna change?"

"We are going to the doctor Millie. Did you not see your G.D. face? She was real aggressive with her concern.

"Im okay, I'm just tired! Nothing is wrong." I felt okay, maybe a little queasy and stressed, but okay.

"You're not tired you're beet red. It happened again Mill. She turned the rear view at me and tried not to gag.

My eyes met and I saw peeling, pinking, and puffy skin. The longer I stared, the more I could feel it itch. I didn't want to scratch and cause a rainfall of dead skin. Mom threw up in her shirt a little. After a truckload of tests and an ointment prescription later, they sent us home with less answers and a lot less money than we had going in. Mom stayed sick for a long time after that.

A week later we got a call back. I now know that I didn't have an allergic reaction, I'm more prone to skin cancer and need to wear extra spf sunscreen outside. Everyday, and that I had concentrated levels of thc in my system. I thanked god that mom didn't pick up the phone. I went upstairs to slather up in menthol and corticosteroid goodness. It tingled and stank but the relief was worth the fumes. I had blisters almost everywhere, they stung and leaked for a week. One made it's home on my collarbone that was the size of a pea, and just as round.

The sack was full and stretched tight. I know you're not supposed to pop them, but this fella was bugging me enough when just shirt brushed it. I was left with no choice. Safety pin in hand I leaned into the mirror and gently pinched it in place. This gave me a soft shudder of hurt. It felt hot and greasy on my fingertips. I brought the pin up to it, and started having second thoughts. I was hesitant, the pin was electrified in my fingers. They tingled and couldn't go the final millimeter, even though I knew I was putting force into it.

I could feel my heart pounding in the blister. I was struck through with a lightning bolt of white-hot pain the instant pin touched sack. I yelped and couldn't move. A chorus of pain held my body paralyzed. The pain was a deep hot needle I could feel straight through to my back. The tip of the pin didn't puncture skin. It started pulsating in my fingers. Faster than my heartbeat. I managed to brace myself against the counter. It throbbed a sharp new hell when I caught my weight.

My ears were ringing as the veins on my temples threatened o rupture. I couldn't move, Every breath was a grunting stab. My eyes locked on it in the mirror. It was nearly double in size as it burst open with disgusting damp pop. I shouted and started getting dizzy. It oozed clear runny fluid down my chest. It glistened in the bathroom lights as it dripped onto the counter.

It Stopped weeping, and for a beautiful moment, it didn't hurt. Maybe that was just shock setting in. A staggeringly new pulse of pain and confusion struck me. There was a tiny hole in its center. My eyes fixed on it. An uneasy droplet of blood shot from it before a small shiny silver ball birthed itself out. It tinked into the sink and down the drain. I passed out when my dad started pounding on the door.

Years passed and a lot in life changed. I was now in my third year of college. For veterinary science and medicine, go figure. I was doing a couple of semesters out of state. My brother had talked me into taking the opportunity. As homesick as I was I had made friends and even started dating.I'm thankful I wasn't far from home, and alone. The trees were leafless at the end of November, right before the cold started gaining legs and I was blessed with a week free from classes for the holiday.

This road trip was an important one. My mom had been battling a lengthy stretch of leukemia, and after many rounds of chemo she was in well enough health to celebrate her very favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. My brother moved back home when Mom got really sick. Dale would care for her when he knew Dad needed a rest, even though he would never admit it. He never left her side and made life for her as comfortable as the lord would allow him to.

I was nervous about this trip for another reason. It would be the first time any of my family gets to meet my girlfriend at the time Dani. They had already heard everything about her well before we began to date, but meeting people in person can always be different y'know? We met studying at the same starbucks. She thought my headphones were cute, and I liked her laptop stickers. We started studying next to each other and became friends. To best friends, to girlfriend and girlfriend. Things were going really well.

Three quarters through our trip we stopped at a gas station in Nevada to take a leak and fuel up We were only a little behind but still making good time. While looking around the sparse rows of junk food and soda I saw the turnstile of name keychains. I started flipping through the D section like a mad woman while Dani was in the restroom. After too many Davids, and Daren's and even a couple Dales, I found it.

"DANIELLE"

She always disliked her full name and we had that in common. It was one of the first things we bonded over. I was willing to waste a couple bucks on some light teasing. I walked out after paying to start filling the car. Keychain in hand, A bag of fritos, two redbulls in the other, and seventy-five on pump six. I finished filling the tank up, but Dani was still inside. The last drive through must have really hit her hard. She usually doesn't take this long. Even after a greaseball lunch.

A few minutes pass and I saw her walk out of the gas station clasping her hands together with the biggest goofiest grin I ever saw on her face. THe closer she got to the car the more I could hear her giggle. The way her muffled chuckles whistled through her chipped front tooth was one of my favorite sounds.

"I found you a little something inside." She let out composing herself a touch.

Before I could say

"I got somethin' for you too cutie"

She cleared her throat and unwove her fingers from each other to reveal an adorable Little green man keychain, well it would have been adorable. If it weren't for the big ugly letters ground into it's surface.

"MILDRED"

"For my liittle ol' lady. Cause I think you're outta this world!" She giggled out and kissed me on the forehead.

My jaw hung half open in a grin, I was definitely surprised but in a warm happy way. I reached in my pocket and pulled her surprise.

"I'm glad we're on the same page Danielle." I snickered presenting the keychain I got for her like I just snagged a huge fish.

"Oh you are such a bitch. I love you." She said playfully punching my arm.

"I love you too asshole" We kissed and started out on the last leg of our road trip

We crossed state lines after several traffic jams had slowed us down considerably. There was still ten hours left in our drive and both of us were falling too tired to keep going. After a couple of swerves on the rumble strips and a few more exits we chose to pool our remaining cash and get a room for the night. We would still make it tomorrow and a day early. We just need a little rest to get there. We got lucky and found ourselves at the

‘Cozy Corner Comfort Lodge’

We were exhausted and it was cheap. It was perfect.  Dani checked us in and I opted to stay outside and get some blood back into my legs. The cricket song, accompanied by the cool late night breeze made it real difficult to keep my eyes open. Even in the midst of stretching. The starry sky above was a nauseating beauty. It made the hairs on my neck stand high, but I still liked stare out. It was like the ocean to me. Big deep and frightening.

"So the guy behind the counter is one hundred percent on something, he is big tweaking in there. I scored us a room though." She had said with the barest hint of concern on her tongue.

Half awake I kinda just stared and nodded in response. We found our room and shambled into the stale smelling but clean enough looking room. I tripped trying to get my shoes off and Dani helped me into one of the two queen-sized beds. It was over for me the moment my head touched pillow. I hardly felt her climb in behind me as I began falling off the cliff into sleep.

I was cold and walking through sparse woods alone. I could hear the noises of animals crunching through the flora around me. My breath was visible but the condensation never dissipated and left a trail behind me. I was being guided by the shining light of two full moons above me. Where I was being led was a secret only they knew. I walked barefoot through my numb feet trodding through muddy leaf covered ground, but my feet always came away from the surface clean.

There was a break in the trees and my foot came touched down on warm dusty asphalt. It hurt the bottom of my feet but was nicer compared to sharp cold wet mud. I found myself on a long stretch of highway, with trees lining both sides. My legs began walking on their own now, down the road towards the two voyeuristic moons ahead. They walked for hours and I never grew any closer. The forest on either side of me never changed. Like I was walking on rough painful treadmil. Except I was no longer walking. My legs were stiff and dangled above the yellow lines below. I was still moving forward.

I felt the hairs on my neck raise as fear struck my every sense. Further down the road I saw a pair of headlights coming fast towards. I tried to scream and thrash but I couldn't move a single part of my body. I was trapped paralyzed like a deer. The headlights. weren't speeding towards me. I was drifting to them. They grew warmer the closer I got. Suddenly I felt the same heat beaming down from behind me. I couldn't turn back I knew it was another pair of lights. I could see two shadows on the asphalt eminate from my body as I was lit up from behind.

I tried to scream. I tried to cry. I couldn't even move my eyes. The light grew warmer and warmer as I got closer. Two more pairs of lights flicked on to life from between the trees. They kept pace with my floating form. Ther light cut through the trees, never breaking from my body. The intense searing white was quickly becoming all I could see. I slammed my eyes shut as best I could but It did little help. I could turn my head the closer I got and felt my heart ruptured when next to me I saw Dani. Drifting towards the same fate I was. There was tears streaming down her paralyzed face.

Everything went black like the flip of a light switch. I woke up hard and I woke up fast. LIke I was dropped into bed from the ceiling. I arose feeling nauseous and shitty. I tried to rub the sleep from my eyes and felt my face, tight and hot. This time I instantly knew what I was feeling. I sprinted to the bathroom mirror. I saw my red face and shoulders, shiny and peeling. It hurt. I could see the beds behind me in the mirror. Dani wasn't in either of them.

My confusion pivoted to panic. She wasn’t in the room. She wasn’t in the fucking room. I searched and scrambled outside. I threw up. I cried.  She wouldn’t just leave me. She wouldn’t. The car was still parked outside. Her keys and wallet were still in the locked room. Even her shoes were still there She was gone.

I threw up and cried throughout the entire questioning process with the police. The officers who took my statements were getting sick and nauseous as the hours went on. Some of them were gagging. They questioned all two of the employees that worked the motel that night. Neither of them was taken serious. I don't know what they said. I only heard that all the electronics went out at the same moment and that one of them was passed out at the time.

She was filed as missing and they brushed their hands off the situation. I guess they have a lot of missing persons reports this time of year, and are

"Going to do everything within our power to find your friend."

They pinned her picture onto a giant board that hung on the wall. She was surrounded by hundreds, of other missing men, women and children. My vision zoomed out, and her face became a drop in an ocean of faces. All of them had vanished without a trace. Never to be seen again.

My Dad drove down the last few hours we had to make to escort me home. Dale stayed home with Mom and the family. The drive back in Dad's truck was long and silent. I didn't have any words only sadness and worry. My Dad did his best to comfort me. We made it back to the ranch a day late.

Content Warning: >!Graphic Violence and Gore!<

The memory of that night still burns in my mind, slipping into my thoughts during the day and haunting my sleep. We were just a group of friends looking for a weekend break from the usual noise and stress. I can still hear the laughter, the crinkle of chip bags, and the crackle of our campfire—the last normal sounds before everything changed.

We drove up into the woods, far enough that cell service was barely a rumor. It was me, Matt, Sara, Chris, and Mia. We’d been friends since college, through breakups and moves, through good times and bad. This trip was supposed to be like all the others.

The sun was setting as we set up camp, casting long, warm shadows. Mia shuffled her tarot cards, a habit she’d picked up in Europe, and casually flipped a card. She glanced at it and smirked. “The Fool,” she said. “Always a good sign.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Can we drop that, Mia? This isn’t some haunted Airbnb.”

She raised an eyebrow, half-grinning. “Are you scared, Matt?”

“Not a chance,” he shot back, but I caught him glancing over his shoulder into the darkening woods, just for a second.

Chris snorted, pushing a marshmallow onto a stick. “Bet Matt still checks under his bed at night.”

We all laughed, but the sound was thin. The woods were too quiet, like they were holding their breath.

The night grew colder, and we huddled closer to the fire. Mia’s voice floated over the crackle of the flames as she told an old mountain story, drawing the dark in with each word. A branch snapped in the distance, sharp and sudden. Even Chris, who never flinched, went still.

“Did anyone hear that?” Sara’s voice was shaky, her eyes searching the darkness beyond the firelight.

We held our breath, listening. The silence pressed in, broken only by the crackling fire. Then, from somewhere deep in the woods, came a low, wavering cry. It sounded neither human nor animal, and it sent a chill through me.

“Coyotes?” Chris suggested, but his voice shook.

I glanced at Mia. Her usual boldness was gone, her face pale. The tarot card in her hand trembled. Chris set his marshmallow stick down, forgetting it as he stared into the dark.

“We’re probably just spooked,” I said, trying to sound confident, but the words felt weak. A cold breeze carried a sharp, metallic smell that made my skin prickle.

Matt sighed, but his usual bravado was gone. “Let’s cut the ghost stories. It’s late.”

Mia started to respond, but stopped when a new sound came from the woods—a slow shuffling, like leaves being dragged by something heavy.

“Stay here,” Matt said, standing and grabbing the flashlight. His hands shook as he clicked it on, the beam cutting through the dark and lighting up tree trunks that seemed to lean closer.

Chris stood too, his movements stiff, and reached for the axe he’d brought for chopping firewood. “Don’t go too far,” he said, trying to joke, but there was a tremor in his voice as he held the axe tightly, glancing into the shadows.

Mia’s eyes met mine, wide and scared. I realized she was whispering something—maybe a prayer. The light of Matt and Chris’s flashlight bobbed as they moved into the trees, and the darkness swallowed them up.

The fire seemed smaller now, and the dark pressed in around us. I squeezed Sara’s hand, feeling her pulse pounding as fast as mine. The silence felt heavier without Matt and Chris. Every noise made me jump—a crack of a branch, the whisper of wind through the trees.

“Matt? Chris?” Sara called, her voice barely more than a whisper. The only answer was the rustle of dry leaves.

The beam of their flashlight flickered ahead, and we saw them standing over something. Matt’s face was frozen in shock, and Chris’s mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. I stepped closer, and a terrible smell hit me. It was sweet and metallic, and it turned my stomach.

A deer lay in front of them, torn apart with cuts that were too neat to be from an animal. Blood darkened the ground, trailing into the trees as if something had dragged pieces away.

Mia made a small sound, her breath shaking. “This isn’t right,” she said, her voice tiny.

Sara turned away and gagged. I wanted to look anywhere but at the body, but I couldn’t. The cuts were deep and strange, too precise for claws, but too wild for a knife.

“We need to go,” Sara said, her voice cracking. “Now.”

Before we could move, a deep growl rolled through the trees, surrounding us. It felt like it came from everywhere. The flashlight in Matt’s hand shook, throwing shaky shadows around us.

Matt’s eyes widened, his voice barely a whisper. “What… was that?” The hair on my arms stood up. The air seemed to shift, heavy and cold. Something moved at the edge of the light—a quick blur, too fast to see.

Then Matt screamed, a sound that cut through the silence and sent my heart racing. He stumbled back, and the light caught something in the dark. It looked almost human, but wrong. The face was stretched and twisted, eyes too bright, and a wide grin full of sharp teeth, glistening red.

It disappeared as fast as it came, leaving only silence.

We stood frozen, barely breathing, eyes locked on the dark. Mia’s breaths came in short gasps.

“Go!” Chris shouted, breaking the silence. His voice was raw, jolting me into action.

Matt stumbled, clutching his bleeding leg, which was slick with blood from a deep gash. I grabbed him under the arm, half-carrying him as we rushed through the trees, branches tearing at our clothes.

The forest around us was alive with sounds—whispers that seemed to follow us, twigs snapping as though footsteps were just behind. Mia was sobbing as she stumbled ahead, with Sara pulling her along. Chris stayed at the back, gripping the axe, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Then a new sound broke through—a laugh, deep and wrong, like a chorus of tangled voices. It sent a shiver down my spine.

“Get to the car!” Chris shouted again, louder this time.

We didn’t hesitate. We bolted across the clearing, stumbling over roots and rocks, racing past the campfire toward the car parked nearby.

Matt’s leg buckled, and he groaned, his face pale as blood seeped through his jeans. “I—I can’t…” he gasped.

Without missing a beat, Sara rushed over, slipping under his other arm. Together, we dragged him forward as fast as we could, every step feeling like an eternity.

Just as we reached the car, a voice echoed from beyond the firelight. “Guys… help me.” It was Matt’s voice—but Matt was right here, leaning against us, his eyes wide with terror. The voice came again, louder and more desperate. “Guys… help me.”

Matt’s eyes widened, and he whispered, “That’s… not me.”

Then, something stepped into the firelight’s edge. It looked like Matt—but horribly wrong. Its face was stretched unnaturally, eyes glowing too brightly, and its mouth twisted into a grin that was far too wide, filled with sharp, wet teeth. The voice came again, low and mocking, “Why won’t you come help me?”

We pushed forward, practically lifting Matt into the car as he slumped into the backseat. Mia scrambled in beside him, her hands shaking as she looked back, wide-eyed and crying.

Chris stepped forward, gripping the axe, his eyes fixed on the creature. His hands trembled, but he stood his ground. The creature tilted its head, as if curious, then lunged forward with impossible speed.

Chris swung the axe, but the creature twisted aside, its limbs bending at unnatural angles that made my stomach lurch. I watched in horror as its long arm lashed out, striking Chris and sending him sprawling to the ground. The axe hit the dirt with a dull thud, and Chris let out a scream that froze me in place.

Chris’s scream cut off suddenly, replaced by a wet, awful noise. I glanced back and saw the creature crouched over him, blood gleaming in the moonlight as it lifted its head to meet my eyes.

“Get in!” Sara yelled, and I threw myself into the car. She jammed the key into the ignition, her hands shaking so badly it took a few tries before the engine finally roared to life. The headlights cut through the dark, lighting up the clearing. For one last, horrible moment, we saw it—the thing standing over Chris, blood dripping from its mouth as it watched us.

The tires spun on the loose gravel as we sped down the narrow forest trail, the path barely wide enough for the car. Branches slapped at the windows, their sharp edges scraping the glass, and the shadows of the trees seemed to lean in, closing around us. The air inside the car was filled with the sound of Mia’s sobs and Matt’s groans. He writhed in pain, his leg jerking with every bump, and I saw Sara glance at him in the rearview mirror, eyes wide and full of fear.

“Are we safe?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Before I could answer, Matt’s body tensed. He sat up suddenly, eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent scream. Dark veins spread from the wound on his leg, crawling up under his skin like black roots. Then the voice came again, but this time it was coming from Matt, twisted and broken: “Why won’t you come help me?”

He lunged at me, fingers clawing at my arm as the car swerved. The headlights swung wildly, lighting up the trees before the sound of metal tearing and wood splintering filled the air. The car flipped, and everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes, the world was a blur of pain and broken glass. The car was crumpled, steam rising from the smashed hood. Blood trickled down my face as I pulled myself out.

Mia’s body lay still nearby, eyes open and lifeless. My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to look away. Sara was gone. The car door hung open, and a trail of blood and broken branches led deep into the trees, vanishing into the darkness.

Then I heard it again—a voice that scraped across my nerves, mocking and twisted: “Why won’t you come help me?”

Fear shot through me, and my mind raced. I needed something to defend myself. My eyes landed on a long metal rod—a piece of the car’s frame that had snapped off in the crash. With shaking hands, I picked it up, its jagged edge glinting faintly in the dark, and gripped it tightly.

A sound came from the trees, closer now. My breath caught as a pale arm reached out, long and thin, fingers curling as if feeling the air. It stepped out, wearing Matt’s face stretched tight and wrong. Its eyes glowed too bright, and its grin split its face wide, tearing the skin at the corners.

It tilted its head and stepped forward, closing the space between us.

I forced myself to swing the metal rod as hard as I could. The sharp edge caught its shoulder, and a screech tore through the clearing, high and furious. The creature jerked back, eyes narrowing, its expression twisting with anger.

It shuddered, limbs twitching as if the strike had really hurt it. I didn’t wait to see what it would do next. I pushed myself up and stumbled toward the road, my legs burning with each step.

Branches grabbed at my clothes, thorns scraping my skin as I broke free from the trees. I hit the gravel road and fell, the rough surface scraping my palms. My vision swam as I struggled to get up. A sound behind me—a growl and leaves rustling—made me push myself forward.

Headlights cut through the dark, and tires screeched as a car stopped just in time. An old man jumped out, eyes wide with shock. He shouted something, but his words felt far away. I pointed to the woods, trying to speak, but only a rough gasp came out.

The man’s eyes followed my pointing finger, and I saw his face change when he spotted it—a pale, unnatural shape slipping back into the shadows. He swore, grabbed my arm, and hauled me into the car.

The engine roared as we sped down the road. I glanced back, half-expecting to see eyes glowing in the dark, but the forest was still and silent.

“Kid, what was that?” the old man asked, his voice shaking.

I couldn’t answer. The last sound I heard, carried on the wind, sent a chill down my spine: “Why won’t you come help me?”

The forest was behind us, but I knew it wasn’t really over. That night would stay with me, creeping into my thoughts. And that voice would return when the night was quiet.

I wasn’t free. Not really. And deep down, I knew I never would be.

• This story got removed from the main sub for intellectual property and plausibility or something. That got me thinking, would this story still have been removed if it wasn't set in Gotham?

• Were the familiar characters not vague enough that they could just be another crazy criminal or dark boogeyman? Except probably Maroni and Falcone, those names need changing.

• Here's the actual story.

GCPD Evidence Storage #10191985

• Recovered journal from alias Jane, a convicted bank robber. She is currently being treated at Blackgate Prison Hospital.

March 15th, 1964

• I spoke with Father Caughtree today. He says I can trust him, that he’s here to listen if I ever need someone. He gave me a candy bar—said it was because I’d been so good in church. He’s kind, though I didn’t want him to think I was needy. It’s been a long time since anyone cared like that. He even let me visit his house once. I was scared at first, but it felt safe. Father listened to me talk about my family—about how Daddy would hit me when I didn’t do things right. How he’d look at me with that mean stare and call me useless. I cried. Father didn’t judge. He just touched my face. He says God has a plan, that everything will be alright.
• I want to believe him. But sometimes… sometimes I wonder if anyone will make things alright. Maybe it’s just easier to believe in someone who promises things will get better. I feel embarrassed though. I don’t want to cry in front of him. But Father says there’s no shame in it.
• Sometimes [page torn off] and then I was crying again, I feel embarrassed but Father told me there's no need to be ashamed. [Page torn off] ever since then, Father Caughtree comes to me every Sunday after mass now... [this part of the page was burned off].

June 11th, 1964

• [Page torn off by either owner or some other circumstance] I hate you, daddy.'

December [X] [Intentionally censored by the owner]

• And Father Caughtree—where is he? Where did he go? There’s a new priest at the church now. Father Sullivan, I think his name is. It’s not the same. I don’t feel safe with him like I did with Father Caughtree. Why did he just leave? Why didn’t he say goodbye? Maybe he didn’t care after all. But it was always about me, wasn’t it? Just me. And I know that now.

January 1, 1965

• I’m starting to think I should’ve known better. Father Caughtree never came back after mass that Sunday. They said he’d gone missing. The news said they found his purple blood-soaked coat and a smiling badge. It was like he vanished into thin air. But I saw him yesterday. I felt him. I don’t know what to think anymore. Was he ever real?

October 12th, 1985

• Apparently, the owner of this bank - Mr. Maroni - was a very rich man. According to Mr. Falcone, that means a fat paycheck for me. All I need to do is get the money. Just this one job and I'll be set.
• I’ve been in this business long enough to know that “one job” doesn’t always go as planned, but I’ve learned how to stay focused. This is it. This could be my ticket out of here. The details are all laid out. The plan seems simple enough. In and out, fast. No mistakes. And then, a life of comfort waiting on the other side. No more looking over my shoulder.
• I can do this.

October 13th, 1985

• We met at the warehouse south of Gotham last night. It was a dead drop. Mr. Falcone has a contact for the job, some guy I’ve never met before.
• “New blood in the underworld,” according to Mr. Falcone. Even though this clown has been climbing the ranks as a “crime lord” for only three years, he's got his hands dirty enough to prove himself.
• But there’s something about him. Something I can’t quite place.
• His smile is… off. It’s too wide, like it doesn’t belong. Like it’s been glued on———too fake, too rehearsed. He’s younger than I expected for someone at his level, and he doesn’t act like the usual thugs we work with. But that smile… I swear I’ve seen it somewhere before. Or someone wearing it, maybe. There’s a rumor going around that he killed his old boss and wore his face like a mask to intimidate underlings who wouldn't submit. There was another story that says his "face" mask belonged to some priest. Crazy shit, right? I don’t know if I believe it, but the smile, that damn smile, keeps nagging at me.

October 14th, 1985

• I’m in the truck now, on the way to the bank. Masks—check. Guns—check. Gas—check. Everything’s set. I’ve done this before, but it never feels normal. I picked the Bat mask. It’s the only one that doesn’t look like a damn clown. Something about clowns sets me off. It’s like they’re mocking something, or maybe I’m just projecting. They remind me of my father—his twisted smile, the way he’d laugh when things went wrong. It was always a joke to him. Always funny. Even when I was crying.

October 15th, 1985

• I’m not sure how I’m still alive. Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s something worse. Pretty soon, the commissioner's men will arrive to interrogate me. I’ve been staring at these hospital walls for hours, but my brain won’t let me forget what happened at the bank.
• We were supposed to be in and out, clean and simple. But that’s not how it went down—not by a long shot. I should have known. I wrote about it—stupid, stupid, stupid.
• I thought the plan was tight. Mr. Falcone’s guy, the "new blood"—the one with the goddamn smile—was supposed to be the muscle. The enforcer. He was supposed to keep things moving fast. He had a reputation. Hell, he was supposed to be good. But the moment we stepped into that bank, I could feel something off in the air.
• I don’t know how it happened. One minute, I was bagging the cash, watching for any signs of trouble. The next, the lights went out. It was like the world dropped into darkness, and then—gunshots. Boom. Boom. Boom. The whole room shook. Screams erupted from every direction. Everyone panicked, and there were echoes of bones breaking.
• And then I saw it.
• A shadow, low and quick, darting through the chaos, heading straight for the vault. It moved with purpose, too fast to be human. The silhouette had two unmistakable, pointy ears.
• It was HIM.
• The boogeyman.
• I thought he was just some myth. A stupid story cops used to scare low-lives like me. Some tale about a masked vigilante who struck fear into criminals. I never believed it. Not until now.
• I grabbed the last of the money, stuffed it in the bag, and turned tail—ran for the exit. But my feet never hit the floor the way I thought they would. I was on the ground. I don't know why.
• I could taste blood in my mouth, feel the hot, sticky trickle from my side. I heard the gunshots too close, too real. My head spun, and the floor spun with it. The world felt like it was unraveling.
• And then… his face. That stupid Scarface-wannabe. That fucking smile, like he knew what was about to happen. He shot me. Right in the side. I wasn’t even ready for it. I didn’t hear him pull the trigger. It was like he’d been waiting for the right moment, like it was part of the plan the whole time. I don’t know why he did it, but the look in his eyes... It was like he wanted me to see it coming.
• Then, they ran away. All of them. They abandoned me. That joker shot two more of his own men before disappearing around the corner.
• I begged. "Please, don’t leave me."
• I felt pathetic.
• But the boogeyman's shadow loomed over me, cold and monstrous, as if it swallowed the light around us. I could see his eyes now.
• His eyes… They’re not human.

[The author scribbled out the rest of the journal]

Ive Been having bad dreams lately, I'm not sure if this is down to a lack of sleep due to extended travels with my work, or overall stress of my new job. But either way my days are as long as my nights. For context, about a week ago I moved out my family home and am now living alone in the city due to an incredible career opportunity at a big Tech firm as a software engineer.

I just want to point out that due to my line of work I generally have a logical way of thinking and will always jump to scientific or mathematical explanations on how something works or why something has happened. This is why I am not a believer in the paranormal, as any slammed door or weird noise will always be caused by an open window or old pipe. SO I just want to be clear I am genuinely stumped about what happened last night…

So let me begin with yesterday. A Typical work day nothing special and nothing too exciting. I just want to add, I have been working remotely for this tech firm for a while now but have recently been offered a promotion that lead to my relocation and the reason I am living alone in a small city flat. I genuinely love my flat as it not too quiet but quiet enough that I can relax after a long day of staring at a computer screen. So yesterday was normal. I woke up at around 7am, did my morning routine of brushing teeth and showing half asleep like a zombie. Then I caught the tube to work. Im not a fan of the public transport in my city as it is overcrowded, but its cheap and gets me to where I need to be so I cant complain. I arrived at work at around 8:30am and clocked in at my desk ready for my day of work. I wont go too much into my day at work as I work as I typically work with MOD restricted data, but I promise its nothing exciting. Again my lunch break was normal and the rest of my work day until I finally finished around 7pm. Arriving home at around 9pm where I would begin my side hustle (a SaaS or Software as a service business) for another 2-3 hours. I know its not a healthy day in the life, but I can get everything I need to done in one day and that helps my brain switch off in the evenings. I think the weirdest thing that happened to me yesterday was that I swear I didn’t clean up my dishes from breakfast but came home to a tidy kitchen. Im not complaining and I think my brain just was in autopilot and I must have forgotten I did it. So honestly a very typical day for me.

My bedtime routine is no more exciting as the rest of my day, as I find myself typically going to sleep around 1-2am after winding down with a quick gaming session or extended work on my side business. Now when it actually comes to getting into bed I make sure I put my phone and headphones on charge by my bedside table to make sure that there charged for a full days use the next day. I remember going to bed a lot earlier yesterday due to my added exhaustion so around Midnight i think i was in my bed with rain sounds playing form my bedside table speaker. And it was not long untill I was able to drift off to sleep.

Now this is when things get confusing and strange. I know dreams are at points random and make no sense, but this dream was different. I don’t know how to explain it, but it felt real. Everything from the way I walked in the dream to the way I ran in the dream, felt exactly as it should when walking and running in real life. And I can remember it so well, too well. As if it wasn’t a dream at all.

The dream started off in my office at my desk, where I was working on my application I have been building for the past week. It was pitch-black outside as my normal work day is in the due to the sun now setting at around 4pm. And I vividly remember the clock on my pc saying 6:30pm so everything was very accurate. I was bug fixing for what was another 30mins at my desk, Which again was very weird as this felt like a full 30mins of work and the clock accurately changed as I kept checking it every 5-10 mins. I remember thinking that this wasn’t a dream and then for some reason I proceeded to rest my head on my desk and “fall asleep” for a second time. Now this is where I had an actual dream, a random assortment of moments and events that really made no sense what so ever. I think I remember flying a plane and then crashing it into the water, only to end up back at my flat watching tv with a bunch of strangers.

I suddenly woke up startled and scared for reasons I couldn’t explain, only to be right back at my desk where I initially drifted off. I was now alone in my office and the only light was the light form my screen saver that had been idle for a while now. Im back in this weird state of what seemed like reality.  Any little movement I would make felt so real, and this crippling fear, no terror was hung over my back. It felt like someone was right behind me, waiting for me to turn around. I felt my hairs standing up on the back of my neck and my heart pounding. I have never felt this kind of fear in my life. I remember getting ready to jump up over my desk and bolt to the lift of my 23^(rd) floor apartment block when I suddenly heard a short buzzing noise directly in front of me on my desk. It was my phone… It buzzed another 10 times as if it was being rang, but the screen was not on, nor was it flashing like it would normally do if it was being rung. It took me about another 5 buzzes before I reached down for my phone, The minute my hand touched the phone the buzzing stopped. Silence, The humming of the building stopped. But there was still a retched weight of dread hanging on my shoulders, screaming at me to run, keep running and don’t look back. Keep running or my life would be over, that’s all I felt.. But my body reacted differently, my muscles were calm and relaxed, I was almost unable to move from fear but any movement I actually made was free and easy.

I suddenly had an idea. I was going to use my phone camera to see what was behind me. What this lingering fear was, that was now eating away at my sanity. I swiftly reached down to my phone were it was already on my camera app facing my desk. And I stopped. I was fighting my body now not to lift the phone as I knew what was waiting behind me was something I didn’t want to perceive. I now felt like I was about to die, as my hand blissfully raised and raised. Just as I was about to see what was lingering behind me, the flash on my phone went off and I quickly squeezed my eyes shut. And then nothing … No more dread, no more fear, no more anything. And I woke up…

The relief was like nothing I've ever felt before. It was all just a dream, a stupid nightmare, caulked down to my lack of sleep and stupidly imaginative brain, torturing me, teaching me a lesson on why I shouldn’t stay up late and why I should look after my body. Don’t get me wrong I still felt uneasy, but nothing more than the unease you feel from awaking from a nightmare. And then I though about my phone. Stupidly picked it up to see what It taken a photo of in my dream, knowing it would just be the last image I had taken. Probably the picture of the 2024 v8 mustang that I walked past in my works car park form the day before. The minute I opened my phone I paused, as if my body was telling me not to look at my photos, as if to stop me while I could and keep my mind at piece. But I knew it had been a dream. I clicked photos on my home screen..

The dread was back, is still weighing my shoulders down as I write this. I'm scared, confused, terrified. I called in sick today as I haven't even left my bed. My back is pressed against the wall as I refuse to get up or even look behind me. I feel like I'm still in that dream, my skin doesn’t feel as real as it was then, my hair doesn’t feel like mine. I am genuinely scared of what all of this means. My brain cant logically make sense of this. There was a new photo in my phone, I will have the picture at the bottom of this post for context. I very quickly checked the metadata of the picture to see, and to my shock it was taken at 7pm yesterday at the exact same location as my office building that I work at. For security reasons I have left the metadata out of the post. I cant explin what is in my phone. And this is driving me crazy, I was hoping that writing this would help me understand better, maybe there is a simple explination. There is no was I would have taken this picture yesterday as I was at my desk. In an office of around 50 people. There is no way. Please can someone help me make sense of this? I am genuinely scared of what may happen if I go back into work.

picture taken on my phone: https://imgur.com/PTcbybd

The picture is of dimly lit office cubicles with a dark mysterious figure leaning over the farthest cubicle in view. Only the top of the figure can be seen. I still have no idea how to explain how this photo has been taken, and what it all means...

I feel like I need to explain the title more, but I just can’t. It’s obvious none of you could offer any help unless y’all know what’s going on, so I’ll do the second best and tell you what’s bringing me here.

I’ve lived on a little farm in rural Peatskirk, Tennessee my entire life. The woods of the Cumberland gap have been my home for just under 3 decades and I’ve seen all they have to offer. All this is to say I’ve grown used to the usual scares the Appalacians can hold. The occasional spookum was common, but that's something you just adapt to out here. Sometimes things would get a little wild and a family would go missing, just up and gone one day. However, not once has anything like this happened here.

Now, I have no real idea when it started but I do remember when I first noticed it. My wife, Rachel, was set out to make the drive back into town. It’s not something either of us do often, as the 6 hour round trip is usually not worth whatever we're looking for. But the holidays were coming up and my Rachel said she wanted to grab me something extra special. Something she had ordered weeks ago to the post office in town. So, seeing as it was a gift for me, I was not allowed to join her. 

Sure, spending the day on our lonely little plot o’ land without her wouldn’t be the best, but I understood why it had to happen. Besides, leaving the farm alone for so long wouldn’t have been too wise. Cougars are common and wolves are commoner. There’s got to be someone there to protect them, and if I went off with her they’d be left to themselves. Well, themselves and Rudy- but he’s not much a match to any big cat. He does well enough guarding them, but only if there’s someone else around to take care of whatever he’s too scared to. All by himself, he’s just as good as the sheep we got him to protect. Which is to say he’s every bit a guard dog as I am a navy seal.

So I didn’t put up a fuss when she left. Hugs, kisses, sweet words… and she was off. She was supposed to be back within the day, but I made sure she packed a little extra money just in case it got dark before she could make it back. She always did have an issue keeping track of herself, so I made sure she had a backup plan if she needed to stay in town for the night. That’s why I wasn’t too panicked when she didn’t show up that night. With Rachel out, I let Rudy inside to keep me company. He seemed to get pretty shaken up a little after  she left, and I just thought it was because his momma was out. If I was being honest, I was inviting him up for more my sake than his. It had been years since I was alone on the farm, and it was getting to me. It was new for the both of us, but at least we still had each other. 

It had gotten dark fast that night. Thick clouds had blotted out the sun just an hour after she took off. It seemed like the farm itself was mourning her. Funny, I was thinking when I went to bed that night. I patted the bed at my side for Rudy to jump up with me, a rare treat for a farm dog. The dread I didn’t even realize I was feeling very quickly deepened when he refused my offer. Rudy just wouldn’t settle, pacing around the room while he whined out. I told him it was ok, and that momma would be back tomorrow, but something just felt wrong. It was like acknowledging the fear we were both feeling made it real. 

I couldn’t sleep that night myself either. Eventually I gave up trying, knowing after the third hour of laying in the pitch black that sleep was not going to come. So I got up to take Rudy outside, thinking we could both use a little fresh air. I thought it would make us both feel a little better. He even seemed to perk up when I got up, licking at his lips in that impatient way all dogs do when they’re restless. However, as I went to open the door, he very quickly rounded my legs and shoved me backwards. I’d seen him do that once or twice before when a lamb got too close to the woods, but never had he done that to me. That confused me to silence for a few minutes, and all I could do was stare down at Rudy. I guess that’s when I noticed he was shaking.

I must have just missed it before, and I almost did in the moment, but the little jingle of his collar had caught my attention. Poor thing was trembling like a leaf in a storm. I kept my eyes on him, on his, as I tried to step over him. Not once had he ever bitten me, not even as a pup, but he got damn close when I swung my leg up. He didn’t actually bite down, but he growled as he grabbed me by the calf. 

It was obvious he had seen it before me. He had dropped me on my ass before I could react, for my own good. I was about to step out there with that thing and I didn’t even realize it. It caught my eye once I had recovered, the shout dying in my throat. The sound of his soft growling was very quickly drowned out by the sudden rush of blood in my ears. 

There was a buck standing just at the edge of the property facing the house. We don’t get elk in Tennessee, but that’s the only thing I think it could have been. It was at least 7 feet at the shoulder, well clearing the fence it stood behind. The damn thing could have stepped over it without even thinking. Now, I’d describe that thing more, but I can’t remember what it looked like. There’s just a black pit in my mind when I try to remember it that night. The only reason I’m calling it an elk is because I’ve seen it since and that’s sorta what it looks like now.  But it didn’t that night. 

I don’t know how long I sat there staring at it, but the sun was peeking over the hills when it finally slinked backwards into the woods. It didn’t move like any deer I’d ever seen, but it was still dark so I pushed that observation far and deep. Trick of the light. Rudy was still at my side, turned away with his head tucked behind me so his head was hidden from the door. It felt like no time at all had passed which I finally came to. My muscles ached to high heaven and it felt like I’d been kicked in the head by one of the Heifers. It seemed I had had a nosebleed at some point in the night, the blood already cooled and crusted down my chest.

That was some time ago. It’s been back every night since, that I’m sure of. What I’m not sure of though, is how many nights that is exactly. The past few- what? Days, weeks? Months? It scared me to say I don’t know for sure, but they’ve been a blur. The events of tonight are what broke me out of that haze. It started speaking today. My heart nearly jumped from my chest the second I heard Rachel’s voice. It felt like I had been snapped out of a fugue state I didn’t even know I was in. Rachel. I had forgotten about Rachel. My wife of 6 years and I had forgotten she even existed. She was supposed to be back today- or… no, not today. She was supposed to be back a while ago. And, for a moment, I thought she was. 

“... love you.”

I didn’t register just how odd that was, nor did I realize the fact that it had come from the woods until I was racing to the door. Rudy couldn’t stop me that time, though I did hear him skitter behind me as I jumped up. He had been growling for a few minutes by then, so he must have heard it too.  The sun was setting, so I thought the bright lights shining against the front of the house were just the car’s headlights. But there was no car. And there was no Rachel.The chill that froze me in place was the first sign that I had just made a horrible mistake. I could hardly see anything past the beautifully bright light that shined out from the woods. The smell was the second sign. The deep, sweet scent could have strangled me. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see… but I could hear. And I could hear her calling out to me again and again.

“.... love you….. love you…..”

Is it bad that, for just a moment, I let that thing comfort me? I hadn’t heard my Rachel’s voice in what felt like forever, and if it wasn’t for Rudy nipping at my hand I think I would have just let it take me. I hadn’t even noticed I was walking until I was being pulled back. I wish I didn’t look at it. I wish it took my memory this time like it had last time. But it didn’t. Though it was just a glance, what little I saw is burned into my mind. I cannot find the words to describe how beautiful it was. The endless swirl of impossible colors and ever-trailing shapes burned my eyes. It was almost like a fractal, how you could follow each strand of fur for minutes. Rudy had to drag me back inside, and the moment the thing left my sight it vanished. Now, the more I think about it the more I believe that it is my wife. It has to be her. That has to be my gift.

Forgive me, I’m not too familiar with this platform but I need someone to acknowledge what I’ve been through. I feel like I’m going crazy out here all on my own. Has anyone else experienced this before? I’ve heard stories of skinwalkers and crap like that, but that is not what this is. There has to be some rational explanation for what’s going on, and I need someone to help me get to it. At this point I’m hoping it’s just a gas leak or something like that. I hope I’m just going crazy and I’ll wake up in a padded cell somewhere one of these days. Has anyone else’s wife turned into a… deer? How can I help her with this change? Please, I just need answers.

My name is Jenna. Me and my friends, Taylor, Anne, and Mandy love watching those ghost-hunter type shows where they explore abandoned places and haunted landmarks and things like that. Recently, there was an episode on our favorite show, where they explored an abandoned asylum in our town, Mayland. We all decided not to watch the episode, and instead explore the asylum ourselves this coming Halloween, in 2 days.

After coming home from Taylor’s house that day, I immediately started regretting my decisions. I didn’t think I was ready to experience this from the other side of the TV. The day we were supposed to leave for the asylum, I had told my sister that if I didn’t return home by 9:00 PM, to call the police and send them to the asylum. She tried to stop me before I left, but I assured her that I would be fine. I wasn’t even sure of that myself.

I gathered my things. I brought a tiny pocket knife, a padlock, flashlight, and a Bible. I didn’t think to bring any ghost-detection materials because I assumed someone else in the group would do so. I told my mother I was going to Anne’s house for a Halloween party. She was the only friend in the group my mother trusted, so she let me go.

We all gathered at Mandy’s house beforehand. The girls were making jokes, and laughing about the whole experience, like we were going to some sort of amusement park. The only person who’s discomfort I could see was Taylor’s. She sat in the kitchen with tears in her eyes. I asked her why she was upset. She said that it was no big deal and that she would just suck it up for the girls. Taylor was the one driving us, and I was sitting in the backseat with Mandy. The asylum was nowhere near the house, it was about a 45 minute drive. We could see the asylum immediately. It was a giant building with almost zero windows.

Mandy asked us, “Should we really be doing this?” Nobody replied. “I’m… you know… I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Taylor said, trying to play it cool. We all looked at each other and decided to do it. This was really happening.

The door was a little rusty, but the facilities inside didn’t look completely horrible. There was rust on some parts of the iron gates that covered the cells. Some broken tiles and dirt in some places, but it wasn’t as bad as we thought. The one thing we almost couldn’t handle was the smell. It was the most vile thing we had ever smelled. Disgusting. It smelled like… rotting corpses. Unironically…

We put on face masks that Mandy brought with her. Taylor called out, “Hello? Is anybody here?” She held out an EMF meter and waved it around. I held my breath. It remained in the shades of green, indicating that there probably weren’t very many ghosts around us. Thank God. She continued to hold it in front of her as we walked from the reception to the main hallway. It continued to flash light green, close to yellow, but not yet there. By this point we were all huddled up while walking and holding hands and locking arms, all of that. Suddenly, we heard a beep from the EMF meter.

Yellow. It had flashed yellow. Anne let out a little yelp as Taylor called out again, “Is anybody here?” Tears began to pool in my eyes. It flashed green again. Taylor pulled out her next ghost-hunting device thing. It was a spirit box. She whispered, “Are there any ghosts here?” 

There was no reply. Just static. Sometimes it got louder, sometimes it got softer. But it was still just static. It was driving us crazy. Taylor got annoyed with the lack of response, so she yelled, “IS ANYBODY HERE?!” and held the spirit box up to her ear. The static suddenly got louder, as if it boomed, and Taylor dropped the spirit box in pain as she fell to the floor.

We rushed to her and tried to pick her up from the floor, as she held her ear in pain. We decided to stop the “ghost hunt” and instead, just explore the asylum as it is. She still held out the EMF reader, though. It remained green/light yellow the entire time, until we reached this giant hall, full of cells. It began to flash dark orange, the second highest level. We all looked at each other, before proceeding to the giant hall.

We explored the first floor of the hall, and nothing really disturbed us. We split up after that. Taylor and Mandy explored the right side of the second floor, and Anne and I explored the right side of the second floor. Everything was fine until we heard a scream from Taylor and Mandy’s side. I looked behind me, and there I found Taylor and Mandy, practically glued to each other, in front of an old man. An old man in cell 24.

Anne and I rushed to Taylor and Mandy, still standing there in shock. The man looked at us. “Are you lot the newest patients? What are those uniforms?” he asked. We didn’t know how to reply to that. “What do you mean patients? What are you even doing here? I thought they evacuated all the patients.” Mandy managed to mutter. He scratched his head, then walked towards us. We shuffled backwards a bit, but we were too curious about his story. “I believe they are still here. I feel it. They are my family,” he said.

It sent a shiver down our spines. We looked around us. Every cell was empty except for this one. He walked away after that, just wandering into the halls. He looked like he knew where he was going, so we didn’t stop him. We just watched him slowly walk out of the hall, the look of pure horror still etched into our faces. We walked into his cell. Cell 24. There was a shabby little bed, a table, and a chair beside it. It was like a prison cell. Not to mention, that “rotting corpse” stench began getting stronger. It was disgusting. There was also a tiny end table beside the bed. We opened the first drawer. Nothing. We opened the second drawer. There we found a tidy little blue journal. It was made of leather. We opened it, and there we found some sort of diary-journal, assumed to be owned by that old man. He had jotted down things like what he had for breakfast, or cell-mates he didn’t like. There were a lot of them. Then we reached the last page. At least, the last page with writing on it.

It was the same phrase written about 3 times. “...burning in the basement, burning in the basement, BURN THEM IN THE BASEMENT” The last phrase was written in capital letters. Mandy dropped the journal and started crying. We were mortified. What did it mean? The man was already too far away to hear our screams, so we cried all we wanted. What the heck? What was burning in the basement. We all looked up in realization. The rotting corpse smell… was indeed coming… from the basement. We all hid behind Taylor, walking towards the basement door. She was the only person with any sliver of courage left in her. The smell was getting stronger and stronger, we knew it was coming from the basement. “3. 2. 1,” we opened the door.

It was pitch black, until someone opened the light switch. The four of us looked at each other. We were all holding hands. Whatever opened the light switch, was in the basement itself.

We looked down, and were mortified. Wouldn’t you be too if you found 45 asylum patients, faces all pale, looking like zombies, staring directly at you? Well, other than 2 of them. Those 2 were eating away at a fellow patient’s corpse. I suppose they had been locked down there for a while. We screamed in terror. That’s when one of them whispered something to another patient, and they whispered it to someone else, until they collectively screamed, “YOU’RE WITH CLIFFORD! YOU WERE WITH HIM!” in a chant-like tone. They continued screaming it, as they sniffed and made sniffing motions from afar, as if they were dogs. Taylor mentioned that they were talking about the old man we had found in cell 24. We all screamed from the top of our lungs, and hid in a cell, where they couldn’t find us.

We were all screaming and crying except for Anne. She kept a straight face and stared at Taylor, as if she wanted to murder her. Nobody had enough energy to speak, so Anne spoke. “Taylor. How did you know where the basement was?” she said as we looked at her, as her crying and gasping for air, turned into one dark smirk, her eyes staring right back at Anne, until she spoke softly, “I watched the episode. I’m only getting out of here if everybody else dies.” We screamed. Loud enough for the other “zombie patients” to hear us.

Taylor ran out of the cell, locking us into the it, as those “zombie patients” rushed towards us. Banging on the rusty iron bars. We all hid behind Taylor when we walked towards the basement. She was leading us to most of the places. She was the one who mentioned that the man from cell 24 was Clifford. We realized it too late. Taylor had already escaped. I had mentioned previously that there were almost zero windows. Almost. One of the few windows was in Clifford’s cell, the one we were currently in. We looked back at the patients banging on the iron bars. They would give way soon. We didn’t know what the patients would do if they got in. All 45 of them.

We looked out of the window, to see Clifford, holding a lighter, smirking, as he mouthed, “Thank you,” then proceeded to shout “THOSE IN THE BUILDING MUST BURN” 3 times, before tossing the lighter towards the gasoline he had poured onto the wall. The building was on fire. We were trapped. Anne was the only one who brought a watch, and so I asked her. “What time is it?” desperately hoping, just hoping that it would be what I was thinking. She replied, “just above 9 PM.” I started bursting into tears. It was 9:05 PM. The same time I had told my sister to call the police if I wasn’t home yet. The last thing we did was wait until they arrived, hoping my sister remembered. She did. We heard the sirens wailing in the distance, but the patients were about to break in. We propped the bed vertically onto the gates, then proceeded to build the barricade with the table, chair, and end table, proving to be effective, even if just for a while. We screamed for the police out the windows, hoping they could hear it over the roaring flames of the burning building.

We heard spraying water, then saw people dressed in red hard hats and firemen uniforms. Someone must have reported the fire as well. “Just a little longer. It has to last a little longer,” Mandy yelped, as the patients were trying to push through the barricade. We waved to the firemen, waiting to be saved. They noticed us. The police were able to break through the lock Taylor placed in the entrance. I suppose they heard either the screaming of us 3 teenage girls, or the screaming of the 45 crazies trying to break into a cell. Either way, it was enough to alert them of our location. I clutched my Bible as the barricade began to give way, just as the police arrived, with their guns, enough to scare the patients away. We screamed and waved our arms, waiting to be saved, as the officers broke through the iron bars, and brought us out. Thankfully, the smoke from the fire earlier was blocked by the face masks we were still wearing.

The patients snarled at us, while backed into a corner by the policemen holding guns up. We were saved. Finally. The one thing that continued to disturb us was that they never found Clifford. Or Taylor. We can only assume what happened to them.

I hugged my sister as I reached home, thanking her for saving my life. My parents lectured me about lying to them and doing stupid things like that. For the first time, like ever, I appreciated that lecture. Eventually, they burst into tears and we all hugged for what felt like forever. I needed that. My parents called my friends’ parents to ensure that the other girls were ok. They were. Except for Taylors' parents, or Taylor, wherever she was. Anyways, things like that, I’d rather not ask.

I haven't slept in 2 days. I can't. I haven't been able to get rid of it. I need help. Any help.

It started a week ago. My job at the factory is boring. So unbelievably boring. But it has its benefits. It's easy work, I won't say it's terribly important but it's easy. And I don't get interrupted often. So I listen to music. Or audiobooks. Or anything really. Just something you pass the monotony of the day until the end of my shift. My old headphones, reliable as they were, finally gave out on me. So I finally bit the bullet on a new pair. It's where the issues started.

I did my usual that day. Clocked in, sat down along a long production line, put the headphones on, and fiddled the day away. About 2 hours into my shift I heard the faintest knocking sound. I don't how long it had been there. It must have blended in with the music but I couldn't unhear it now. I paused the music but the knocking persisted. "Must be something wrong with one of the machine belts" I thought as I took the headphones off. But the sound disappeared.

I looked around carefully and listened but outside the quiet hum of the machines it was silent. Until the headphones went back on. Then a gentle distant knocking continued. I tried to turn up the music and to my surprise, the knocking didn't get any louder. I shook it off as a weird quirk of the headphones and got back to work. The rest of my day was like every other.

The next day at work started just the same and just as yesterday my headphones started to knock. Only this time, it was louder. It wasn't loud per say but even at louder volumes it could still be heard just barely under the blaring tones of my music. At lunch I asked a coworker from a different building if she could help me. She was in charge of some of the maintenance at the factory and I figured if I could get a quick answer, she would find it.

"Hey, Brianne, you got a second? I have a tech question."

Brianne gave me a half smile. "You're lucky you don't bug me often or I'm going to charge you next time. What's up?"

I took my headphones off from around my neck. I got these 2 days ago. New model. There's an odd knocking sound that doesn't seem related to the volume, any thoughts?"

She took them from me. "Couldn't be a normal problem could it?" She took the headphones for a beat and listened. "How often is it happening?"

"All the time"

She handed them back. "Well then I fixed it because it's not there now"

"Really? Thank yo-" I stopped as the headphones went back on. "Very funny. It's still there."

She snatched them back and put them on " Dude I'm telling you it's not there. Now I'm going to eat my food. Here, take them back but I'm not messing with you, it's silent when I listen."

I go back to lunch and try and listen to an audio book but that knocking really disrupts the flow of things. So off they stay for the rest of the day. I get off work and go to the store where I bought them. I politely ask for a replacement pair and although the clerk didn't hear an issue either, he didn't see anything wrong with the return. He stowed the pair I had and handed me a sealed box and I went on my way. I opened them at home and put them on..... And the knock returned. It grew louder than earlier and had a new feeling behind it. One of urgency. I threw the headphones off and dug in my drawers. I found an old pair of ear buds. It's the kind that frays internally after a while and unless you play Cat's Cradle with the cord, never plays out of both ears. But I needed something else.

And that's when I heard it again. Knocking. Knocking. Endless, God damn, knocking. And a voice. Soft. Child like. As quiet as the knocking when it first started. And only four words.

"Can I come in?"

I threw the buds across the room and they lied there. Inanimate and uncaring and I caught my breath. It was ridiculous right? How could a voice call to me from there? I checked my phone and had no one on a call. I walked to the door and no one was there. Probably some girl who got the houses mixed up and left. But I wouldn't pick up the ear buds and head phones again. I went to sleep. I dreamt of little things. I was a hero for a brief moment. A student forgetting a test the next. And then, I stood in front of a door way.

It was an older door. It didn't feel ancient and not even necessarily out of place or time but it was worn. Paint chipped at its edges, the hinge was rusted in places but it looked solid in construction and a beautiful shade of red. On the other side, a knock. Steady, rhythmic, growing ever louder. The door appeared to grow more near despite my feet feeling glued to the floor in this space, like the floor was contracting beneath me.

My hand moved. I watched it leave my side and drift towards the door in a motion I did not command. The knocking continued, louder and louder. It was deafening. My hand touched the door and I heard the voice.

"Stop." The voice said. The same small, young, feminine voice as before. "I'm not alone."

I awoke in a start, sweat covering my body. It was only 1:35 in the morning. I could feel my heart racing, beating in my ears. Only, it wasn't my heart. It was the knocking.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

I couldn't sleep the rest of the night. It was all I could do to drown out the incessant knocking. Fortunately it was Saturday and I didn't have to explain this to my coworkers but I didn't know what to do. I couldn't find a source. I tore clocks off the wall. I turned off every electronic. I ripped up floorboards praying this was some perverse Edgar Allen Poe joke but it didn't matter. Whether I was at home. Whether I was outside. Whether I had something in my ears or not the knocking persisted.

"PLEASE STOP KNOCKING! I begged to no one and cradled my head in my hands trying desperately to block the noise from within. And I heard it again.

"Can I come in?"

She sounded clearer than last time, closer. And scared. I closed my eyes and I took a breath "If I say yes, do you stop knocking?"

"Yes I promise."

"You can come in." And almost before the last word left my mouth I was met with blissful deafening silence. I cried. Tears of joy that my mind was mine again. Never again would I complain about the peace of quiet.

"Thank you"

Dread filled my body all at once at the voice that was not mine. Her voice filled my mind, like the voice that reads out your thoughts had changed. It was still sweet and young, there was no malice in it. But it didn't belong there.

"Why?" I asked "Why can I still here you?"

"Because you let me in. You let me leave that place."

"What place? What are you talking about?"

"The place beyond the door."

And it started again. Far too soon it started again. That fucking knocking.

"No. NO! YOU said you would STOP THIS! WHY DO YOU KEEP KNOCKING?"

Her voice was subdued. Terrified. "I'm not."

"I told you I wasn't alone."

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

"You can't open the door again."

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

"No matter how long. No matter how loud."

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

"You can't answer him."

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

A voice I hadn't heard before came in from a distance away. From a direction I could not trace. From every direction and from no where. It was confident. It was curious. It held a weight, even while quiet, like malice manifest. I felt it smile behind its breath as it spoke.

"Can I come in?"

Hello! As the title suggests, my name is Aziza. I am told it is a Welsh name but, an uncommon Welsh name at that. I found this device I learned was called a laptop recently on my doorstep, I do not know who could have left it here, however it had no malicious aura surrounding it, thus I decided to use it. Apologies if my writing is not good, I cannot remember the last time I wrote for an audience like this. I also managed to get a Wi-Fi signal all the way out here, though I am unsure of its source. I think I am 328 Years old, my mother told me the charm I wear around my neck is what prolongs my life. I am here because I don't want to feel alone in the situation, I find myself in.  

I live alone in a cabin, though the location is unknown to me, I am surrounded by woodlands as far as I can see, I once went on top of my roof to see if I could find anything, but it was woods as far as I could see. Enough about me, let us move to the issue at hand. 

Every night, on a full moon, I see the beast. Most days I can only see its eyes, two beady white orbs that peer at my cabin from the tree line. It speaks to me, no matter where in my home I hide, I can hear it, it speaks with my mother's voice. I would have fallen for it many moons ago, but no, not anymore. She died when I was just 12 years old. It tries to get me to leave my home, to join it in the woods, I know it lies.  

I saw it only once in its entirety. When it nearly tricked me into joining it. Its face had no skin, it was the skull of a deer. Its body looked human, emaciated and gangly, it has some form of cloth around its groin region, its feet and hands extend into claws. Its razor-sharp teeth and clawed appendages are stained with gore, blood and viscera. It says it can take me away from here, make me useful, make me whole. 

I did my research through mother's books, no monsters of mythos match whatever it is, Wendigos copy flesh, and I would not want to meet whoever it once was. No societies mythos matches it, not the Greeks, not the Romans, not even the Celtics. It's a devil. Truly, Completely, and Wholly. It had a name carved into its back I saw, “Perseus”, the name of a Greek Hero but, aside from name they bear no resemblance. I do not know why it cannot come into the clearing where my cabin rests. Or what it means by making me useful. I am not scared, I am simply wanting to know I am not alone, or that I am not crazy for this. Many thanks if you decided to be kind and read this entire thing, apologies for the rambling, it has been many moons since I was able to write something another person would see. 

Thank you again, and to those of you who may have a devil near your domicile, you have my sympathies and my kindness. 

Post removed on r/nosleep due to corroboration/proof rule

He died a little over a year ago when a blood clot made its way from his leg up to his heart. I was working overseas in the military at the time, but I was still able to make it to his funeral. My dad was a very loved man by more than just our family, and I can’t even count the number of times I said “thank you for coming” or “yeah it doesn’t even feel real.” The thing is, it really didn’t. It still doesn’t.

I remember getting the call from my mom when it happened, and even the way she broke the news to me made me feel like she didn’t even think it actually happened. She just spoke to me in the same tone she uses when we call to talk about our days. Having been overseas for about two years at this point, I usually tried to call her or my dad at least once a week if I could, but I found it to be easier to call my mom because she had a more consistent schedule. It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to my dad, I just didn’t know when I’d be able to, so I’d usually just settle with a text from time to time. Hell, the last time I spoke to him over the phone was on father’s day, but the conversation slowly went from “happy father’s day” to him complaining about how much he works.

“It just feels like I never have free time anymore”

“Yeah, I feel that”

I really didn’t. Ever since I joined, I had more free time on my hands than I knew what to do with, but up until then I was in the same boat. I’ve been working since I was 13, and played sports in college while also having a job to pay tuition, and even after college I worked 2 jobs just to pay bills. That’s part of the reason why I joined, but now it almost made me feel guilty knowing that I had all this free time while he had to continue working 2 jobs into his mid-50s just to hope for a retirement.

“When are you coming home?”

“I’m hoping in September if things go well on my end.”

“That’ll be nice. I’m proud of you son. I miss you. Gotta go, this order’s finally ready. Love you.”

“Love you too dad.”

Those were the last words we ever said to each other. At least, while he was alive.

The night before he died, I called my mom to check in and see how she was doing and get my weekly update on what’s going on back home.

“Your dad tripped up the stairs on his way in last night. They just got done redoing the porch and one of the steps is a little taller than the other ones, and he isn’t quite used to it yet. He’s been sleeping on the chair in the living room because it hurts too much for him to go upstairs. You should call him, I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow, I’m getting ready to go out to a friend’s house for a little get-together.”

“Okay, be safe. Love you.”

“I will. Love you too.”

The next morning I was in the gym when I got a text from my mom saying, “Are you busy?”

This is code for “can I call you” which is normally fine, but it was only 6am where she is, and I usually don’t call her until later at night because of the time difference.

I told her I was busy, but I’d call her in a little bit. I’m not sure if it was divine intervention or what, but after I was done warming up, every machine that I wanted to use was taken, so I gave her a call back to see what was going on. Like I said before, the way she was talking to me made it seem like he took a trip to the hospital and she was on her way to pick him up to go home, but that wasn’t the case at all.

“But I’m coming home in September” I said, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice.

“I know, I’m sorry. We were really looking forward to seeing you too.”

The next several minutes were spent by me bawling my eyes out on the floor of the warmup room in the gym. Thankfully, only one other person was there to see it.

After regaining my composure, I made some phone calls and got on a plane to come home 3 months early. Luckily, being in the military allowed me to get a last minute plane ticket for free due to my circumstances, which I’m forever grateful for.

It was weird though. The whole time I was home, I felt like I was playing pretend. Like I was acting the part of a kid who lost his dad way before he expected to. I was sad, yes, but even when I was at his funeral I never actually cried or really showed any emotion. I just stood there while countless people came in and told me they were sorry for my loss or told me their favorite memories of him.

The following week was spent by me going out and catching up with old friends that I hadn’t seen since I left, and they all said the same things I had already heard hundreds of times, which just added to me feeling like I should feel worse about the whole thing.

When my time was up, I flew back to Europe and went back to work and it was almost like it never even happened. A few months went by and I wound up back in the states for a class, and that’s when they started.

Now, I’ve had problems with sleeping my whole life. I dealt with night terrors fairly consistently, with the occasional sleep paralysis episode, but I’d never talk in my sleep or sleepwalk. I wouldn’t even remember most of my dreams after a few hours usually.

The first time I saw him, I was standing in the middle of a store picking up snacks for work when he walked through the front door, walked up to me, hugged me and said “It’ll be alright son. I love you and I miss you.”

The timing on it was insane, because I had just recently gotten ghosted by “the one” and I was starting to spiral. I just woke up in tears but I actually felt like he hugged me and I genuinely felt comforted.

Anyway, the next one I remember was a couple weeks later. I was sitting in my living room, talking to my mom about something she heard on the news and asked if I knew anything about it. I told her no and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to talk about it. Then, out of nowhere, my dad walked in the front door and just sat down in the chair beside me.

“D-dad..?”

“Hey son, how’ve you been?”

“Aren’t you.. Didn’t you.. How are you here?”

“Oh, they found this new procedure that brought me back to life. Pretty cool huh”

“Yeah, but are you actually-”

“Here? Yes.”

He loved finishing my sentences, but I found it annoying.

We ended up talking about how work was going, what I’ve been up to and how I had been feeling for the past few months. I told him work was okay, told him about my new gym routine and that I missed him.

“It’s okay son, I’m still here.” and he got up and hugged me and I once again woke up in tears, this time hugging a pillow.

Like I said, I usually don’t sleep talk, and whenever I do communicate in my dreams, it feels the same as when I try punching someone in a dream - like I’m in a straight jacket and have zero arm strength. I don’t even usually hear what other people say, I just understand them because it’s a dream or whatever. But this conversation I had with my dad felt the exact same as if he and I were actually talking to each other. We both made clear, coherent sentences. I could see the different expressions on his face and he was even wearing the same Cubs hat he always wore to cover up his bald spot. It was by far the most realistic dream I had ever had, which is what made me so confused when I woke up.

A few more weeks passed, and during that time I was hoping he’d appear in my dreams again, but he never did. Eventually I forgot about it ever happening, and that’s when he showed up again.

But this time it was different.

My dad and I used to work at the same restaurant when I was in school and that’s where we were. It was a typical busy night which meant that he was in an irritable mood as the orders just kept coming back one after another, seemingly endlessly. I had just started working as a prep cook, and he was the main cook which meant he needed me to make sure the plates were ready to go by the time the food was ready so he could get it out to the customers, but I was falling behind.

“SkittleSac, hurry the fuck up!”

This caught me off guard because he didn’t ever talk to me like that. Not even when he was really pissed off.

“I’m trying dad”

“Well fuckin try harder. You’re holding up the line.”

and then, when I went to move a plate from one counter to another, we ran into each other and I dropped the plate on his foot.

“AH, WHAT THE FUCK”

And he threw a right hook so hard I woke up jumping out of my bed, followed by tears.

That was probably one of the scariest dreams I’ve ever had. Not because some monster was chasing me with a knife or a demon was squatting in the corner of my room while I couldn’t move, but because everything about that dream felt real. The restaurant was laid out the exact same way as I remembered, even down to the plates and how I arranged the topping bins. My dad was in his typical work attire and even some of my old co-workers were there as well. I could smell the food and hear the sound of fried food gurgling in oil and burgers sizzling on the grill. It was like I was actually there, but I have never had an interaction with my dad like that. Sure, sometimes when it was busy he’d start cussing up a storm “damn this, and fuck that” but it never got violent, let alone against me. I was usually the one to calm him down and he told me several times that if I wasn’t there, he wasn’t sure how he would’ve gotten through the night, even if I was the one holding us up while I learned the new position.

I actually stayed up in bed the next night wondering if I was just digging up some repressed memories or feelings, but I couldn’t think of anything, and when I finally fell asleep, I just had another regular, forgettable dream. Once again, I eventually chalked it up to not being a big deal and moved on from that night.

Then about a month later, I had another dream.

Living in Europe has it’s perks. While I don’t like how far away from home I am, I do understand and appreciate the opportunity I’ve been given to go places and see things that many people only wish they’d be able to see and do.

I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights, and I was planning a trip to be able to see them since this year was supposed to have the perfect solar conditions to do so. I was up in the Arctic Circle, traveling alone since I couldn’t convince any of my friends to go with me. It was absolutely incredible. I grew up in the midwest, so I was fascinated by the vast mountain ranges and the beautiful blue lakes that looked like mirrors reflecting the small villages and boats that were sailing across them.

I was on an overnight excursion with a small group that were mostly couples with a few other solo travelers. We got pulled on sleds by reindeer and spent the night telling stories by a fire while one of our guides taught us how to throw a lasso at a pair of practice antlers. Eventually it got dark enough for us to start seeing the lights and everyone started taking out their phones to take pictures and after a while we all got in our tents to go to bed. As per usual, I didn’t fall asleep right away so I just laid in bed looking at the pictures I took when I started hearing some rustling outside. I figured it was one of the other travelers and continued swiping through my phone when I heard footsteps approaching my tent and then stopping. My heart started racing as I’m usually pretty anxious anyway, but eventually I heard the footsteps walk away and I started to calm down. Our tents had windows on the side that were covered by flaps, so I walked across the tent to see what was going on, thinking maybe the lights came back and people were gathering outside again.

When I opened the flap to my window, my dad was staring right back at me, smiling quite literally from ear to ear. "WHAT THE FUCK," I screamed, and stumbled back, tripping over some logs that were used for the furnace in the middle of the room. When I reached back to catch myself, my hand landed on the lit furnace, scorching my hand and making me scream again. While I was on the ground writhing in pain, my dad walked into my tent and grabbed me by the legs and started dragging me out of the tent.

“You really wanted to see the Northern Lights didn’t you? You didn’t think I’d want to see them too?”

When he got me outside, there was a sled attached to a reindeer and he reached into a bag, took out a rope and began tying my legs to the back of the sled. I tried resisting, but I couldn’t move, and the freezing ground and late winter air kept me paralyzed while he got onto the sled and yelled for the reindeer to start moving. Before I knew it, I was being dragged across a field of snow while my dad was cackling from his perch, occasionally twisting his head around to look at me, screaming, “DO YOU SEE THEM?! DO YOU SEE THE LIGHTS?! AREN’T THEY BEAUTIFUL?!” My back was searing with each rock and stick that passed under it and eventually I blacked out from the pain.

When I woke up, I shot straight out of my bed, my hand burning with the tingling sensation you get when the blood starts rushing back after laying on it for too long, and my back was sore, probably from the lack of support from the hides and wood panels they called a bed, and I was freezing since the furnace that was supposed to keep me warm ran out of wood probably hours ago.

I laid back down for a while, confused about what I just experienced and scared to open the door to join the others for breakfast. Eventually I did, and when I joined them, I must have looked rough because they all looked at me with a concerned expression on their faces.

Needless to say, that shook me up for quite awhile. I found it hard to sleep for the next few nights and even when I got back to my apartment a few days later, I still didn’t feel comfortable with falling asleep. I live by myself and I don’t really know who to talk to about stuff like this because I’ve never really dealt with anything like it before.

I called my mom when I got back to tell her how the trip went, but I completely left out the part about my dad showing up in another dream. I asked her if she had any dreams about him since he died and she said she has, but when I told her about the first couple I had, she said hers weren’t like that, that it was usually just like her other dreams where he’d make an appearance but that was it. She said I was lucky to still be able to connect with him in some way, but she only knew about the good dreams, not the ones I was having lately.

He left me alone for the next couple months. I found out that if I have a couple drinks before I went to bed, I usually wouldn’t have any dreams, let alone any with him in it. I don’t drink by myself because I had some family members that had drinking problems and I didn’t want to end up like them, but I realized that on the nights I went out to the bars with my friends, I was able to fall asleep faster and I wouldn’t have any dreams. Eventually this led to me coming home with a six pack of Bud as a little night cap, and for awhile it worked.

I’m a pretty big dude, over 6’ (180 cm for my metric readers), so eventually sixers weren’t doing it for me anymore. One night I fell asleep and had a dream about work, and when I woke up I was so scared by what used to be a normal dream that I knew I had to up the dosage a bit. I came home from work that night with a 12 pack, but only got through about 8 before I started getting tired. At some point 8 started turning into 10 and 10 to 12 before I decided to switch to 30 packs just to play it safe.

Nobody at work has been able to tell, thankfully. If they could, I probably wouldn’t have my job for much longer. I didn’t talk about it either, because I knew nobody would understand.

But then, one night about a week ago, I had another dream.

It was a Thursday night and I had just gotten done cleaning up my apartment when I decided it was time to start getting ready for bed. I was already tired, but out of fear of falling asleep sober, I cracked open a beer and threw a show up on my TV to pass the time.

It was starting to get late, and the stack of cans was starting to pile up, but I caught myself starting to doze off a little, so I slammed a couple more beers and called it a night. I got done brushing my teeth, flipped off all the lights in the living room and turned on my phone’s flashlight. As soon as I did, I heard a roar come from my kitchen directly behind me which made me jump out of my skin and when I turned around, there he was.

My dad was standing in the kitchen with his head almost touching the ceiling and when I looked at his black eyes all he said was, “Why didn’t you call?”

I immediately ran out of my apartment into the stairwell and when I turned to go down the first flight of stairs, he was already standing at the bottom looking up at me.

“You said you would call.”

“I was!” I screamed, my voice cracking out of fear.

“You weren’t gonna call. You never did.”

“I was supposed to see you when I got home in September” I pleaded.

“LIAR!” He roared as he started chasing me back up the stairs, shaking the ground with each step.

I ran back into my apartment and slammed the door behind me, but he was waiting for me once again in my living room.

“You never called!” He screamed again “NOT EVEN WHEN I WAS DYING!”

“I was asleep, I had no idea” tears and snot falling down my face.

“Asleep?! You were ASLEEP?!!” and he charged at me once again

Not knowing where to go now, I ran out onto my balcony. I live on the third floor of an apartment building, but there were bushes below me so I took my chances and leapt down, just to try and get away from him.

I must have broken something and passed out from the fall because I woke up to the feeling of someone grabbing my leg, which made me kick and scream. When I opened my eyes, two police officers were looking back at me. I was in my front lawn, in my underwear. The sun was out. It was morning.

Apparently, one of my neighbors decided to call the police after “hearing someone scream ‘LIAR’ in the stairwell and feeling the whole building shake, followed by more screaming before it suddenly stopped”. At least, that’s what the police officer told me. I apologized to him and told him that I just had a bad dream. He asked me if I knew what day it was and if I knew my name, and when I gave him the correct answers he offered to escort me back up to my apartment and asked if I needed any medical attention. I told him no and that I appreciated his help, but that I was fine and just needed to get ready for work since my shift started in a few hours. Thankfully the door to my apartment was still open, so I didn’t need to get my landlord involved to give me a spare key, and when I left for work, I was followed by a squad car up until the final turn to get on base.

That day, I put in leave for the next two weeks to try and get my mind right, which luckily got approved before I went home for the day. I made my usual stop at the gas station on the way home and picked up another 30 pack and this time, grabbed a bottle of Jack to go with it.

I’m not sure what’s gonna happen now. It’s been about 36 hours since the last time I slept, I think.

You sit on your mildly comfortable sofa, your eyes glazing over the TV until it becomes just another series of colors and sounds. Your throat feels dry. You were thirsty a half hour ago, but now you’d drink whatever's left of the 4 and ½ Bud Lights you had last night just to quench your thirst. Your eyelids are heavy, and every few seconds, they droop ever so slightly.

You're tired, that’s what feeling is.

It’s been a long day, it’s about time you get to bed. You should lock up for the night.

You get up from the sofa and groan in pain. They say the eyes are the first to go, for you it’s your god-awful back.

You walk towards the front door and push the key into its lock; it slides in with a satisfying series of quiet clunks. You turn the key to the right, locking the door.

It is locked, isn’t it? You go for the handle.

You feel the door’s handle in your palm. The cold metal stings your hand. It’s strangely nice—it reminds you that you’re in control. You push down on the metal handle, and it resists your efforts. The door is locked.

You try the handle again. Yep, locked. 

Is it?

I mean, there are no visible gaps between the door and its frame, and when you lean against it, the door resists. Logic would assume that the door is locked. But you're not exactly a logical man, are you? You're standing in front of a door that is almost certainly locked, debating whether or not it’s open. 

Might as well check it again.

Your grip is far tighter, strangling the handle - it has to be locked. 

You press down hard. It must be locked.

Even harder, it’s locked, it should be locked.

One more time.

You take a deep breath and step back. You can always check again later.

You head towards the back door. A white metal door, the paint ever so slightly stained yellow. 

Your hand is uneasy, uncertain, you hate that you can’t trust your own judgment. 

Yet you still try the handle. Grasping it, you pull down, and the handle follows suit. It’s unlocked! You feel the cold night air splash against your face as it swings open. Doesn’t that make it worth it? If you didn’t check the door Someone could’ve gotten in. You lock the door, now more certain than ever, that what you are doing is logical.

With a slight pride in your step thinking all that worry was worth it. You make your way to the kitchen, past the web of unplugged computer cables in your study, A wet footprint you presume to be yours and tomorrow's schedule you’ve checked countless times already.

You reach the oven and the window sitting above it. You look at what seems to be a closed window then beyond it to your reflection, you should really shave soon. Your eyes fall down to the handle and its position suggests it’s shut.  

You grasp the handle, it’s thinner than the front door’s, clearly not meant to be held this tightly. You jiggle it up and down hard. It won’t budge.

Well, what if jostling the handle actually unlocked it? That makes sense, that’s logical. 

Go for the handle again.

It’s stiff. Probably locked. Try again.

You go for the handle again, it’s still stiff. 

Was it really stiff? Did it really not move? Are you certain you know it isn’t loose? 

You stare at the handle as if trying to move it with your mind. If the back door was open the window must be.

Come on. One last try. 

You push hard on the handle, you aren’t checking if it’s locked anymore but forcing it into submission.

Harder.

Your grip tightens around the handle, its sharp underbelly stings the flesh of your fingers, it's not meant to be held this hard. You pull down as if the window is floating away and you're the only thing keeping it to the ground. 

Harder, you need to check it’s locked, you need to keep whatever's outside, outside.

You push deeper, a realization enters your mind, there are two possibilities either just as likely to become reality. Either you keep pushing and break this handle or the handle's sharp edge will break the skin of your palm.

In A moment of much-needed clarity, you release your grip.

The handle is solid, open windows don’t have solid handles.

“Open windows don’t have solid handles.”

You repeat that phrase in your mind as you walk upstairs, brush your teeth, check your phone, and climb into bed. It brings a blanket of comfort over your mind that maybe you're going to be ok that tonight will be different. It helps settle your mind, it’s a nice thought.

Until another arrives. 

Most intruders; murderers, thieves, or any other flavor of criminal don’t give a shit about locked doors or windows. They break the locks and smash the windows. Take what's theirs and destroy what they can. The idea burns deep in your chest, your breath shortens and your throat closes up. As if the very thought is poisoning you.

Another thought mutates emerging from the previous.

What if they're already inside, what if whatever's trying to get in is already here? Long before you decided it wasn’t safe to have unlocked doors. That footprint, are you certain that was yours? Why was the back door unlocked? You need to do something. Protect yourself. Get a knife from downstairs. 

You get up slowly, placing your feet on the carpeted floor being careful to not make a noise. Every step you take is filled with determination. This is what you need to do. You grasp the bedroom door pulling it open, inch by inch. 

The door creaks. You stop, waiting, listening.

Nothing.

Carrying on, you take a step out to the foyer. It’s dark, still. Is no one there? You take the first step onto the stairs. You can feel your heart beating, practically leaping out of your chest. Your mind begins to race with possibilities; turning a corner and seeing a black figure in the living room, a dirt-covered old man at the bottom of the stairs stuffs your various electronics into a worn rucksack, and a crying woman uncertain as to where she is manically lunges for you in the living room. All just as incoherent, all just as possible.

Then one last thought, it slices through the rest like a cold bead of sweat on a hot day.

What if whatever you're keeping out doesn’t need open windows or unlocked doors to get in? That anywhere can be an open door, anything can be a window.

You feel a cloud of hot wet breath on the back of your neck emerge. You hear the almost non-present moist sound of wet lips separating preparing for speech.

I haven’t needed them before.

Please let me know if this is suitable for NoSleep.

"Content Warning: >!Mentions of animal abuse.!<"

We had not used a tablecloth since my mother passed away and there were ringed stains on the table where I set my mug. Outside the window the naked trees shivered and the grass in the fields struggled beneath the smothering frost. Across the table my father ate silently the dinner I had made for us. As was his way, there was no talk merely for talks sake. Words to him were like money to a banker, easily gathered but painfully shared. And this was the problem – in the eighteen months since we buried my mother the house had quietened. She had been the window between us that was now firmly shut and left me with a silent movie for a father.

I stared down at the last dice of beef in my bowl searching for something to say. Without lifting my head, I broke the silence. 

“I fixed up the fence posts in the lower field.” 

The grandfather clock in the corner of the wall-papered room ticked for seven seconds before he looked across at me. 

“As you should.”

“And I washed down the old byre – the cows had the place destroyed but tis half decent now.” 

He raised the last spoonful of stew to his lips and slurped it in. After washing it down with a drag of water he put his spoon in the bowl, stood up and left the table.

On the wall behind his empty chair was a picture of the three of us together on the church steps after I had made my first holy communion. My mother was angelic in her favourite white dress suit and my father towered behind us smiling down at me, my gaping grin missing a few milk teeth. About a week after the picture was taken I was tempted onto the road near our farm chasing a runaway calf. The tyres of the neighbor’s battered truck shredded on the gravel road before the bumper knocked me clear. My father wouldn’t come to see me in the hospital but the evening I came home he carried me to bed. When he leaned in to kiss my forehead the familiar musk of his aftershave filled my nose and I felt safe again.

In the evening after supper I fed the fire with wooden logs and stood with my back to the flames until my legs could no longer stand the heat. Just as I had replaced the grilled fireguard a shrill whine cut through the air and a flush of anxiety made my heart kick hard in my chest. Out at the back porch, I stepped into my green wellingtons and fastened my heavy coat tight around myself and grabbed the yellow lamp before making out into the crisp twilight air.

Walking heavily across the yard, the gravel crunched loudly underfoot. Leaning into the heavy wooden doors of the barn I pushed hard to open them wide. The heavy scent of the stored cow feed mixed with the cold air as I filled my lungs and a single caged light buzzed high overhead. At the far end of the building were six kennels, two of them empty. The galvanised steel gates of the others housed four trained sheepdogs, one a bitch who now lay with her two-week old litter. As I got closer I slowed my walk. The black and white pups swarmed and yapped as I neared but I ignored them. I walked to the last cage to where the pitiful yelps of a distressed hound burrowed into my head warning me of what I might find. Wrapping my hand in my sleeve I lifted and slid open the dead-bolt. At my feet lay Jess – the most capable animal on the farm and easily the best company. On a normal day she could clear the four-foot gate that led out of the yard but here she lay on her right side and looked at me through a bold left eye, her usual docility coupled with utter fear. The bales of hay stacked six high along the side of the barn leant in for a closer look as I gently stroked the black and white patched hair at the back of her head. Her breathing was heavy and strained and her pink tongue hung loose as she shivered pitifully. The straw beneath her black snout soaked up the blood that ran from her nostrils and her black wasted gums gave her a demented smile.

“Poison. An awful way for an animal to go. For anyone to go for that matter.” On my shoulder I felt a firm hand as the large shadow of my father filled the room. 

“How can you tell what it is? She’s not a pup anymore – sure it could be anything.”

“The blood from her nose – it’s a pure tell-tale. Must have been a bit left in the barn since the last clear-out I did. Bloody careless and now look…”.

“Should I call Gary?”

“No – she’s too far gone for a vet. Just make her comfortable and let her know she’s not alone.”

Jess’s breathing took on a slower rhythm until somewhere late in the night the fight left her and she was still. I looked to him as he knelt next to her cheek and patted her softly with his right hand while with his left he covered his mouth and tightly gripped his face dejected. My father had always been a man of animals and had a connection with them that I never fully grasped. In the days after the funeral I often found him out here talking to the dogs. I struggled to get him to talk to me instead but for every sun that went to bed he laid another course of bricks around him until eventually the wall was too high for me to climb over. Rising to my feet I brushed the gathered straw from my knees and left him to his lament.

The next morning when it was still just dark I knocked on the door of his room and listened closely for any sound. When no answer was had I gently pushed it open but his bed was already empty. The heavy quilt was neat and flat and the bed looked like it had hardly been slept in. I found him outside the back door smoking his carved pipe and searching for something in the sunrise as it burst through the hedgerows of the lower field. He turned to me and nodded at the shovel leaning against the wall of the house.

Like a good soldier I marched with the shovel over my left shoulder. At the oak tree I leaned on its smooth wooden handle while I waited for my father who followed behind, carrying Jess wrapped like a present in a new white sheet. When an animal on our farm died he insisted on burying them here. My mother had come to calling it ‘Dead Cat Tree’ because of the list of strays we had put in this unhallowed earth. Cascarino the grey and black striped tomcat rested five yards from Soapy, an amber kitten my dad had brought home on my fifth birthday.

Dead Cat Tree was a melancholic place but also reassuring and transformative. Only under the shade of its searching branches would my father ever reveal himself, creep out from behind his subterfuge of silence and let himself be known. It was to these animals that he would speak truthfully about his world and when they were no more he was a little more lost and vulnerable. 

After laying Jess on the ground he crouched down to get closer to the graves, left knee in the dirt and right leg out in front with a strong forearm laid across his thigh. The carefully set whitewashed stones marked each one. Watching him I pulled my coat tight around me and when the time felt right I nosed the spade into the hard clay and drove it down with a full boot.

In the youthful light we turned from the old oak and followed the withering chimney smoke back to the house. Strolling shoulder to shoulder he sighed and turned his cap in his hands. 

“Death is a funny and strange thing” he said. 

Coming to a stop he balled his gnarled fist and held it high above his head and stared hard up towards it. 

“It can beat you down, drag you to the cliff edge and peel off your white gripped fingers one by one ‘til right when you think you’re finished, it grabs you by the scruff and hauls you back up to lie with your cheek in the dirt, exhausted and confused”. 

With that proclamation his energy faded and his whole body slouched and his chin fell against his chest. I studied him searchingly but didn’t interrupt. The only time I ever felt that we connected openly and honestly was on these walks back from the Tree. He loved those animals and each time we buried one, a fleeting change would come over him. His stance would soften and his face would ease. And he would talk. To me.

Two years earlier my mother picked her last flowers from her garden.  I think that was his cliff edge. Every morning he would kiss her faded pink lips before heading down the farm to do the work that had given him those brutal and worn palms. When she no longer could he would brush her hair and clean her face.

Once inside the backdoor we kicked off our heavy wellies and I straightened my slipping socks. Making straight for the living room and the remnants of last night’s fire, I rubbed my upper arms and leaned in close, greedily drawing in its fading warmth. From behind I heard a deep sigh, 

“I’m sorry” he said. 

I turned slowly to face my father who had his head bowed and was fiddling with the bottom of his right ear.

 “I’m sorry I haven’t always done the best by you; I could have done better but I just didn’t know how. Should have been more like your mother was. She understood you. I never did. Maybe I was afraid to try. But it was the way I had it with my father and I know… I knew no different. That’s a sorry excuse but…” 

He gave up mid-sentence and with a slow deep breath sloped away to the comfort of his threaded armchair and lowered himself down heavily. In the hearth the drying embers pulsed red beneath the grey ash and a loose window latch tapped to be let in out of the chasing wind. 

“That’s okay Da” was all I could muster as I turned to hide my face, my clenching eyes keeping my soul locked in.

After an hour by the fire he had settled into a steady slumber with his legs laid out in front of him and crossed at the ankle, only disturbed now and then by an exploding knot in the burning logs. Every time that happened he would get up and stare out the window into the blackness, wondering what evil was coming our way next. 

I left him be and walked the two hundred meters or so from the rusting steel gate of the front yard up the hill to the church. I lingered outside but didn’t go in and instead crossed the quiet road to the empty graveyard. As I followed the inside of the head-high limestone perimeter wall I dragged the fingers of my right hand along its rough cold surface. When I found her headstone I knelt before it in the blue crunching gravel and sat back on my heels.

“Hey Ma – how are you this morning? Have you seen Jess above? Look after her for me will you, and tell her I’m sorry? She loves them brown biscuits, but sure you know that already. And Da is good but he misses you.” 

I sat there as if waiting for an answer, my shadow shrinking as the sun climbed above me.

“I’m scared it’s out of my control now. I know I told you I wouldn’t but I did it again – it’s the only way he’ll talk to me. And since they took you I’ve no one.” 

My hand quivered as it searched deep into my coat pocket for the last of the red rat poison pellets. I rubbed two between my thumb and forefinger and they crumbled to dust and stained my hands. In one motion I stood and threw the rest of the pellets as high and far as I could and they spread in the wind and were lost. I studied the air for a long moment then clapped my hands clean, turned and went home.

Years ago when I was a teen I would go visit my relatives during the summer break to spend time with my cousins. It was a rural town surrounded mostly by rice fields and forests. On rainy days, you'd hear the wind and rain rustle both the grains on the field and the leaves of the trees and the cold air would have that pleasant damp smell after the rain ends. It was one of the best places to just sit back and relax.

During one of those rainy days, heavy rain fell around the afternoon. My cousins and I were watching Tom and Jerry on the TV to pass the time in the living room while we waited for my Uncle and Aunt to come home from work. Evening came and both my Uncle and Aunt came home in their car. They honked at the gate signaling anyone to open it for them.

"I'll do it." I said to my cousins as we heard the honk.

"Aight." said my oldest cousin.

"Put a raincoat on and don't slip, the road’s gonna be muddy." she added.

Only the driveway from the garage to the gate was concrete, there was only a dirt trail from the front door to the gate.

I took a red raincoat from the coat hanger and put it on and went on my way to the front door. 

It was already dark out at around 8 PM. There were no streetlights around that part of town so the car's headlights and the outdoor front lights were the only ones lighting the way to the gate.

As I opened the front door, a gust of wind and cold rain splashed my face, as well as the car's headlights shining at me. 

I carefully walked to the front gate making sure not to slip and opened it for the car. After the car passed me and drove into the garage, I looked down the street and it was completely dark. The combination of fog and heavy rain obscured how far I could see.

I was able to faintly see the outdoor lights of distant houses but the long road connecting the house to the main street was pitch black. 

It gave me the chills. I thought it was just the cold weather that made me shiver and quickly closed the gate. But in the back of my head I was hoping that whatever is hiding in that pitch black road wouldn't be able to come inside. 

After coming here so many times, that was the first time that I felt scared. but maybe I was just overly imagining things.

I quickly made my way back inside the house through the garage instead of the front door. I glanced back past the gate one last time before going in, trying to convince myself that I was just imagining things. It felt like I was staring into the void with how dark it was. It sent another shiver down my spine. Nonetheless, I ignored the chills and went inside.

I took off the raincoat and started making my way to the living room to continue watching TV. I could hear my aunt calling my cousins to the kitchen to help prepare dinner. I sat down on the couch and started watching Tom and Jerry again. After a few minutes, I saw my uncle come into the living room and sit on the accent chair next to the couch I was sitting on.

"Pass me the remote. Now it's my turn." he said, as he put his feet up on the small table in front of him and made himself comfortable.

With a slump on my shoulders and a disappointed face, I handed him the remote. He quickly changed the channel to the local news. 

I wasn't interested in news at the time and got up to leave. As I was about to run to the kitchen to see what Aunt was cooking, my Uncle remembered his motorcycle was still outside of the garage.

It was an old Honda TMX125 that he bought way back. Still well maintained, but has problems starting.

"Hey Nephew, can you bring the motorcycle in?" he asked.

"To the garage? Really? Shouldn't you be doing that yourself?" I replied. 

Definitely didn't want to be outside after I opened that front gate and he definitely couldn't convince me.

"I'm too lazy, I'll give you $20 AND I’ll let you drive it around tomorrow" as he holds out two $10 bills in his hand with a smirk on his face

"Deal." I said with a straight face. What can I say? I was short on cash and $20 is $20. The driving offer was unnecessary.

"Thanks Nephew. Bring a flashlight and get the key in the garage and turn the headlight on it so you can see better when you bring it in." as he smiled, sat back, and gazed into the TV. 

With a slight grin on my face, I walked to the garage door and picked up the red raincoat again. Thinking nothing of it, I opened the door and was met by the same cold air and heavy rainfall. as well as the eerie pitch darkness of the driveway. It gave me shivers again. I thought to myself I'm probably just overthinking and started looking for the motorcycle. I barely spotted the motorcycle near the front gate with the help of the outdoor lights from the front door. Due to the fog and heavy rain, I picked up a flashlight nearby and turned it on to see better. as well as the key to the motorcycle.

"$20 is $20" I said to myself under my breath and walked to the motorcycle, carefully shining the flashlight in front of my feet to see where I was walking. 

I wanted to get this over with quickly, The eerily pitch black surrounding me was freaking me out. I put the flashlight on my mouth and put the key in the ignition and quickly started the bike using the quick-start button on the handle.

Didn't work.

"Of course." I said frustratingly.

I tried it again.

Didn't work.

I quickly got on the bike and pulled out the starter pedal.

I kicked the pedal and pulled down on the throttle. 

The bike finally started. 

Feeling a sense of relief I turned on the switch to the headlight. 

Didn't work.

The sense of panic set in.

"God damn it." I sighed.

I tried smacking the headlight itself.

Didn't work.

"fuck." I said.

The rain was not getting lighter, the air felt more colder, and the fog was not getting thinner. 

I turned the switch off and on again.

Didn't. Work.

"son of a-" as I try to utter the last word of that phrase, the flashlight fell off my mouth and into the muddy road with the lens facing on the ground.

The deafening noise of the heavy rain and the howl of the cold wind gets drowned out by my own heavy breathing. 

I tried to look around for the flashlight but I couldn't see clearly.

While I was in a state of panic, suddenly, I heard a faint sound.

"psst." 

The hair on the back of my neck rose up, my whole body shivered. I don't know if it was the loud noise of the heavy rain and my mind playing tricks on me.

I couldn't move for a few seconds. I couldn't take it anymore, I wanted to get the fuck away from there.

“NOPE. Fuck this.” I said, As I tried to get off the bike fast.

With the dim glow of the far outdoor light as my only light source, I stumbled off the motorcycle and tripped due to the mud.

I fell down to my knees, and the motorcycle fell to its side next to me.

Suddenly, the motorcycle's headlight turned on. pointed at the long road that led to the main street.

It was there that I saw the most disturbing thing I've ever seen.

Pale white feet, FLOATING in the air right in front of the motorcycle.

As my brain tried to process what the FUCK I was looking at, my ears started ringing, the noise of the heavy rain and wind became silent. All I could hear were the sound of my breathing and the ringing in my ears.

My eyes were glued to the floating feet in front of me. I couldn’t look away. 

Why is it so pale?

Why isn’t it wet?

Why doesn't it have any nails?

Why is it floating?

These were questions that were firing in my head each millisecond I looked at it. I wanted to close my eyes, look down, look at the complete darkness around me. But I couldn't. I was scared, but my morbid curiosity was consuming me. I wanted to know more, I wanted to process more, I wanted to UNDERSTAND what I was looking at. My brain needed to know what it was dealing with.

I NEEDED. TO LOOK. UP.

I slowly moved my eyes up. A millimeter at a time. Still breathing heavily, still ringing in my ears.

The hood of my raincoat was blocking the view. I couldn't see past the knees. I wondered if this was enough, if it would be better NOT to see whatever the rest of it was.

It didn’t matter. I needed to see what it was.

As I tried to move my head instead to see what the rest of it was, the motorcycle turned off and the headlight along with it. I couldn't see anything. It was pitch black again. 

The dim glow of the outdoor light behind me seemingly disappeared. I was in a state of shock. Shaking, hyperventilating.

Is it over? 

Where did it go? 

Is it still in front of me?

I felt like I was passing out.

Next thing I knew, I woke up in the morning in bed with a new set of clothes and my knees patched up. I had a fever for the next few days. Probably because I was in the rain for too long.

Apparently, my Uncle noticed that it was taking me too long to move the motorcycle into the garage so he went outside to check. Only to find me passed out next to the fallen motorcycle.

I tried telling my Aunt and Uncle what happened and they said they believed me but It felt like they were just worried about me and just agreed to what I was saying. My cousins got freaked out though. My Aunt got mad at my Uncle for sending me outside to do his responsibilities and I was given $40 instead. 

Lucky me I guess.

After I got better, I went back home to the city. It was an experience that always gives me chills every time I remember it even to this very day. I don't know what it was, what it was trying to do, why did it show up. 

The one thing I know is that whatever that was, thank God I never saw the rest of it. There are just things that are better off not known. I still visited there during summer break. But when the heavy rain fell during the night and the outside became pitch black. I never left my room again. 0

Was that really worth $40? No, I don't think it was.